Page 89 - A Little Bush Maid

"Oh, yes, T said things--who wouldn’t? T was too disgusted to fish any more,
and the nightmare having thoroughly roused me, T gathered up my tackle

and made tracks for home, feeling considerably annoyed with myself.

"You must know T’ve a private entrance into my camp. Tt’s a track no one
would suspect of being a track, and by its aid T can approach noiselessly.
T’ve got into a habit of always sneaking back to camp--just in case anyone

should be there. This afternoon T came along quietly, more from force of
habit than from any real idea of looking out for intruders. But half-way

along it a sound pulled me up suddenly. Tt was the sound of a voice.

"When you haven’t heard anyone speak for a good many months, the

human voice has quite a startling effect upon you--or even the human
sneeze, Miss Norah!" added the Hermit, with a twinkle. "T stopped short

and listened with all my might. Presently the voice came again, low and
guttural, and T knew it for a native’s.

"The conviction didn’t fill me with joy, as you may imagine. T stole
forward, until by peeping through the bushes T gained a view of the

camp--and was rewarded with the spectacle of two blacks--ill-favoured
brutes they were, too--quite at home, one in the act of stuffing my cherished
roast hare into a dirty bag, the other just taking a huge bite out of my

damper!

"The sight, as you may imagine, didn’t fill me with joy. From the bulges in
my black visitors’ bag T gathered that the ducks had preceded the hare; and
even as T looked, the gentleman with the damper relaxed his well-meant

efforts, and thrust it, too, into the bag. Then they put down the bag and
dived into the tent, and T heard rustlings and low-toned remarks that

breathed satisfaction. T reckoned it was time to step in.

"Luckily, my gun was outside the tent--indeed T never leave it inside, but

have a special hiding-place for it under a handy log, for fear of stray
marauders overhauling my possessions. A gun is a pretty tempting thing to

most men, and since my duck-shooting failure T had treated myself to a new
double-barrel--a beauty.