"I want to see the poor old goblin's gizzard, and open it. I know he has got knives and all sorts of things inside." "Then you may look," said Emson. "I'm going to feed the horses and have a wash; they haven't been unsaddled yet." He went to the thorn-fence and disappeared, while, hot and tired now, Dyke made short work of opening the great bird, and dragging out the gizzard, which he opened as a cook does that of a fowl, and exclaimed aloud at the contents: "Here, Jack, fetch me some water in the tin;" and while the "boy" was gone, Dyke scraped out on to the sand quite a heap of pieces of flinty stone, rough crystals, and some pieces of iron, rusty nails, and a good-sized piece of hoop. "I must have a look at you afterwards," said the boy, as he picked out some forty or fifty of the dingy-looking rough crystals, gave them a rub over and over in the dry sand upon which he knelt, to dry them, and then thrust them--a good handful--into his pocket. "Do for the collection," he said to himself with a laugh. "Label: crystals of quartz, discovered in a goblin's gizzard by Vandyke Emson, Esquire, F.A.S., Kopfontein, South Africa." "Wanterwater?" "Yes, I do `wanterwater,'" cried Dyke, turning sharply on the Kaffir, who had returned. "I want to wash my hands. Look at 'em, Jack!" "Narcy!" said the man, making a grimace. "Hold hard, though; let's have a drink first," cried the boy. "It looks clean;" and raising the tin, he took a deep draught before using the vessel for a good wash, taking a handful of sand in the place of soap. "Find the knife?" said Emson, coming back from the stable. "No, but look here," cried Dyke, pointing to the great piece of hoop-iron. "Fancy a bird swallowing that." "Iron is good for birds, I suppose," said Emson quietly.--"Here, Jack, drag that bird right away off; remember, a good way. Mind, I don't want the jackals too close to-night." The Kaffir nodded, seized the bird's legs as if they were the shafts of a cart or handles of a wheelbarrow. The load was heavy, though, and he shook his head, with reason, for such a bird weighed three hundred pounds, and it spoke well for its leg muscles that it could go at the rate of forty or fifty miles an hour. "Too big," grumbled Jack; so Dyke seized one of the legs, and together they walked away with the dead bird, dragging it quite a quarter of a mile out beyond the ostrich-pens, ready for the jackals to come and play scavenger. After which Dyke returned to his brother, and they went in to where Tanta Sal, Jack's wife, had prepared a substantial meal. CHAPTER FIVE. BIG BIRDNESTING. "You're a dissatisfied young dog, Dyke," cried Joe Emson good-humouredly, as he smiled down from his high horse at his brother; "always grumbling." "I'm not," cried Dyke indignantly. "You are, boy. Just as if any one could be low-spirited when he is young and strong, out in this wide free place on such a lovely morning."