His mouth
was slightly open, and now and then his tongue licked out, like the
tongue of an eager dog. Aside from his hair, his costume consisted
of one black sock worn in lieu of muffler and a worn pair of khaki
trousers.
Behind him, the river caught the sunset light and turned it to a
sheet of flowing copper; beyond stretched the open country in long,
waving lines that ended in the deep yellow band of the afterglow.
Above them, the sky was blue; but it dropped from the blue zenith to
the yellow horizon through every imaginable shade of emerald and
topaz until all other shades lost themselves in one vivid blaze of
burnt orange. It had been a day of intense heat. Already, however,
the falling twilight and the inevitable eastward shift of the wind
had brought the first hint of the evening chill.
Weldon shrugged his shoulders.
"Hurry up, Carew," he adjured his companion. "I am for leaving our
feast and hieing us back to the sanctuary."
"Right, oh!" Carew raised his jam tin and took careful aim at a rock
in mid stream.
Instantly the Kaffir hitched forward.
"Mine?" he demanded.
Carew stayed his arm.
"What for?"
"Eat. Um good.
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