252 
AFRICAN HUNTING. 
again to a sense of my utter loneliness and desolation 
— that I must leave all I had in the desert, run all 
risks, and endeavour to reach Lake Ngami on foot. 
The only chance of doing so, that I knew, was by 
following the course of the river, which would have 
been a difficult and arduous task; and then I could 
not bear the thought of leaving Leche to die of 
hunger and thirst in the desert. If you could only 
have seen the little waddling brat come, armed with 
a stick twice as long as himself, to help me kraal the 
oxen, and the way he toddled along to make the calf 
fast, without my ever telling him ! it brought the 
tears into my eyes in spite of myself. He slept at 
my feet, and, poor little fellow ! he also felt a sense 
of loneliness, and knew something was wrong, as he 
kept starting up and feeling for my feet, touching 
them with the greatest gentleness, and then lying 
down again. Thus we passed the night. Two or 
three times I w r as alarmed at hearing footsteps, and 
started up with my gun; but it w r as only the dogs 
walking among the dead leaves. I was up half a 
dozen times to mend the fire. At break of day I 
went to fetch wood and water, and comfort myself 
with a cup of coffee, and give Leche his breakfast, 
and make the oxen loose. Hearing Kaffirs’ voices 
over the river, I went to hail them, and fired, as the 
surest way of bringing them, for they can scent blood 
as far off as a hyena, and are always on the qui vive 
when they hear a shot. It was not long ere I heard 
a canoe cracking through the reeds, and three Kaffirs 
