jumped aside as tho' there was a snake in his way, and the bullet whizzed by him. The half-caste gave a groan and rolled over dead, out of hate and disappointment, 'cause he'd missed. That's so. The chief he looked at me, an' he looked at the soldiers who were hurrying up from down below, then he jes' turned and walked away; yes, he jes' walked away with his head up, and I could a' shot him--for the laughin' fit had passed away. But before he could ha' killed me easy as sticking a pig, so I watched him go; an' when he reached the bush he said, lookin' over his shoulder, `Grow fat, man who laughs, an' you will be food for my assegai.' The cheek of these young bucks; but I reckon, sonny, if he'd a' known I'd killed two of his men in the Chumie he wouldn't a' waited, for all I was like a shadder." "Is that all?" I said, when the old man paused. "Well, it were enuff, wern't it?" "What did the Colonel say?" "Oh, the Colonel! He said, `Who the devil are you, an' where the blazes you come from?' That's what _he_ said, that time; but 'twern't long afore he changed the tune of his remarks. `Who the devil are you, and where the blazes you come from?' he sed, sittin' in his tent with his officers by him; an' I jes' reached over to a black square bottle that was ahind him and put the neck to my mouth." CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. THE RED DIAMOND. Our big Christmas hunt was in full swing. In a smooth, well-carpeted glade, surrounded by forest trees and bush, the three tent wagons of the party were outspanned, drawn up in a hollow square which formed a capacious outside room, roofed in by a wide stretch of canvas. From the spreading branches of a yellow-wood hung the last day's `bag,' consisting of seven bushbucks, two duikers, three blaauwboks, one jackal, and a wild dog. Beyond the wagons was the servants' fire, and the `boys' themselves were `brying' meat and talking, as only Kaffirs can talk when the day's work is over and food is plentiful. In our `scherm' one lantern swung from the centre pole, its light just sufficient to mark out the position of the brown demijohn on the box that served as a table; while across the breadth of darkness, where the `scherm' opened to the wood, fireflies crossed and circled. The quiet of the night was over the bush, intensified by the deep undertone from the sea, and the brooding spirit in time reduced us to silence, even stilling Long Jim's concertina, whose lugubrious notes had in the early hours of the evening wailed complainingly over "The Old Camp Ground," "Poor Old Joe," and other old favourites. "I envy you fellows," said Mr Strong, a crack shot from the town; "we don't get such nights as this." "The boot's on the other foot," said Long Jim, making his instrument moan. "We've got poverty and pumpkins. You've got comfort and a pianny." And he pumped out "Hard times come again no more" till a dog pointed its nose to the sky and howled in sympathy.