"What in the world is the matter with those horses?"

Oscar had just finished writing up his diary, and was getting ready to tumble into his cot. The camp, which had been made in the edge of a little grove a quarter of a mile from the nearest water-hole, had been put in order for the night.

The trek-tow was stretched from one of the hind wheels of the wagon to a tree that stood twenty yards away, and to this the oxen were tied. The horses were fastened to the rear of the vehicle, and under it were all the dogs and three goats which Oscar had purchased of Mr. Lawrence.

Paddy O'Brian was sitting on the dissel-boom smoking his pipe. A little distance away a fire was burning brightly, and around it were seated the Kaffir interpreter and the two Hottentots, who had erected a high fence of thorn bushes to protect them from the attack of any hungry beast which might be disposed to make a meal of one of their number.

It was the first time they had taken this precaution, and when Oscar saw them building the fence he told himself that at last he had got into a country in which dangerous animals abounded.

The reader will bear in mind that when our hero hunted in Africa game was by no means as plenty as it was in Gordon Cumming's day.

The settlers, who increased in numbers every year, made savage war upon the antelope to supply their tables, and upon the beasts of prey to protect their flocks and herds, and now it was a rare thing to find any very dangerous animal between Zurnst and the coast. Consequently Oscar had thus far been allowed to pass his nights in peace.

The building of that fence of thorn bushes, however, was as good evidence as he needed to show him that he might begin to expect trouble now, and, in fact, it came that very night.

While he was writing in his diary, by the dim light of a lantern, using the fore-chest for a desk, Little Gray and his mate suddenly began pulling at their halters, and snorting as if they were greatly alarmed about something, whereupon the men about the fire brought their conversation to a close, and the Kaffir arose and peered into the darkness.

"Now, then, what's the matter with the cattle?" exclaimed Oscar, who knew by the sudden jar communicated to the wagon that the oxen had also become alarmed, and were pulling at the trek-tow. "If there is any varmint about why don't the dogs say so? Go out there and speak to the horses, Paddy, and I will look around a bit."

After putting his writing materials away in one of the pockets that hung against the arches by which the tent was supported Oscar picked up a rifle, and made the circuit of the camp, much to the surprise and dismay of his native servants, one of whom called out in his broken English:

"Hi, baas! you'd best have a care. Something might spring out at you."

It was rather a dangerous proceeding to stroll around in the darkness, so far away from the protecting glare of the camp-fire, and the thought that possibly there might be some beast of prey loitering about, waiting for his supper, made the boy's heart beat a little faster than usual; but his hand was as steady as a rock.

He had unbounded confidence in himself. He knew that he seldom missed his aim, and he calculated to make a specimen of the first animal that showed himself.

He walked around the camp without seeing anything (there was something there that saw him, however, and made all haste to get out of his way), and as the horses and oxen had by this time become quiet he climbed into the wagon and went to sleep.

About midnight a terrible hubbub arose. The first thing that Oscar heard was the bleating of one of the goats that were tied under the wagon.

Then the dogs barked vociferously, the horses snorted and tried hard to escape from their fastenings, the oxen bellowed and pulled at the trek-tow, and the native servants shouted in chorus, and ran toward the wagon, waving aloft the blazing brands they had snatched from the fire.

Oscar, always cool and collected, sprang out of his cot and caught up a rifle, while Paddy O'Brian—who had doubtless been dreaming of Donnybrook Fair—rolled off the fore-chest, with his ready stick in his hand. It is probable that he had heard of the instructions given by one of his countrymen to a novice during a riot, "Whenever you see a head hit it," for he carried it out to the very letter.

"Hurrouch!" yelled Paddy, striking up a war-dance, and twirling his stick in his hand. "Sorra one of me knows what the foight is about, but take that, ye spalpeen!"

As he uttered these words he brought his stick down in the most approved fashion, and it landed on the head of Big Thompson (who just then came rushing up with a firebrand in one hand and an assegai in the other), flooring him in an instant.

