No answer:--so we advanced--entered it--and there beheld a dead man--his head nearly severed from his body, and a bloody razor beside him--the ground and grass bed on which the body lay, soaked with blood. Without removing the corpse, we waited, until the prisoner and his escort came up. The Bushman was led to see the body: he showed no astonishment; but merely said, with an affected pity, ‘Aye, that’s poor Peter Septon: he often said he’d cut his own throat, but now I see he has done it completely.’ ‘That’s a lie, you villain,’ said I; ‘no man ever cut his own throat in that manner: this was done by you.’ The wretch’s countenance could not change much for the worse; however, his clammy lips quivered, and he wiped the sweat off his forehead, as he replied that he knew nothing about the murder. ‘Murder!’ said I; ‘then you think it _is_ a _murder_?’ ‘Why,’ replied he, ‘when a man cuts his own throat--isn’t that murder?’ ‘_You_ did it!’ cried out every one present; and the prisoner’s eyes evidently answered, ‘_I did._’ “It was now proposed to trace the track of the blood, and having left four of our party at the hut to take care of the prisoner, we followed the girl, at a short distance, through various places: she of course was guided by the blood. In about ten minutes, our guide beckoned to us, and we quickly approached to where she stood; there she pointed to a man lying in the long grass, and bleeding profusely--it was a desperate Bushman of the name of Collyer.[19] We raised him up; he was weak and faint from loss of blood; his hand was shattered by a shot, and his throat partially cut. The poor wretch was then carried by the men back to the hut, and having tasted a little spirits grew something stronger. He sat leaning against a tree; and looking at the other prisoner with a scowl, he cried out to him, ‘You treacherous villain! thank God, you are taken!’ Then addressing us, he said, ‘That rascal, while I was asleep, attempted to cut my throat with a razor, after he had killed his comrade Septon, who slept beside me; and as I was trying to escape from him, he fired at me, and shattered my hand.’ The murderer now, like a fiend, roared out ‘D--n your eyes and heart, I wish I had cut your throat first, and now you would not be here to tell me of it.’ At this moment, the girl cried out to him, ‘Hillier, you killed my sister, too.’ ‘Yes, you black devil, and if I had you now in the Tallow Chandler’s Shop,[20] I’d serve you in the same way.’ “We immediately tied Hillier’s arms well, and having bound up Collyer’s wounds, and refreshed ourselves, we took the direction of home. Collyer was able to walk after he rested and took a little spirits and water. The dead man’s head we made Hillier cut off and carry--hung round his neck in a haversack.” [“What was that for?” demanded Sergeant Dobson. “Because,” replied the old man, “there was 50_l._ reward for every Bushman’s head; a hundred for Howe’s or Geary’s, and seventy-five for Collyer’s.”