“You are eating nothing, Halket,” said the Englishman, cheerily, looking back. “I am not hungry now,” he said. After a while he took out his red handkerchief, and emptied carefully into it the contents of the plate; and tied it up into a bundle. He set it beside him on the ground, and again lay on his elbow. “You won’t come nearer to the fire, Halket?’ asked the Englishman. “No, thank you, the night is warm.” After a while Peter Halket took out from his belt a small hunting knife with a rough wooden handle. A small flat stone lay near him, and he passed the blade slowly up and down on it, now and then taking it up, and feeling the edge with his finger. After a while he put it back in his belt, and rose slowly, taking up his small bundle and walked away to the tent. “He’s had a pretty stiff day,” said the Colonial. “I expect he’s glad enough to turn in.” Then all the men round the fire chatted freely over his concerns. Would the Captain stick to his word tomorrow? Was Halket going to do it? Had the Captain any right to tell one man off for the work, instead of letting them fire a volley? One man said he would do it gladly in Halket’s place, if told off; why had he made such a fool of himself? So they chatted till nine o’clock, when the Englishman and Colonial left to turn in. They found Halket asleep, close to the side of the tent, with his face turned to the canvas. And they lay down quietly that they might not disturb him. At ten o’clock all the camp was asleep, excepting the two men told off to keep guard; who paced from one end of the camp to the other to keep themselves awake; or stood chatting by the large fire, which still burnt at one end. In the Captain’s tent a light was kept burning all night, which shone through the thin canvas sides, and shed light on the ground about; but, for the rest, the camp was dead and still. By half-past one the moon had gone down, and there was left only a blaze of stars in the great African sky.