If time would permit we might tell of many more interesting and exciting adventures, of which Oscar was the hero, during his career in Africa, but those we have already described must suffice.

They will serve to give the readers some idea of the poetry of the life he led for thirteen long months. Of the prose—of the trials, disappointments, and discouragements—we have had little to say, preferring to deal as much as we could with the bright side of his experience.

He remained in his camp nearly a month, during which time he secured heads of nearly all the larger animals that were to be found in the country round about, as well as many specimens of the smaller ones, and then once more set out on his travels.

At the same time the trouble began. Some of the fountains in which he had expected to find water in abundance were dried up, and not infrequently he and his men were obliged to dig for hours before they could procure water enough to moisten the tongues of the thirsty cattle.

The sun burned him by day, the frosts chilled him at night, and when the rains came on the dry water-courses were transformed into roaring torrents, which he forded at the imminent risk of capsizing his wagon and losing all the fruits of his toil.

He had always been unfortunate in regard to his dogs. He hardly ever got into a fight without losing one or more of them, and his bad luck continued until there were but three of his pack left—Ralph, and two cowardly mongrels that were not worth the meat they ate.

In process of time his stock began to suffer also. One of his horses, that was warranted "salted," died of the distemper; the hyenas carried off all his goats, and finally a lion pulled down Little Gray, about a hundred yards from the wagon, and killed him in broad daylight.

This was too much for Oscar, who, reckless of the consequences, caught up one of his Express rifles and sent two bullets into the lion, whereupon the beast charged through the camp with the utmost fury, killing one of the oxen, frightening the rest so badly that they took to their heels and were not seen again for two days, and wounding Ralph so severely that his life was despaired of.

Up to this time Oscar had enjoyed the best of health; but now the fever attacked him and laid him in his cot.

He was so ill that he began to be alarmed, and to make matters worse Thompson one night approached the wagon and stated he and the others had thrown off their allegiance, and that henceforth the young hunter must look out for himself.

This incident, if it did not save Oscar's life, at least hastened his recovery, for the prompt measures he took to suppress the mutiny threw him into a perspiration, which broke up the fever so completely that he never even heard of it again.

Ten minutes before he would not have thought it possible for him to stand upon his feet; but now he jumped out of his cot with all his old-time activity, and, catching up one of his rifles, ordered his men to inspan and treck at once, and they made all haste to obey.

One would think that, in the face of such discouragements as these, Oscar would have lost all heart.

Well, he often was dispirited, and always lonely and homesick; but he stuck to his purpose with dogged determination, working faithfully every day and longing for the hour of his release.

It came at last, though long delayed, and it was with a feeling a little short of ecstatic that Oscar, one bright morning, ordered his men to inspan and strike out for Zurnst.

The minute instructions he had received from the committee, by which his movements had been governed during the whole of his stay in Africa, had been carried out to the very letter.

Every species of animal on the list which President Potter had given him was represented in his collection, either by a head or a whole specimen, and his time was up to a day.

"What more can they ask?" thought Oscar as, with a delicious feeling of relief, he took possession of his cot and watched his travel-worn cattle as they stepped briskly out over the blind trail—the trail his own wagon had made months before. "I've got everything they told me to get, and many things besides that they never thought of. I tell you, I have been through the mill since I passed along this route, headed the other way, but I have come out all right, and now, thank goodness, I am off for the coast and home! Treck along there, Thompson; the faster we travel the sooner we shall reach Maritzburg, you know."

Oscar stopped at his old camp long enough to off-load and give his wagon a good over-hauling, and then set out for Zurnst.

The acquaintances he had there made when he first came through had not forgotten him, but as they had received no word from him since he went away they had given him up for lost, and looked upon him as one risen from the dead. They listened in genuine astonishment to the stories of his adventures, and told him that he had done something that any old hunter might well be proud of. They denounced McCann's cowardice and treachery in the strongest terms, and promised to see to it that he did not impose upon any other traveller as he had imposed upon Oscar.

