"And they know it, too," cried Dyke. "Look at them wagging their silly old heads and trying to look cunning.--But hullo why don't you go on?" "Can't you see?" said Emson. "The horse's hoofs must have struck him in the side as well. The poor old goblin is dead." Dyke leaped to his feet in dismay, and stared sceptically from his brother to the bird, and back again and again. It was true enough: the great bird, which so short a time ago was seeming to spin with such wonderful speed across the veldt that its legs were nearly invisible, now lay on its side, with the stilt-like members perfectly still, one being stretched out to its full length, the other in a peculiar double angle, through the broken bone making a fresh joint. "Oh, the poor old goblin!" said the boy, hurriedly unloosening the rein which held down its head. "I didn't choke it, did I? No: look, the loop was quite big." "No; the ribs are crushed in," said Emson, feeling beneath the beautiful plumage. "Another loss, Dyke. We shall find out all his good qualities now." "Breezy kick and killum," said the Kaffir sententiously. "Bird kick, horse kick; killum--shouldn't kick." "Here, you go back to your kraal, and set up for a wise man of the south," cried Dyke pettishly. "How long did it take you to find out all that?" "Yes, killum dead," said the Kaffir, nodding. "Bosh!" cried Dyke, turning impatiently away. "Well, we must make the best of it," said Emson then. "His feathers will be worth something, for they are in fine condition. Let's get them off at once." The heat of the sun was forgotten, and so was Dyke's want of energy, for he set to work manfully, helping his brother to cut off the abundant plumes, tying them up in loose bundles with the quill ends level, that they might dry, and carefully carrying them into the room used for storing feathers, eggs, and such curiosities as were collected from time to time; Dyke having displayed a hobby for bringing home stones, crystals, birds' eggs, and any attractive piece of ore, that he found during his travels. These were ranged in an old case, standing upright against the corrugated iron wall, where, a few boardings nailed across for shelves, the boy had an extremely rough but useful cabinet, the lid of the case forming the door when attached by a pair of leather hinges tacked on with wire nails. "There," said Emson, when the last plumes had been removed; "what do you say to having the skin off? It will make a mat." Dyke nodded, and the Kaffir now helping, the bird's tough skin was stripped off, and laid, feathers downward, on the roof to dry. "Jackals can't reach it there, can they?" said Emson. "No, I think not. Leopard might come and pull it down." "Yes: don't let Duke be out of a night; there has been one hanging about lately.--But what are you going to do?" "Dissect him," said Dyke, who was on his knees with his sharp sheath-knife in his hand. "Nonsense! Leave it now."