through its shell ; then a partridge poor unprotected 

 thing the wet feathers lying all around, stripped 

 as though a hawk had stricken it, and close behind it 

 all the little brood ; and further afield lay something 

 reddish-brown a buck the large eyes glazed, an ooze 

 of blood upon its lips and nose. He stooped to touch 

 it, but drew back : the dainty little thing was pulp. 



All striving for the sheltering rocks ; all caught 

 and stricken by the ruthless storm ; and he, going 

 on to face it, while others fled before he, blindly 

 fighting on was spared. Was it luck ? Or was there 

 something subtle, more ? He held to this, that more 

 than chance had swayed the guiding hand of fate 

 that fortune holds some gifts in store for those who 

 try ; and faith resurgent moved him to a mute Te 

 Deum, of which no more reached the conscious brain 

 than : "It is good to be alive ! But . . . better 

 so than in the cage." 



Once more, a little of the fortune that he had come 

 to seek ! 



At sunset, passing down the long rough gorge, he 

 came upon one battling with the flood to save his 

 all the white man struggling with the frightened 

 beasts ; the kaffir swept from off his feet ; the mad 

 bewildered oxen yielding to the stream and heading 

 downwards towards the falls and in their utmost 

 need the Boy swam in and helped ! 



And there the long slow ebb was stayed : the Boy 

 was worth his food. 



12 



