But on that morning no fire was burning, and no Kaffirs were to be seen.
"Still asleep," was Leonard's comment as he strode swiftly towards the cave.

In another moment he was in it shouting "Otter, Otter!" and saluting with a vigorous kick a prostrate form, of which he could just see the outline.

The form did not move, which was strange, for such a kick should have suffered to wake even the laziest Basuto from his soundest sleep.

Leonard stopped to examine it, and the next moment started back violently, exclaiming: "Great heavens! it is Cheat, and he is dead." At this moment a thick voice spoke from the corner of the cave in Dutch, the voice of Otter: "I am here, Baas, but I am tied: the Baas must loosen me, I cannot stir." Leonard advanced, striking a match as he came.

Presently it burned up, and he saw the man Otter lying on his back, his legs and arms bound firmly with rimpis of hide, his face and body a mass of contusions.
Drawing his hunting-knife Leonard cut the rimpis and brought the man from out the cave, carrying rather than leading him.
Otter was a knob-nosed Kaffir, that is of the Bastard Zulu race.
The brothers had found him wandering about the country in a state of semi-starvation, and he had served them faithfully for some years.
They had christened him Otter, his native patronymic being quite unpronounceable, because of his extraordinary skill in swimming, which almost equalled that of the animal after which he was named.
In face the man was hideous, though his ugliness was not unpleasant, being due chiefly to a great development of his tribal feature, the nose, and in body he was misshapen to the verge of monstrosity.