"Only some wandering native, I suppose," said Mr. Blakeney. "It’s quite natural. This is a very thinly inhabited country, but there must be some tribe or other in the neighbourhood, even if they were only Bushmen or Berg Damaras. There’s no harm in that, if they take nothing; and the ivory is all right, anyhow." "Nay, baas," replied Poeskop, "it’s not a _kaal_ [naked] Kaffir. There are no natives within forty miles of us. What I did find was spoor of a man wearing velschoen. He’s not a white man, but a Hottentot or Griqua. I don’t like it, baas. There is some one spying upon us." Mr. Blakeney knit his brows and thought. He was a little disturbed at Poeskop’s intelligence; but after all they were a strong party, whom few would care to attack. And besides, who wanted to attack them? Then somehow the figure of Karl Engelbrecht rose before his mind’s eye. "What’s your mind running on, Poeskop?" he queried. "A Dutchman?" "Ja, baas," said the little man sententiously. "It is just that." "And the Dutchman is Karl Engelbrecht?" he queried again. "Ja, baas," said the Bushman quietly. "It is Karl Engelbrecht." Mr. Blakeney thought a good deal over this circumstance, and determined for the future to keep a sharper lookout. Hitherto, although they were now in the lion veldt, it had not been deemed necessary to keep a watch at night. It is not the custom to do so. So long as fires are maintained, and some one awakes periodically to keep them supplied with wood, it is thought sufficient, and the whole camp is usually to be found wrapped in slumber. Hunters sleep light, and arms are always at hand; and the presence of a marauding lion or leopard, or any other member of the Carnivora, is soon announced by the savage barking of the wagon dogs, or by a disturbance among the oxen and horses. For the future some one of the party was awake during the long night hours. All took their turns, and the guard was changed thrice during the time of darkness. So much Mr. Blakeney conceded to Poeskop’s alarm and his own suspicions.