soup made from the flesh of game, mixed with a little brandy which I
had. But he grew weaker and weaker. Also the wounds in the thigh began
to suppurate.

The Kaffirs whom we had with us were of little use in such a case, so
that all the nursing fell on me. Luckily, beyond a shaking, the
leopard had done me no hurt, and I was very strong in those days.
Still the lack of rest told on me, since I dared not sleep for more
than half an hour or so at a time. At length came a morning when I was
quite worn out. There lay poor Scroope turning and muttering in the
little tent, and there I sat by his side, wondering whether he would
live to see another dawn, or if he did, for how long I should be able
to tend him. I called to a Kaffir to bring me my coffee, and just was
I was lifting the pannikin to my lips with a shaking hand, help came.

It arrived in a very strange shape. In front of our camp were two
thorn trees, and from between these trees, the rays from the rising
sun falling full on him, I saw a curious figure walking towards me in
a slow, purposeful fashion. It was that of a man of uncertain age, for
though the beard and long hair were white, the face was comparatively
youthful, save for the wrinkles round the mouth, and the dark eyes
were full of life and vigour. Tattered garments, surmounted by a torn
kaross or skin rug, hung awkwardly upon his tall, thin frame. On his
feet were veld-schoen of untanned hide, on his back a battered tin
case was strapped, and in his bony, nervous hand he clasped a long
staff made of the black and white wood the natives call /unzimbiti/,
on the top of which was fixed a butterfly net. Behind him were some
Kaffirs who carried cases on their heads.

I knew him at once, since we had met before, especially on a certain