I always found that a Kaffir was the most patient and easily satisfied of my hunting companions. A few evenings, therefore, after my failure with my restless friend, I took Inyovu, and supplying him with a whole box full of the strongest snuff and a thick blanket, took my position once more in the spreading branches of the old tree. I made every preparation for standing a siege, in case the elephants attacked the tree, as was told me would most probably occur, but which I did not for one moment believe. To be well prepared in case of such a contingency, I had filled a small tin saucepan with blue light composition, and having sprinkled over it the tops of a box of lucifer-matches to obtain quick ignition, I fixed it firmly in the branches close and handy. I purposed pouring some of this when lighted on the back of any weak-minded elephant who might presume to attempt to haul me down. Unfortunately, all the illumination was wasted on the desert air, for no elephants came to me, although I kept awake and watchful all night. My Kaffir thought me mad, a very common conclusion if one does not do every thing in the old way. Still, although my night was elephantless, I did not consider it as wasted, as the quietness around, only broken by the whispering of the leaves as they affectionately felt each other, and the occasional tiny cries of the ichneumons and other vermin, or the blowing of a buck and rustle of a herd of wild swine, were all music to an ear more easily pleased with the wild side of nature than the crash of omnibus wheels, or the murmur of crowded rooms. The monotony of this night was broken by one of those events that must, and do, frequently take place everywhere, and in many cases without the natural excuse that could be pleaded here, "it was the weak oppressed and crushed by the strong." A red bush-buck had gone out into an open glade, and was quietly taking its dew-refreshed grass supper. I had noticed for some time the innocent way in which it had continued grazing, quite unconscious that a deadly enemy was near, who only refrained from slaying it in the hope that larger game would, by patience, be soon substituted. Suddenly a black looking sort of shadow with a bound was upon it--a shriek, an instant struggle, and all was quiet. My Kaffir whispered to me that he thought we should fire, as leopards' skins were valuable for making tails (the Kaffirs' waist-dress is thus called by the colonists). This whisper was not sufficient to cause alarm, but while moving a little to cock his gun, the Kaffir shook a branch, and the representative of the feline race, taking up his capture, bounded away. We inspected the ground on the following morning and found that there had scarcely been a struggle.