Had it been a white man's head the consequences might have been serious; but the Kaffir's thick skull was his protection. He was on his feet again in a twinkling, and the honest Irishman was never before so near death as he was when the native drew back his spear in readiness for a throw.

"Hould aisy, ye blackguard!" cried Paddy, who was now wide awake.

At that instant Oscar Preston sprang between him and the enraged Kaffir, and the native, cowed by his employer's bold front, and not liking the looks of the rifle he held in his hands, all ready for a shot, lowered his spear and walked back to the fire.

The next thing was to ascertain the cause of the disturbance. One of the goats was missing; that fact was established at once, for the piteous bleatings of the poor animal could be heard growing fainter and fainter as the daring robber hurried away.

All attempt at rescue would have been unavailing, and, to tell the truth, Oscar did not think of making any.

The night was pitch dark, and the actions of the dogs, which followed close upon the heels of the robber and barked at him, but dared not lay hold of him, made the boy believe that the animal was one that had better be left alone.

What species he belonged to Oscar, of course, could not tell, but everything proved that he had been very sly about his work.

He had taken his prey from under the very noses of the sleeping dogs, and neither they nor the horses or oxen knew that there was anything wrong until they were alarmed by the bleating of the goat.

"He must have been a powerful as well as a cunning beast," thought Oscar as he examined the broken rope, which was almost as large as a clothes line. "That goat must have weighed sixty or seventy pounds. When Mr. Lawrence gave me those hounds he assured me that they would attack anything from a porcupine to a leopard; but they didn't dare take hold of this fellow. Where was he, I wonder, while I was walking about the camp? Whew! I don't want anything to do with such a varmint in the dark."

The dogs came in one after another; and when quiet had been restored Oscar went to bed again.

It was a long time before Big Thompson forgave the Irishman for knocking him down. He looked savagely at Paddy whenever the latter came near him, and muttered something between his clenched teeth, and it took a good share of Paddy's tobacco to restore the Kaffir to his usual good nature.

After this nothing worthy of interest happened until the wagon reached Leichtberg, where Paddy O'Brian was to leave Oscar's employ.

Oscar had letters of introduction to Mr. Evans, an English gentleman living in Leichtberg, and, as usual, he was cordially received.

During the progress of one of his conversations with Mr. Evans, who, like all the rest of those whose acquaintance he had made since leaving his native land, was an ardent and experienced sportsman, Oscar spoke of the loss of his goat, and asked what sort of an animal it was that carried it off.

"It was a hyena—a spotted hyena—the pest of this country," replied his host. "It was well for your dogs that they did not take hold of him, for he would have made mince-meat of the whole pack before they could have yelped twice. In point of cunning and rapacity, the spotted hyena surpasses every beast of prey in Africa. I except nothing. An animal that can take a child out of its mother's arms when both are asleep, and get away with it without alarming anybody, would not have much difficulty in stealing a goat from under a wagon, would he?"

Oscar could only look the surprise that these words occasioned.

"What I am about to tell you I know to be a fact, although you will scarcely credit it," continued Mr. Evans. "When I first came to this country wolves, as we call them here, were in the habit of paying regular nightly visits to the streets of Cape Town, and it was not so very long ago that their howling (the cries they utter sound more like laughing than howling, and for that reason they are sometimes called laughing hyenas) was heard from Table Mountain.

"In the Kaffir country they are so numerous and daring that they make a business of entering the villages of the natives and carrying off young children. When a native builds a house, which is in form something like an old-fashioned straw bee-hive, the floor is raised two or three feet from the ground, and covers only part of the house—the back part. In the space between this raised floor and the door, which is nothing but a piece of antelope hide, the calves are tied every night, for protection from the storms and from wild beasts. Now you would suppose that when a wolf got into one of these houses he would grab the first thing he came to, but he won't do it. He'll not look at lambs or calves if he has once tasted human flesh. He will pass them without alarming them, get upon the raised floor, and take a child from under its mother's kaross, and he will do it in so gentle and cautious a manner that no one is awakened. What do you think of that?"

Oscar did not know what to think of it. It beat anything he had ever heard of.