"Compton!" There was unmistakably the sound of some one jumping aside as if startled.
"Over here!" said Venning; and then he closed his eyes again with a feeling of languor.

Compton, in the meanwhile growing impatient, walked a few steps in the direction his chum had taken.

The rest of the party had moved on, thinking, no doubt, he was following, and he knew that neither he nor Venning could pick up the spoor if they lost touch.

He peered through the scrub for some time without seeing any one, and then he heard a low cry--a strangled sort of cry, as if Venning were calling in a very feeble voice.

Unshipping his Lee- Metford carbine from the loop, by which it hung at his side, he dashed forward, fully expecting to find his friend in the hands of man or beast.
But at the last stopping-place there was no sign of his friend; and, with head bent, he listened for some sound, his mouth firmly set, and his dark eyes glancing from under his well-marked, brows.
He could hear the beating of his heart, and the innumerable creeping sounds that seemed to have no origin.