LETTER XL 125 



Toma, rising and going on. The noise in the 

 timber had drawn my companion's keen eyes 

 downhill, so that it was lucky that I was not 

 trusting to him entirely, or I should not have 

 caught a glimpse of two great white sterns on a 

 little plateau above us before it was too late. 

 To clutch the little fellow in front of me by the 

 waist-belt and drag blue shirt and tall grass-hat 

 unceremoniously in a heap to the ground was 

 the work of instinct. 



To the indignant protest of his face, two 

 fingers held up, and the whispered words, ' Sheep, 

 hyas sheep, selokwha hyas !' (Very, very big 

 ones) was sufficient answer, and next moment 

 you could see the very soles of his moccasins 

 trembling with excitement as he lay peering 

 through the heather at the six rams we had 



o 



seen earlier in the morning, feeding now in happy 

 ignorance of their danger. 



Toma is a splendid little Indian, not one of your 

 lazy red-skinned louts who care only for the 

 dollars and the 'broil' in the embers when the 

 day's work is done, but a keen little sportsman, 

 eager for blood as a terrier, and full of sympathy 

 for another's keenness. But this time I meant 

 to do the whole thing myself. I had found the 

 rams, and I meant to stalk them and kill them 

 in my own way, or lose them altogether. So I 



