ruled by the powerful native chief Mozelkatse. In the trees by the water side the parrots were screaming and chattering, and some beautiful squirrels were playing among the branches or chasing each other in the sunshine. A deep dead silence reigned around, broken only by the murmur of the water, the occasional scream of the parrots, and the hum of the mosquitoes, which were so numerous on the banks of the Limpolulo as to be nearly unendurable even to the practised Indian. A more peaceful scene could not be imagined, when suddenly the silence was broken, and a long peculiar melancholy cry came floating on the breeze. Starting up, his rifle in two pieces in his hand, the soldier listened eagerly. The men had evidently heard it too, for their chattering ceased; the tall, powerful Kaffir, who had been cutting up the eland, pausing with the knife between his teeth, a large lump of meat in either hand, and his head bent on one side, in an attitude of deep attention, a perfect bronze statue. An interval of silence intervened, and then once more the same prolonged, tremulous, far distant cry came floating as it were down on the breeze. "No Zulu cry that, master," said Luji, dropping, as he spoke, the knife from between his teeth, and his frame relaxing from its stiffened position of intense listening. Again the tremulous cry came, sounding so far away that even in that clear air it seemed as though the final notes of the word coooi, long dwelt upon, alone reached the river bank. "I have it, Luji!" suddenly exclaimed Hughes. "Put that venison down, get your rifle, and follow me." The Kaffir obeyed, dropping the two huge lumps of meat into a cauldron, which, half filled with mealies, was destined to make a stew for the twelve o'clock meal, and then deliberately washing his hands in the water, he went to the waggon, disappeared under the tilt for a moment, and soon stood by his master's side, armed with a heavy rifle. "What master think the cry?" he asked. "I think it is the Australian bush cry, which I never heard before, but which I have read of; and if I am right there must be a European, not able to find our camp." Luji, as has already been said, was a Hottentot, and a true type of his class. He was not brave to rashness, but was a merry, careless fellow, ever ready for anything, and reckless and improvident to a degree seldom equalled. He was no beauty, his woolly hair surmounting a yellow-black face, ornamented by a mouth large enough to suffice for even his enormous appetite. High cheek-bones, the elongated eyes peculiar to his race set widely apart, a broad powerful chest, and sinewy limbs, complete the portrait. He was faithful, very idle, and a fair shot. Merry as a child when pleased, but if wronged or annoyed, passionate and revengeful. He spoke the language of the Zulu Kaffirs, had a fair smattering of English, and was a good cook.