By the time Oscar had eaten his lunch the driver came up with Hautzman—a steady old ox, which showed a great partiality for hardtack and sugar, and had become so gentle from being often regaled with these delicacies that he had learned to answer to his name and to follow his master about like a dog.

"Now, Ferguson," said Oscar, as he stepped out of the wagon with a coil of rope in one hand and some sugar in the other, "look alive, for this fellow has six miles to travel between this time and dark. Tie a leading rheim around his horns and hold him while I fix the harness."

The harness was a very primitive affair, and did not require a great deal of fixing. It was simply a surcingle, and a breast-band to keep it from slipping back out of its place. To the ends of this breast-band were fastened the small ends of the saplings, which the fore-loper brought up by the time the harness was finished.

The larger ends, which were to trail on the ground, were kept from spreading by two braces, which were securely lashed to them about five feet apart.

The intervening space was filled up with a network of ropes which passed from one brace to the other, and when the contrivance was finished Oscar had a drag that would sustain a much heavier weight than he intended to bring home on it.

He knew that Hautzman would be willing to draw it out to the hill on which he had left his specimens, but whether or not he would draw it back after it was loaded was "another and a deeper question." It was quite possible that he might take a notion to run away when he saw the hyenas.

By the time Oscar was ready to start McCann returned from the fountain, bringing with him a bucket of water. Seeing that he looked curiously at the drag, the boy said:

"I caught the idea from the Indians I saw about Julesburg, but I have added a few improvements of my own. I've got a koodoo, a koodoo's head, and two hyenas to bring back on it. I can't stop now to tell you how I got them, for I must be off so that I can get back before dark. Have some tea ready for me—I will bring the steaks when I come—and keep your ears open for signal guns. Go on, Johnson, and make him walk as fast as you can."

Thirsty as he was Oscar drank sparingly of the water McCann had brought from the fountain, after which he filled his canteen, sprang upon one of his fresh horses, and rode off, leading the other.

He overtook the fore-loper in a few minutes, and then they jogged along side by side at a snail's pace.

It takes a good while for a slow-walking ox to go three miles, and consequently much time was consumed on the march.

But it was ended at last, and, contrary to his expectations, old Hautzman behaved with the greatest propriety.

He did not draw back or even hesitate when the fore-loper led him up to the place where the specimens were lying.

He pointed one of his long horns at the dead hyenas, glared at them out of the corner of his eye and bellowed defiantly, but that was all.

After refreshing themselves with a drink of water—which tasted as though it had been over a slow fire all day—Oscar and the Kaffir set to work to load the drag, Johnson holding fast to the leading rheim.

In ten minutes the work was done, and the return march began. It was growing cooler now, and Hautzman, heavily loaded as he was, walked faster than he did coming out.

It was scarcely dark when they came within sight of the grove in which the camp was located, but McCann was evidently frightened, for the sun had not been long out of sight behind the hills before he began firing signal guns.

Oscar answered him occasionally, but that did not seem to satisfy McCann. He was so very much afraid that his employer might lose his way on the plain, and leave him to pass the night alone among the lions, that he shot off a good many rounds of fixed ammunition that might have been put to a better use. He had tea ready, and Oscar was not long in handing over the steaks.

The boy was tired, for it was a long time since he had spent so many hours in hunting (even while he was shooting in company with Mr. Lawrence he had always rested during the heat of the day); but there was no sleep for him until his specimens had been made ready for mounting.

His men watched all his movements with the greatest interest, and Oscar became so deeply engrossed with his work that he paid scarcely any attention to the roaring of the lions and the laughing of the hyenas.

McCann did, however. When the first muffled roar reverberated among the hills the after-rider retreated to the wagon, took possession of a bed he had made up behind the fore-chest, and that was the last the young hunter saw of him until he stepped over him, about four o'clock in the morning, to put away his skins.

Contrary to his usual custom, Oscar slept late, and, in accordance with the orders he had given the night before, no one disturbed him.

He ate a light breakfast, passed a few hours in writing letters, which he knew he might never have an opportunity to send to those to whom they were addressed, and then wondered what he should do next.

