They were out of the forest belt now, and the spot marked out for their halt was on the side of a great granite kopje, with long tambuti grass and acacia growing right up around its base. Hence they could see, and not be seen. Lamont and Peters took turn about to watch, while the other two slept. A friendly squabble took place between them as to who should take first watch, and, as usual in such a case, Peters had to `obey orders.' It was a wretched day. The dreary cloudiness had turned to drizzle. Under ordinary circumstances the prospect of rain would have been heart rejoicing. Now, with his homestead blown to bits, and no prospect of returning to his farm, possibly for months, or doing any good with it when he got there, the watcher was wishing the longed-for rain somewhere else. In spite of the night's exertions he felt no desire for sleep, and as he sat there, while the other two snored, gazing forth on the drear wildness of the scene before him, why was it that his thoughts should revert so persistently to Clare Vidal? Yet they did. He recalled that scene on the race-course, and somehow he could remember every word she had said, and how she had said it. Then that last visit he had made at Fullerton's, and entirely at her request--what a strange, witching enchantment had hung around her all the time! She had made much of him, but in such an insidious and tactful way--what did it all mean? He had always been a bit of a misogynist, and had looked upon women and their fascinations with a kind of contemptuous aloofness, only broken through when he knew and became engaged to Violet Courtland. And now at last he could dwell upon that day at Courtland Mere without a stirring of the mind, unless it were a stirring of relief. But--why? The day wore on, and it was not until late in the afternoon that the sleepers awoke. "What's this?" said Peters sharply, sitting upright. "Lamont--what the devil's this? Here it's nearly time to start again, and you never turned me out to take my watch. How about your own snooze, eh?" "Don't want one. You do. So that's all right." "You needn't kick up such an infernal row, Peters," snapped Ancram, irritable with fatigue and discomfort, as he rolled over on the other side and snored afresh. "Oh, let the wretched devil snooze," said Lamont. "I don't want to. I couldn't close a peeper if I were paid to." That night they travelled on again, using extra caution, for they had got into populated country where there were kraals about. One of these they came right upon in the darkness, and the deep-toned voices of its inhabitants came quite clearly to them. Then the furious barking of dogs, who had heard or scented them, made a lively moment; however, thanks to the merciful darkness, they were able to withdraw.