"Because I wouldn't give him an introduction to anybody--not on any account. See here, Peters. I don't like the fellow--never did, and he knows it too. But he's going to exploit me all he knows how, and--that won't be far. You remember that--er--that rotten affair I told you about--you know, the thing that had to do with my coming out here again when I did? Well, this fellow Ancram was there at the time. Helped to hoot me down, you understand." "Did he? The rotten, infernal swine! If I had known half that perhaps I would have left him for jackal's meat in the mopani before I moved finger, let alone touched trigger, to get him out," said Peters savagely. "By the Lord! I wonder you let him set foot inside the door after that." "What could one do? You can't turn a fellow away from your door, in this country, in a state of practical destitution,--for that's what being without a horse amounts to. I wish you could have saved his horse, Peters. And now he's been here ten days, and seems to think he owns the whole show. What do you think he's been up to this morning?" "What?" "Why I sent him out to shoot birds, or anything he darn chose, along the river bank--anything to get rid of him. I sent Zingela with him to take care of him, and carry the birds. Blest if he didn't start pounding Zingela." Peters whistled. "That's pretty thick," he said. "Thick! I should think so. Swore the boy had cheeked him, and he hated niggers, and so forth. Coming on to another man's place--without an invite, mind you--and then sailing in to bash his boys. Eh?" "Yes. But had Zingela cheeked him?" "Small wonder if he had. But all I could get out of the boy was that Ancram abused him because he couldn't find a guinea-fowl that had run. He owned to having answered he wasn't a dog. Then Ancram let into him. I'm not a good-tempered chap, Peters, and there'll be a most unholy row soon. What's to be done?" "I have it," cried Peters, his whimsical face puckering all over with glee. "I have it. You know how skeery he looked when we were telling him about the possibility of a rising. Well then, let's cram him up that the Matabele are awful vindictive devils, and Zingela will never rest till he has his blood. How's that?" "Well, that's an idea." "Rather. He'll wilt at the notion of a bloodthirsty savage, always looking out for his chance, day and night--especially the night, mind-- of getting an assegai into him. I believe that'll do the trick. What?" "I shouldn't wonder. By Jove, Peters, you're a genius. Well, you work it. If we both do, it'll look suspicious." "Right! I will. Still the fellow can be amusing at times. I'll never forget that first time we introduced ourselves. `I'm Peters, prospector,' says I. `And I'm Ancram, prospectless,' says he, without a moment's thought." And Peters went off into a roar over the recollection. CHAPTER FIVE. ANCRAM--PROSPECTLESS.