d.y.k.e examined the dead beast, and thought he should like the skin, which was in beautiful condition; but he had plenty of other things to think of, and hurried back to the house, followed by Duke, to see how his brother was.

There was no change: Emson was sleeping; and, reloading his piece, the boy went out once more to see to the ostriches, which seemed in a sorry condition, and as he fed them, he felt as if he would like to set the melancholy-looking creatures free.

"But Joe wouldn't like it when he gets better," thought d.y.k.e; and at last he returned to the house to find a pail half full of milk standing at the door, while the smoke rising from behind the building showed that Tanta had lit a fire.

The boy's spirits rose, for the misery and solitude of his position did not seem so bad now, and on walking round to the front of the shed-like lodge, he found the woman ready to look up laughingly, as she kneaded up some meal for a cake.

"Where did you get that?" cried d.y.k.e.

"Wagon," said the woman promptly. "Jack get mealie wagon. Jack tief.

Tanta Sal get mealie for baas."

"Yes, that's right; but you should ask me. But, look here, Tant, Jack shan't come here. You understand?"

"Jack tief," cried the woman angrily, and jumping up from her knees she ran into the lodge, and came back with an old wagon wheel spoke in her floury hands, flourished it about, and made some fierce blows.

"Dat for Jack," she said, laughing, nodding, and then putting the stout cudgel back again, and returning to go on preparing the cake for breakfast, the kettle being already hanging in its place.

d.y.k.e nodded and went away, and in an hour's time he was seated at a meal at which there was hot bread and milk, fried bacon and eggs, and a glorious feeling of hope in his breast; for poor Emson, as he lay there, had eaten and drunk all that was given him, and was sleeping once more.

"Bother the old ostriches!" cried d.y.k.e, as he looked down eagerly at the sick man. "We can soon get some more, or do something else. We shan't starve. You're mending fast, Joe, or you couldn't have eaten like that; and if you get well, what does it matter about anything else? Only you might look at a fellow as if you knew him, and just say a few words."

Emson made no sign; but his brother was in the best of spirits, and found himself whistling while he was feeding the ostriches, starting up, though, in alarm as a shadow fell upon the ground beside him.

But it was only Tanta Sal, who looked at him, smiling the while.

"Jack tief," she said; "teal mealie."

"Yes, I know," cried d.y.k.e, nodding.

"Jack tief," said Tanta again. "Kill, hit stritch."

"What!" cried d.y.k.e.

"Tant feed. Jack knock kopf."

"What! Jack knock the young ostriches on the head?"

"Ooomps!" grunted the woman, and picking up a stone, she took hold of the neck of an imaginary young ostrich, and gave it a thump on the head with the stone, then looked up at d.y.k.e and laughed.

"The beast!" he cried indignantly.

"Ooomps! Jack tief."

Tanta looked sharply round, then ran to where some ostrich bones lay, picked clean by the ants, and stooping down, took something from the ground, and ran back to hand d.y.k.e the skull of a young bird, pointing with one black finger at a dint in the bone.

"Jack," she said laconically--"Jack no want stritch."

"No wonder our young birds didn't live," thought d.y.k.e. Then to the woman, as he pointed to the skull: "Find another one!"

Tanta nodded, showed her white teeth, ran off, and returned in a few minutes with two, d.y.k.e having in the meantime found a skull with the same mark upon it, the bone dinted in as if by a round stone.

Both of those the woman brought were in the same condition, and she picked up a good-sized pebble and tapped it against the depression, showing that the injury must have been done in that way.

"Yes, that's it, sure enough," said d.y.k.e thoughtfully; "and we knew no better, but fancied that it was disease."

He looked glum and disappointed for a few moments, and then brightened as he took the gun from where he had stood it against a fence.

"Look," he said, tapping it. "If Jack comes, I'll shoot;" and he added to himself: "I will too. I'll pepper him with the smallest shot I've got."

"Yes; ooomps," said the woman, nodding her head approvingly; "Jack say Baas Joe die. Have all mealie, all cow, all bull-bull, all everyting.-- Baas Joe not go die?"

"No."

"No," a.s.sented the woman, smiling. "Tanta top. Tant don't want um any more. Tief. Shoot Jack. No kill."

"Oh no! I won't kill him; but don't let him come here again."

d.y.k.e went back to the house in the highest of spirits.

"It's all right," he said to himself. "We know now why the ostriches didn't get on. Nice sort of disease that. Oh! I do wish I had caught the n.i.g.g.e.r at it. But never mind, Joe's getting on; and as soon as I can leave him, I'll hunt out some more nests, and we'll begin all over again, and--"

The boy stopped just inside the door, trembling, for as he appeared, the very ghost of a voice whispered feebly:

"That you, little un? How long you have been." The next moment d.y.k.e was on his knees by the rough couch, holding one of the thin hands in his and trying to speak; but it was as if something had seized him by the throat, for not a word would come.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

BLACK SHADOWS.

"What has been the matter, young un?" piped Emson feebly. "I say, don't look like that. Have I had a fall from my horse? I can't lift my hand."

d.y.k.e told him at last as he clung to that hand, and Emson's face grew more and more troubled.

"Don't," he whispered excitedly--"don't stop. You--you may catch--the fever--too."

"What!" cried d.y.k.e, with a forced laugh, "me catch the fever! Well, who cares? I don't. Bother! Who's going to catch it, old chap? Why, I should have caught it a hundred times before now."

"You--you've been--nursing me?"

"I've been here, but it hasn't been much of nursing," cried d.y.k.e, laughing in a half-choking way, as his breast swelled with joy. "I've fed you with a spoon and washed your face. Oh Joe, old man, you've been just like a big, stupid old baby."

"And have I been ill long?"

"Yes, ever so long. I was a terrible while before I got back, because the little river out yonder was flooded, and when I did come, I--I--I-- oh Joe, old chap, I do feel so happy once more."