“_Intombi_ is here, baas, where I have put her to keep her cool, so that she may not go off before it is wanted,” and he pointed to a little grave-like heap of gathered grass at his side. The natives, I should explain, named this particular gun _Intombi_, which means a young girl, because it was so much slimmer and more graceful than other guns. “Is it clean?” I asked. “Never was she cleaner since she was born out of the fire, baas. Also, the powder has been sifted and set to dry in the sun with the caps, and the bullets have been trued to the barrel, so that there may be no accidents when it comes to the shooting. If you miss the _aasvogels_, baas, it will not be the fault of _Intombi_ or of the powder and the bullets; it will be your own fault.” “That’s comforting,” I answered. “Well, come on, I want to go to the Death-hill yonder.” “Why, baas, before the time?” asked the Hottentot, shrinking back a little. “It is no place to visit till one is obliged. These Zulus say that ghosts sit there even in the daylight, haunting the rocks where they were made ghosts.” “Vultures sit or fly there also, Hans; and I would see how they fly, that I may know when and where to shoot at them.” “That is right, baas,” said the clever Hottentot. “This is not like firing at geese in the Groote Kloof. The geese go straight, like an assegai to its mark. But the _aasvogels_ wheel round and round, always on the turn; it is easy to miss a bird that is turning, baas.” “Very easy. Come on.” Just as we were starting Vrouw Prinsloo appeared from behind the other wagon, and with her Marie, who, I noticed, was very pale and whose beautiful eyes were red, as though with weeping. The vrouw asked me where we were going. I told her. After considering a little, she said that was a good thought of mine, as it was always well to study the ground before a battle. I nodded, and led Marie aside behind some thorn trees that grew near. “Oh! Allan, what will be the end of this?” she asked piteously. High as was her courage it seemed to fail her now. “A good end, dearest,” I answered. “We shall come out of this hole safely, as we have of many others.” “How do you know that, Allan, which is known to God alone?” “Because God told me, Marie,” and I repeated to her the story of the voice I had heard in my dream, which seemed to comfort her. “Yet, yet,” she exclaimed doubtfully, “it was but a dream, Allan, and dreams are such uncertain things. You may fail, after all.” “Do I look like one who will fail, Marie?” She studied me from head to foot, then answered: