"Kill till you are killed--that is the law of life." Then he turned to the body of his brother and made it ready for burial as best he might, closing the eyes, tying up the chin with a band of twisted grass, and folding the thin toil-worn hands upon the quiet heart.
When all was finished he paused from his dreadful task, and a thought struck him.
"Where are those Kaffirs ?" he said aloud--the sound of his voice seemed to dull the edge of solitude--"the lazy hounds, they ought to have been up an hour ago.

Hi! Otter, Otter!" The mountains echoed "Otter, Otter;" there was no other reply.

Again he shouted without result.

"I don't like to leave it," he said, "but I must go and see;" and, having covered the body with a red blanket to scare away the vultures, he started at a run round some projecting rocks that bordered the little plateau on which the hut had stood.

Beyond them the plateau continued, and some fifty paces from the rocks was a hollow in the mountain side, where a softer vein of stone had been eaten away by centuries of weather.
It was here that the Kaffirs slept--four of them--and in front of this cave or grotto it was their custom to make a fire for cooking.