"A pretty story, indeed," was Mr. Blakeney’s comment, as he moved a pace or two forward and picked up the man’s rifle. "So you two meant, I suppose, to stalk and murder us while we were at our work.--And but for Poeskop’s fancy to climb out last night," he added, turning aside to Guy and Tom, "they might very well have accomplished their purpose. Poeskop’s restlessness was providential indeed. The little man’s instincts are wonderful." "Yes," said Guy, "he seems almost to smell danger when it’s about." "Well," went on Mr. Blakeney, gazing at the awful remains of the dead Boer, lying a mere huddle of broken humanity beneath the tangle of the ladder, "we shall have no more trouble from that quarter, which is a blessing. But we’re in a very pretty mess. I suppose Poeskop had no alternative in cutting the ladder and hurling Engelbrecht to the bottom, but he has left us in a very awkward predicament. What’s to be done, I wonder?" "Hadn’t we better secure this miserable Hottentot?" said Tom, glancing at Quasip. "Yes, you’re right, Tom," replied his father. "I don’t suppose he’ll attempt anything again, now his precious baas is done for; and he looks as if all the stuffing were knocked out of him. But we may as well make sure." Tom went to their camping ground hard by, and brought back a couple of raw-hide riems. With these they fastened the wrists and ankles of the Hottentot, and placed him under the shade of an olive tree. The man submitted quietly enough. As they had surmised, all the fight had been frightened out of him. "Now," said Mr. Blakeney, "we must see what we can do with Poeskop." Coming out from under the cliff, they looked up and saw Poeskop’s yellow face far above them, peering anxiously over the precipice. The Bushman put his hands to his mouth and shouted shrilly. It was some minutes before they could make out his words, so great a distance was between them. Then Tom suddenly said,-- "I have it. He asks: ’Is Engelbrecht dead?’" Making a speaking trumpet of his hands, Mr. Blakeney roared out very slowly, in deep, stentorian tones, "Ja, Engelbrecht is dood!" There was a fine echo up the cliff. It was quite clear that Poeskop comprehended the message. He rose to his feet, and clapped his hands with joy. Then, throwing himself down once more, he asked again in Dutch,-- "What shall I do, baas?" They understood him, after several repetitions, and Mr. Blakeney again shouted up the cliff,-- "Get riems. Make a rope, and let down." For some minutes it seemed that the Bushman could not comprehend this message. Then, after more repetitions, delivered very slowly, it dawned upon him, and he shouted down,-- "Yes! In three days." After this message he sprang to his feet and disappeared.