Kneeling down, Patrick Keown placed his ear to the ground; and after a lengthened pause, replied: "They're horses, shure enough, sorr; but, by the beat of their gallop, I fear there's never a sowl on their backs. No, sorr, there's no doubt about that," he presently added. "And they're slackening pace now." At that moment, as if to prove the truth of the ex-sergeant's words, two riderless horses cantered quickly up, and halted a few paces from the camp fire; they were those upon which Tom and George had ridden after the hartebeest in the morning! The Major and Mr Weston stared at each other in consternation. The horses were covered with sweat and dirt, and their distended nostrils and heaving, foam-flecked flanks bore silent but convincing testimony that they must have travelled some distance at a stretching gallop; whilst one of them--George's grey--had an ugly wound on his near shoulder. "Mat," said Mr Weston huskily, his face betraying his agitation and alarm, "the poor lads must have come to grief--possibly they have been attacked, and--and murdered by natives!" "I trust not, my dear Maurice; nay, I am sure that such is not the case," answered the Major. "In the first place, the natives would have been nearly certain to secure the horses; and in the second place--" "This wound in the grey's shoulder was inflicted by a wild baste, not a human cratur," interrupted Keown, who had caught George's horse. "Look ye, Misther Weston, there are the marks of the brute's claws as plain as a pike-staff." "There's no mistake about it," said Major Flinders, stooping down and examining the grey's shoulder; "this is a tiger's work. Maurice," he added, "you and Patrick Keown must remain here, whilst I take William and go in search of the poor boys." "I would rather go with you, Mat," replied the other. "No, old friend, do you remain here, the Hottentot is an admirable `tracker,' and I could not do without him. Patrick, saddle up at once." A couple of horses were quickly saddled, and Major Flinders and Black William mounted. "Is there any hope, Mat?" whispered Mr Weston, as he wrung his friend's hand at parting. "We must hope for the best, Maurice," was the doubtful reply. It was a bright moonlight night, and the Hottentot had no difficulty in following the back track of the horses, as he and his master went over the ground at a hand-gallop. The Major's heart was heavy, for he feared the worst; and for some time he rode along in silence. "What think you, William?" said he at length. "Is there any hope that the young gentlemen are alive?" Black William shook his woolly head, saying: "I think tiger pull Baas George from his horse, and dat Baas Tom try to save him. But tiger too strong for yong baas to fight."