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 obliged to take his place last in the procession. Arriving at the bank of the Sitlagole, the party halted to search for some roots, not unlike turnips, which were known to grow there, and which they hoped to cook and enjoy for supper. They found the roots in such abundance that it was resolved to spend the night on the spot, and they kindled a fire to prepare their meal. On closing in, it was soon ascertained that the sick comrade was missing. They looked at each other with much perplexity; but the brother of the absent man, without losing a moment, snatched up his own and his brother’s share of the roots that had been gathered, fastened them to a strap upon his shoulder, seized his assegai, and started off. The rest drew closer in, enjoyed their supper, lighted up several additional fires as a protection from attack, and laid themselves down under the bushes to sleep.

The missing Bechuana was a Batloka, and the evidence went to show that the poor fellow had been compelled to rest so often and so long from his weakness, hunger, and sore feet, that he had fallen far into the rear, and, missing his way, had strayed into a rocky valley full of bushes that were notoriously the haunt of lions. Here no doubt he had been pounced upon and killed, for the brother had not gone far before he could trace the spot where the proper path had been left, and proceeding onwards he soon observed a lion’s footprints in the sand. Instead of turning back, he had apparently caught sight of his brother’s stick, straw hat, and