Naturally the curiosity of his audience was at once excited.

trader, Smallfield, spoke first.

The younger

"Why, George," he said, "I never heard you speak of that country. I never even knew you had been in it. What's the yarn? It must be something out of the common if it gives you the blues. You're not sentimental, as far as I remember." “No, Jim,” returned Kenstone, "I never mentioned the thing to you or to any one else, bar, perhaps, two or three folks. It's eleven years gone since it all happened. My old partner, Angus (he's down in the Colony now), who was with me at the time, knows all about it, and I reported some of the circumstances to a Transvaal Landdrost when we got back. Otherwise I have never talked about the matter-I should only be chaffed, and it's not a pleasant topic at the best of times. It gave me a very nasty schrijk* at the time, I remember. However, it's all far enough away now; if you and these gentlemen would like to hear the yarn, as it's Christmas-time, and we're so well met, why, I'll break my rule and tell you all about it. And mind, what I tell you are solid facts. You know I don't 'blow,' Jim, or spout tall yarns for the benefit of down-country folks or bar-loafers at Kimberley. What I saw I saw, and, please God, hope never to see again."

All were as keen as mustard for the story, and Kenstone went on.

"Well, let me fill my pipe, and give me another soupje of whiskey, and” (nodding a health to his hearers over his glass) "here goes:—

"It was in '74 that Angus and I were making our third trip to the Lake N'gami country. This time we had got leave from Khama to trade and hunt in Mababé and the Chobe River country; and we meant to push even beyond, to the region between the Sunta and the Okavango, if the fever would let us. We made a good trek of it across the 'thirst'-there had been very late rains that year-and even after crossing the Lake river we made good travelling well on towards the Mababé flat. We heard from the Makobas and Masarwas along the river that there was still some water standing in the bush on our right hand, that there were elephant in there, and that other game was abundant. It is not often that this veldt is accessible-from scarcity of water-and it seemed good enough to quit the waggon road for a time, and try the bush for ivory. Before reaching Scio Pans, therefore, we turned right-handed, and struck into the bush with one waggon-the other, in charge of our head driver, being sent on to the water, there to await our coming.

"We had some Masarwa bushmen with us, and they were as keen as hawks at the prospect of showing us heavy game, and getting a liberal supply of flesh. Northward we trekked steadily through wild desolate country for the best part of one day, and outspanned by a desert pool for the night. Here we were greatly disappointed to find no spoor of elephant, although giraffe, ostrich, gemsbok and hartebeest were fairly plentiful. Next day at dawn we again pushed doggedly on, Angus and I taking different directions, and riding some miles ahead of the waggon on the look-out for elephant-spoor. I rode behind a Masarwa at a steady pace all morning without finding the least sign of the game we wanted, and, after an off-saddle at midday, once more pushed on in a north-westerly direction.

"Rather suddenly we came upon a klompje of giraffe, and as the elephants seemed very much in the air and we wanted meat, I rammed the spurs in and galloped headlong for the kameels. It was desperately hot, and we were shut up in thick thorny bush in which not a breath of wind stirred, and I consequently had not got my coat on. The beast I rode for, a fat, fresh young cow, led me a pretty dance of two miles, hell for leather, at a terrific pace through the very thorniest jungle she could pick ; † Camels. The Boer term for giraffe.

*

Fright.

and although I presently ranged close up to her rump, and with my third bullet (firing from my horse) brought her down with a crash, she had taken pretty heavy toll of me. My flannel shirt was torn to ribbons, and my chest and shoulders were rarely gashed about. Never hunt camel,' gentlemen, in thick bush without a stout coat on; that's the advice of an old veldt-man, and it's worth remembering. I ought to have known better that day, but I was not prepared for game at that particular

moment.

"Well, I stuck my knife into the cow's back and found her well covered with fat, and the Masarwa coming up soon after, we set to work to skin and cut her up. Presently, having fastened about twenty pounds of meat to my saddle, and carrying the long, prehensile tongue dangling far below my belt, I saddled up, leaving the Masarwa, who had a calabash of water, to finish the job and wait for the waggon to pick him up next morning.

"I myself took a sweep north-north-east, with the intention of working round to the waggon before sundown.

It

"I had not left the Masarwa half an hour, when I suddenly, to my intense surprise, cut the spoor of a waggon running pretty well east and west, and going westward. was not fresh, but at the same time not very old either. It might have been a month or two old at most. 'Now,' thought I, 'what in the mischief does this mean?' Very few hunters use this veldt. I knew Khama had sent no waggons that way this season, and the only white man in front of us this year was Dirk Starreberg, one of the few Dutch hunters to whom Khama gave permission to hunt in his veldt. Starreberg's waggon it could only be. And yet it struck me as strange that Dirk, whom I knew well-for he was a noted interior hunter-should be trekking in this veldt. He was, I knew, bound for the Victoria Falls. Probably, like ourselves, enticed by the

unwonted water supply and the possibility of a slap at the elephants, he had turned off somewhere between Nata river and Daka, and pushed across for the Chobé. Thus reasoning, I turned my horse's head, and, with the westering sun now on my right flank, struck homeward for the waggon. I rode on for half a mile, and then came another strange thing. As I crossed an open glade I saw coming towards me the figure of a man. I knew in a moment who it was. The slouching walk, the big, burly form, the vast red beard, the rifle carried-as Dirk always carried his-by the muzzle end, with the stock poised behind his shoulder-it was none but Dirk Starreberg himself. But there was something amiss with him. He looked worn and troubled, almost distraught, it seemed to me, at that distance; and he gazed neither to right nor left of him, but passed hurriedly and very swiftly in front of me at a distance of about eighty paces.

"Hallo! Dirk!' I shouted. 'Allemagtig! war loup jij? Wacht een bitje, Dirk!' (Almighty! where are you off to? Wait a little, Dirk!) To my utter astonishment, the man took not the slightest notice, but passed on. I became indignant, and yelled, ‘Dirk, Dirk, have you no manners? It's me, George Kenstone. I want you. Stop!' Still the man passed on. In another moment he had reached the bush again. He turned now, beckoned to me with his right hand, and, in another instant, had disappeared into the low forest.

"I was extremely annoyed, and after staring like a fool for a second or two, struck in spurs rather sharply and galloped after him. I was not three seconds in reaching the bush where he had entered, but, to my surprise, Dirk had vanished. I searched hither and thither, shouted-aye, swore-but still no Dirk. I came back, at length, to the point where I had last seen the Boer. Surprise No. 3. There was my own spoor as plain as a pikestaff in the red sand, but of Dirk Starreberg not one trace of spoor was to be seen!

"Now, spoor, as you all know, is a thing that never lies. I had seen Dirk cross the clearing and enter the bush at this point. Where were his tracks? I got off my horse and hunted carefully every bit of the way across the glade where I had seen Dirk pass. I am a reasonable good veldt-man, but-so help me God!-I never could find one trace of the man's spoor, this way or that. I rubbed my eyes. It was incomprehensible. I searched again and again, carefully and methodically, with the same result. There was always my own and my horse's spoor, but no one else's.

By this time I was not a little bothered. There must be some infernal mystery which I could not fathom. My eyesight had never yet failed me. It was broad daylight, and I was neither asleep, nor dreaming, nor drunk. An old childish superstition crept for an instant upon my mind, to be instantly cast aside. And yet the flesh, even of grown manhood, is weak. I remember distinctly that I shivered, blazing hot as was the afternoon. The bush seemed very still and lonely, and I am bound to say it suddenly struck me it was time to move for the waggon. I got on to my good nag, walked him away, and presently set him into a brisk canter, which I only once slackened till I made the camp, just at sundown, a couple of hours later. "I told Angus what I had seen. He laughed, and told me I had evidently missed the spoor, although he admitted that it was strange that Dirk had made no sign when I hailed him; and next morning we moved on rapidly, picked up the meat of the dead giraffe, and then a little later struck the waggon-spoor I had found yesterday. This we followed briskly until four o'clock p.m., when we came upon an old outspan, and discovery No. 4.

"Here was a good-sized water-pit in limestone formation. There were the remains of the camp-fire; and it was evident, from several indications, that the waggon,

whosever it was, had stood at least two days at this spot. The kameel-doorn trees * grew pretty thickly all around, and there was a good deal of bush, and altogether it was a sequestered, silent spot. Lying by the largest of the dead fires was an object that instantly quickened our interest in the mystery we were unravelling the skeleton of a man, clean-picked by the foul vultures, but apparently untouched by hyænas or jackals. There were still the tattered remains of clothing upon it, and one veldtschoen-a Boer veldtschoen-upon the right foot. I turned over the poor bleached framework to try and discover some inkling of its end. As I did so, out pattered from the skull on to the sand a solid Martini-Henry bullet, slightly flattened on one side of its apex, manifestly from impact with some bone it had encountered

*Giraffe acacias.

probably a cheek-bone.

A closer scrutiny revealed a big hole in rear of the skull,

just behind the right ear. "By George!' exclaimed Angus, who was bending over me, 'there's been foul play here. That shot was fired at pretty close quarters.'

"I nodded, and at that instant my Masarwa, who had been searching about near us, picked up and brought me a bunch of long red hair.

"So help me God!' I could not help exclaiming, that's from Dirk Starreberg's beard, for any money. He has been murdered here--that's certain. If it was an accident, they would have buried him. The question is, who is the murderer?'

“We hunted about, but found no more traces, except the other veldtschoen and the remains of a Dutchman's broad-brimmed hat. We outspanned for the night, and sat down to think it over and have a pipe while supper was being got ready.

“Angus,' I said, 'I don't half like things. There's some dark riddle here. The figure I saw yesterday afternoon was Dirk Starreberg's. I knew him well and never could mistake him. And, strangely enough, he was heading, when I last saw him, for this very spot. If I believed in ghosts, which I don't, I should say I had seen Dirk's spook. What do you make of it all? I'm beginning to think I'm dreaming, or going dotty. It beats me altogether.'

"Well,' returned Angus, in his quaint way, 'it's the most extreeordinary rum go I ever heard of. We'd better trek on in the morning, first thing, and see what else we can discover. Those are Dirk's bones undoubtedly; we must try and do something for the poor chap, though he is dead.'

"I don't know what was wrong that night, but several times the oxen were startled, and sprang to their feet; and the nags-fastened up to the waggon-wheels-were desperately scared once or twice, and pulled at their riems as though they must break them; the dogs, too, barked, and howled, and behaved very strangely. And yet no lions were near us. Once or twice we looked out, but saw nothing. All of us, masters and boys, were uncomfortable, we could hardly explain why; and the men undoubtedly knew nothing of what I had seen the day before.

“At dawn, next morning, we were not sorry to inspan and trek, and, following the old waggon-spoor, we pushed on, determined, if possible, to get to the bottom of the affair. All that day and all the next we toiled on, only outspanning once or twice during the daytime—and, at night, by water, to rest and refresh the oxen for a few hours. At last, an hour before sunset of the second day, Angus and I, who were riding ahead of the waggon, spied suddenly among some kameel-doorn trees the tent of a waggon, to which we cantered. Suddenly, as we reined up, the fore-clap was cast aside, and a wild figure of a woman appeared and scrambled down from the waggon-box. It was Vrouw Starreberg, but terribly, sadly altered from the stout, if somewhat grim, goodwife I had last seen a couple of years before. Her dark stuff dress was torn and cut about by the thorn-bushes; her erst fat, smooth face-broad though it still was-was lined and haggard, and terribly fallen away; but, above all, there was a rolling vacancy, a wildness, in her eye, that made me fear at once for her reason. Under one arm she clasped tightly a big Bible, and never, in the subsequent days that we were together, did she once relinquish it. It seemed that some terrible calamity had overturned her reason.

"Whence come ye, George Kenstone?' (she had known me well for years), she cried, in a harsh, high pitched scream, very painful to listen to. 'Take me out of this desert and back to my home. I have been cast away these six weeks, able to move neither hand nor foot for freedom. The man I called husband is dead, and my servants have fled, and the oxen are gone the Lord knows where.'