When he had reached Leichtberg Oscar mailed almost half a peck of letters which he had written at various times, and when he reached Mr. Lawrence's his heart was gladdened by the sight of almost as many more, addressed to himself, which had been forwarded to that gentleman's care by Mr. Donahue.

Oscar read these letters with no little anxiety. It was so long since he had heard from home, and so many things might have happened during that interval of silence!

But there was only one of them that contained any bad news, and that was from Sam Hynes, who, in a glowing obituary, which took up nearly a whole sheet of notepaper, conveyed to Oscar the news of Bugle's untimely death.

When Oscar read that he looked down at Ralph, the only remaining canine companion of his travels, the two worthless curs of which we have spoken having deserted him at Leichtberg. That sagacious animal was by no means a beauty. The long journey he had made across the burning sands, and the rough treatment he had received from his foes, had completely spoiled his good looks. But there was plenty of fight left in him, and Oscar decided on the instant that he should go home with him to fill Bugle's place.

The young hunter continued his journey with a light heart after reading those cheering letters from home. Even the dreaded Drackenberg, which now and then loomed up before his mental vision, had no terrors for him.

He had his wagon thoroughly repaired at Harrismith, in readiness for the ascent, crossed the pass in safety, and in due time drew up before the hotel in Maritzburg.

Mr. Dibbits was there to meet him, and so were Harris and his gang of swindlers, all of whom started as if they had seen a ghost.

"Why, Mr. Preston!" exclaimed the landlord as soon as he could speak.

"Yes, Mr. Dibbits, it is I; or, rather, all there is left of me," replied Oscar. "By the way, what became of our friend Colonel Dunhaven?"

"Colonel Dunhaven!" repeated the landlord, looking bewildered. "Oh, that was the gentleman who started for the interior the same time you did. Humph! he was a nice fellow to think of going into the wilderness, he was. His wagon got stalled up here in an ant-bear's hole, and he got discouraged, sold out, bag and baggage, and bundled himself off to old England."

Our hero thought of all he had passed through during the last two years, and told himself that that was the best thing the colonel could have done. A man who would allow himself to become discouraged as easily as that had no business in Africa.

Oscar passed but one night in Maritzburg, and what with dining and visiting with his friends, and fighting off Harris and his gang, who persisted in making him very inadequate offers for his outfit, and chaffing the landlord, who showed an overweening desire to learn how he had succeeded during his hunt, he had a lively time of it.

The next day he bagged a couple of white-necked ravens, and they were the last specimens he shot in Africa.

With the assistance of his good friend Mr. Morgan, Oscar succeeded in disposing of his outfit at very fair figures. He sold everything except Ralph and the double-barrelled rifle with which he had secured the most of his trophies.

Then he bade his friends good-by, and took passage on board the little coasting vessel for Cape Town, at which place he transferred himself and his belongings to a steamer bound for London.

From there he went to Liverpool, and after he had seen his boxes and bales stowed away in the hold of the vessel that was to take him and them to Boston he still had time to run up to "the lodge," to say good-by to his friend and mentor Captain Sterling.

The latter sat up all night listening to his stories, and would have been glad to keep him for a month; but Oscar had paid his passage, and so he was obliged to make the interview a short one.

The run across the Atlantic was accomplished without incident worthy of note, and in due time Oscar found himself and all his specimens in Yarmouth. He remained there long enough to give Mr. Adrian and the committee a hurried account of his experience, and then set out for Eaton, where a warm welcome awaited him.

He is there now, surrounded by all his old-time friends, enjoying a well-earned rest, and only waiting for the summer vacation to begin his wanderings again.

A scientific expedition, which is to be composed of some of the professors and students attached to Yarmouth University, is being organized to start for the Yellowstone country, and Oscar is to have charge of it.

He has already secured Big Thompson—the genuine Big Thompson—to act as guide, and that is a guaranty that the members of the expedition will see plenty of sport, even if they do not accomplish anything in a scientific way.

We doubt, however, if Oscar Preston will ever again take part in scenes so stirring and exciting as those of which he was the hero while he was hunting in Africa.

THE END.