"How came you here?" asked Oscar as soon as he could speak.

He straightened up and took a good look at the hunter, and this is what he saw: A thick-set, broad-shouldered man, a gentleman on the face of him, dressed in a suit of white duck, cut in regular Boer style. His short jacket was open in front, showing the broad belt he wore about his waist and in which he carried his ammunition—at least Oscar thought so, for he saw a large powder-horn sticking out of one of his pockets. He wore a wide-brimmed hat on his head, and as much of his face as could be seen over his whiskers was as brown as sole-leather.

He carried a heavy double-barrelled rifle across the horn of his saddle, and rode a magnificent horse, whose glossy breast was flecked with foam, showing that he had been ridden long and rapidly.

Close behind the stranger, on another horse that looked equally as good, sat his Hottentot after-rider, who also carried a heavy rifle in his hands.

The hunter's face wore a good-natured smile, and there was a merry twinkle in his eye. He evidently enjoyed Oscar's surprise.

"Who are you?" continued the boy.

"Seeing that you have had the impudence to bag my game, I think that is a proper question for me to ask," was the reply.

"I beg your pardon, sir," said Oscar, who had by this time fully recovered himself. "I supposed this gnu had been started by my own dogs. I didn't know that there was another white person within two days' journey of this place."

"Gnu!" repeated the stranger. "I haven't heard that word before in years. You are not English?"

"No, sir. I am an American."

"Ah, indeed!" exclaimed the hunter, now astonished in his turn. "And what in the world are you doing out here, so far from home, may I ask?"

"I came here to procure specimens of natural history for a university museum," answered Oscar.

He expected that the hunter would be surprised, and he certainly was. Everybody was surprised when the boy told what his business was. Probably no one of his years had ever been engaged in such an undertaking before.

"You did!" exclaimed the horseman.

"Yes, sir, I did," replied Oscar, who thought his new acquaintance looked a little incredulous. "And I have the papers to prove it."

"Where are your companions?"

"They are with the wagon. If you will ride on with me until I outspan I shall be glad to have you drink coffee with me. Of course this is your game, you having had the first shot at it, but, if you will permit me, I will put it into my wagon and save you the trouble of carrying it."

The horseman made no reply. The wagon came up just then, and while Paddy O'Brian and the Kaffir were putting the wilde-beest into it the strange hunter looked all around, as if he were searching for something or somebody he could not find. When the wagon moved on again Oscar mounted his horse and rode on ahead, in company with his new acquaintance.

"Where did you say your companions were?" the latter asked at length.

"These are all I have," answered Oscar—"a driver, fore-loper, interpreter, and cook."

The stranger was greatly amazed.

"Do you mean to tell me that you are the owner of this wagon and the leader of this expedition?" said he.

"I do, sir."

"And you, a mere lad, who has hardly got out of pinafores, have come out here all by yourself to—— It beats everything I ever heard of!"

"I have got on very well so far, sir, although I have taken but very few specimens. You see, I don't know how to hunt the game one finds here, but I do know right where I can go to get instructions. Do you know a gentleman living somewhere in this country of the name of Lawrence?"

"I have a slight acquaintance with him."

Oscar looked at the stranger. There was something in the tone of his voice and in the expression of his face which told him that he was at that moment in the company of the man he wanted to see.

Hastily excusing himself, he rode back to the wagon, climbed into it, and took from one of the pockets a package of letters, with which he galloped back to his companion's side.

"Mr. Lawrence," said he, "my name is Oscar Preston, and there are letters of introduction to you which some of your friends were kind enough to give me."

The gentleman took the letters and read them as he rode along. When he had made himself master of their contents he turned in his saddle and shook the young hunter's hand.

"I am glad to see you, and I give you a hearty welcome," said he.

Then he issued some hasty orders in Dutch to his after-rider, who wheeled his horse and hastened back to the wagon.

"My house is only ten miles away," continued Mr. Lawrence, "and I have sent word to your driver not to outspan until he gets there. I confess that I am very greatly surprised at your—your—I was going to say foolhardiness; but no one can be called foolhardy who goes coolly and deliberately about a thing after he has counted well the cost, so I will say your courage and perseverance. I supposed, of course, that you had some person of years and experience with you to superintend matters. Young man, you have already done wonders, and if you keep on as you have begun there is no telling what you may not accomplish before you pass along this track again on your way to the coast. There is plenty of game about here belonging to the order Ruminantia. I suppose you know what I mean by that?"

"Certainly, sir. You mean animals that chew the cud."

"Exactly. You can see for yourself that there are plenty of them, and you must stay with me as my guest until you learn how to hunt them. It will give me great pleasure to assist you in any way I can. You will find that I am something of a naturalist as well as a hunter. Of the Carnivora——"

"They are the flesh-eaters," said Oscar when his companion paused and looked at him.

"Well, we don't have many of them here, and you will have to take your chances with them when you find them, for it is little that I can tell you about them."

Oscar was soon on the best of terms with his new friend, who chatted away as familiarly as though he had known the boy all his life.

In about three hours they reached Mr. Lawrence's house; and if we were to say that Oscar was surprised at the sight of it we should but feebly express his feelings.

Here, in the midst of a wilderness more than fifty miles from any neighbor, the English gentleman had created a perfect little paradise.

The road led through an extensive orchard of orange, apple, plum, peach, and walnut trees, and after that came a vineyard that was fairly purple with grapes.

At the lower end of the lawn, which must have contained a hundred acres, was a large pond sheltered by weeping-willows and covered with ducks and geese.

The house was in perfect keeping with its surroundings. It was a large, roomy structure, well built, and furnished in a style which made Oscar wonder.

The first room into which he was conducted was the library—think of a library in the heart of Africa!—and there he remained until Mr. Lawrence brought in his wife and children, who greeted the visitor in the most cordial manner.

This was the first taste of civilized life that Oscar had had along the route outside of the towns he passed, and he thoroughly enjoyed it.

It seemed like old times to find himself seated at a farmer's table once more, and to have educated and refined people to talk to. But when he went to bed his trouble began. His couch was too soft and he could not sleep.

After rolling and tossing for half the night he spread one of the quilts on the floor, and in five minutes more was in dreamland.

Oscar spent a month under Mr. Lawrence's hospitable roof, and during that time he received all the instructions he needed. What they were it is not necessary to tell here, for we shall learn something about them when we find him alone on the plain, dependent on his own resources and surrounded by wild beasts which disturbed his camp every night, and often did something worse.

He made some improvements in his new friend's stuffed specimens, gave him lessons in taxidermy, and Mr. Lawrence, in return, presented him with two of his fine Scotch deer-hounds.

One of these went back to Eaton with him and took the place of Bugle, who died of old age during his master's absence, and the other—well, Oscar did not keep him a great while, and we shall soon tell how he lost him.

One bright morning Oscar, with many regrets, took leave of his kind host and his family and resumed his journey. The oxen, invigorated by their long rest, walked off in the most lively manner with the heavy wagon, which had been thoroughly overhauled by Mr. Lawrence's blacksmith.

He was bound for new hunting-grounds, far beyond Leichtberg, at which place Paddy O'Brian was to take leave of him.