A FALSE ALARM. 135 



On the following day I got a long halter with a bowling- 

 kiiot at the end, and cantered this same horse over my 

 journey of yesterday, as I thought it possible that I might 

 find the skin of the hartebeest fit to take away. As I came 

 near, however, I gave up this hope, for I saw a vulture 

 sailing over my head in the same direction in which I was 

 going; I looked up, and saw another and another. When I 

 came near the carcase, I saw a regular inquest sitting 

 there, a dozen vultures at least, most of them gorged to 

 repletion, while others were fighting for bits of the skin. 

 Seeing that there was nothing left for my share, I 

 withdrew. 



During the shooting trip with the Boers, I awoke 

 before daybreak, and as I felt very cold and not inclined 

 to sleep, I got up, and taking my gun, walked to a little 

 ravine, out of which a clear murmuring stream flashed in 

 the moonlight and ran close past our outspan. A little 

 distance up this kloof the fog was dense and thick, the 

 blue and pink streaks of the morning light were 

 beginning to illumine the peaks of the Draakensberg, 

 but all immediately around us still acknowledged the 

 supremacy of the pale moonlight. I wanted to see the 

 sun rise in this lonely region, and watch the changing 

 effects which its arrival would produce on the mountains 

 and plains around. 



Suddenly I heard a hoarse cough, and, on turning, saw 

 indistinctly in the fog a queer little old man standing near 

 and looking at me. I instinctively cocked my gun, as the 

 idea of Bushmen and poisoned arrows flashed across my 

 mind. The old man instantly dropped on his hands, 