He thought of the buffaloes, but his blood had had time to cool and he was in no hurry to put himself in the way of one of those dangerous animals.

He remembered the ostriches and elands—specimens of which he hoped to secure some day—but the bare thought of stalking the one or riding down the other while the sun was blazing so fiercely over his head was discouraging.

While he sat on the dissel-boom, debating the matter, his attention was attracted by a honey-bird, which, after trying in vain to arouse him by calling to him from a neighboring tree, flew down in front of his face and hovered there, just as a humming-bird does when he is inspecting a honeysuckle.

These little birds were very familiar, and had shown themselves to be so utterly devoid of fear that it was all Oscar could do to bring himself to shoot a couple of them for specimens.

"I say, McCann!" exclaimed Oscar, turning to his after-rider, who was lying at his ease under the wagon, "what sort of honey do you have in this country?"

"Oh, the honey is good enough," was the reply, "but it isn't worth the risk that one has to run to get it. You don't want anything to do with that rascally bird."

"Why not?" asked the boy.

"Because he will lead you into trouble."

"Oh, that's all nonsense!" said Oscar. "Mack, you are about twenty years behind the times. That old superstition was exploded long ago."

"I know a good many experienced hunters who will tell you that the belief that a honey-bird will lead one who is foolish enough to follow him to a snake or a sleeping lion is not a superstition, but a reality," was McCann's reply. "I am well enough acquainted with them to know that they are treacherous. Years ago I used to work for two transport-riders, brothers, of the name of Baker. One day the younger one took a fool notion into his head that he wanted some honey, and although his brother tried hard to make him stay by the wagon, he wouldn't do it. He followed one of those birds up a gloomy, thickly wooded ravine and never came back. The bird led him to a lion, and the beast killed him. He would doubtless have made a meal of him that night if we had not found the body and taken it away."

"It was little you had to do with taking it away, I'll warrant," said Oscar to himself. "That story may be true, and then again it may be, like a good many others you have told me, manufactured out of the whole cloth. Saddle up a couple of the horses—Little Gray and another."

"You'll be sorry for it," said McCann as he slowly, almost painfully, arose from the ground.

Up to this time he had been lively enough, but now, when he saw a prospect of work before him, and dangerous work, too, all the symptoms of the fever with which he had been threatened, the day before came back to him again. His step was slow and feeble, and he moved as though he could scarcely keep his feet.

"I don't know whether I can sit in a saddle or not," said he as he crawled out from under the wagon.

"I didn't ask you to try, did I?" said Oscar, who could not make up his mind whether he ought to laugh or get angry. "I shall take Thompson with me."

This was just what McCann wanted, and yet Oscar's words enraged him. He had found, greatly to his surprise, that his employer's success did not depend upon him; that his feigned illness made no sort of difference with Oscar's hunting; that the Kaffir was quite capable of taking his place as after-rider—and all these things galled him.

A conceited person always feels hurt when he awakes to the fact that the world and the people in it can get on about as well without him as they can with him.

By the time the horses had been saddled and watered at the fountain Oscar and his after-rider were ready to mount them. The honey-bird, which had watched their movements with every appearance of interest, showed his delight at the prospect of a hunt as plainly as the dogs did.

The latter frisked about in dangerous proximity to Little Gray's feet, and the bird flitted from tree to tree, keeping a short distance in advance of the horsemen, and coming back now and then to hover before their faces, as if urging them to greater speed.

He led them around the grove, and on arriving at the opposite side took wing and flew across the open plain to a second grove, about a quarter of a mile away. From this grove he led them to another; but instead of keeping them in the outskirts he flew into it and was lost to view.

Oscar fanned himself with his hat, looked suspiciously at the thick bushes before him, and took time to reflect.

"I don't much like the looks of such thickets as these, for I have always found something in them," said he to himself. "What shall I find in this one, I wonder? Hunt 'em up, dogs! If there is anything in there drive it out. Come on, Thompson!"

The Kaffir touched the ground almost as soon as his employer did, and kept close at his heels as he worked his way into the thicket in pursuit of the honey-bird.