Only a rare shower, the man seemed to think; and, muttering to himself, he shuffled a little into a dry spot to lie down yawning, when rush came the rest of the water, deluging him this time, and making him jump up and burst into a torrent of objurgations against the sky in his own tongue, shaking both his fists the while, till, _bang, clatter, crash_! the bucket came rattling down, and he turned and ran out toward where Emson stood looking on. Dyke descended quickly, and making a circuit, he ran round, and then appeared slowly from the end of a fence fifty yards from the house, walking quietly across to join his brother. As he drew near, the Kaffir was gesticulating and talking away in broken English, mingled with more words of his own tongue; and when Dyke joined them and took the rein of his little cob, the man turned excitedly to him. "What's the matter, Jack?" The Kaffir looked at him suspiciously for a moment or two, but Dyke mounted and returned the gaze in the most unruffled manner. "Big rain--big wet rain--big water--big bucket--all wet, wet," cried the Kaffir. "Make the mealies grow," said Dyke coolly. "Make mealie grow!" cried the man. Then a change came over him. The look of doubt and wonder became one of certainty, and his face expanded into a broad grin which displayed all his white teeth. "Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!" he cried, pointing to a couple of wet patches on the leg of the boy's trousers; "you make rain--Massa Dyky make rain. Wet, wet. Ah-ah-ah-ah!" "You come along and help drive the ostrich," said Dyke, setting his cob to canter; and, followed by the Kaffir at a quick trot, which soon dried up his moisture, they went over the heated red sand toward where the speck in the distance had been pointed out as the object they sought. CHAPTER THREE. AN OSTRICH RACE. "I say, Joe, you are right," said Dyke now, with animation. "'Tisn't half so hot riding." "Of course not. One begins to get moist, and the sun and air bring a feeling of coolness. It's only the making a start. Now then, shall I try to cut him off?" "No, no!" cried Dyke excitedly; "I'll do it. I'll make the brute run. You follow up." "Right!" said Emson; "that is, unless he tracks my way." "Oh, he won't do that," said Dyke, with a merry laugh, and in his animation the boy seemed to be quite transformed. It was a good long ride to where the ostrich they sought to bring back to its pen could be seen stalking about, looking about as big as a guinea-fowl, but gradually growing taller and taller to its pursuers as they rode on. After a time it ceased picking about and ran first in one direction and then in another, as if undecided which line of country to take before leading its pursuers a wild race out and across the veldt. By this time it looked fully four feet high; soon after it was fully five, as it stood up with its neck stretched out, and its weak, large-eyed, flat head turned to them with a malicious expression.