"Zo? Das ist sehr, very bad. You had petter zell mealie und gorn, und dea und sugars. It ist mooch petters as neffer vas, and you not haf to gom five, zigs, zeven days to me. Now let us zee den Kaffirs." The old man had approached the back of the wagon as he spoke, and now drew the canvas aside, to be greeted by a low growl which made him start back. "Tunder!" he cried. "Der Kaffir tog is gone mad!" "No, no; that is our dog Duke." "Ah! Und is he pad too?" "Yes: a leopard came and seized him one night and carried him off from under the wagon; but I ran out and fired, and I suppose I hit the beast, for there was a lot of snarling and Duke got away; but I thought he would have died." "Ach! boor togs den. What you do to him?" "Bathed the places with water." "Goot!" "And he licked the wounds himself." "Besser." "And curled himself up, and went to sleep." "Das vas der best of all, mein young vrient. Aha! Goot tog, den. You let me zee how you vas pad. I am your master's vrient; das ist zo." He advanced his hand to where Duke lay just inside the canvas, and the dog gave the skin on which he lay two thumps with his tail. "Das ist goot," said the old German trader. "Ach! yaas; you haf been pite on dem pack, und scratch, scratch along bofe your zides; boot you are a prave tog, and zoon be guite well again." Duke's tail performed quite a fantasia now, and he uttered a low whine and licked at the great, fat, friendly hand which patted his head. "Und now vere is der poy?" "Get into the wagon," said Dyke; and the German climbed in, followed by Dyke, and stooped down over the figure of Kaffir Jack, who lay on a blanket, with his head toward the front part of the wagon, through which opening the evening light still streamed. The Kaffir's head was tied-up with a bandage formed of the sleeve of a shirt cut off at the shoulder, split up lengthwise at the seams, tied together so as to make it long enough, and this was stained with blood, evidently days old. The Boer gazed down at the Kaffir, and Jack gazed up at him, screwing up his face in the most piteous fashion. This scrutiny on both sides went on for some time in a silence which was at last broken by the Kaffir uttering a dismal groan which went right to Dyke's heart. "Ah," said the trader softly, "boor vellow! How you vas?" Jack uttered a more dismal groan than before. "Ah, vas it den? Boor mans! you zeem as bad as neffer can be. You doomble off dem vagon, und dread on your vace like dot?" "Oh!" groaned Jack. "Baas killum." "Did he den. Der baas kill der boor vellow dead?" Then suddenly changing his tone from one full of soft sympathy to a burst of fierce anger, he roared out: "Dunder und lightning! You get oot of dis, you oogly black, idle tog. You got sore head, und lazy as big bullock. Out you vas!" He accompanied the fierce words with a sharp kick, and Jack bounded up and sprang clear over the wagon-box, to stand out on the trampled ground, staring wildly.