He also satisfied himself that the woman had not passed out there, for as her feet had been wet she must have left some trace on the smooth surface.  There remained now the third and last exit, and as he edged away to the left, he saw that the beaten track also led in the same direction.  He rose and walked, feeling for the opening with his right hand, and, coming to it, he was glad, but not surprised, to make two discoveries, first, that the well-marked path entered the opening, and second, that the woman had also passed that way.  There was the spoor of one foot clearly outlined in particles of moist dust.

“That’s good,” he muttered, standing up.  “But I don’t like the look of that path.  Means people.  But what sort of people?  And the kaross and the goats’-milk.  People again.  No good taking risks.”

He went back to the fire, drew the sticks away, thrust the burning ends into crevices, and left the comer in darkness once more.  Then he sat down by Venning with his rifle across his knees and waited.  He had no thought of moving a foot from the cave until Venning was fit to move; he would let him have his sleep out, and if he was no better, well, then, he would carry him.  So he sat waiting and watching, listening to the hoarse rumblings which all the time ascended from below, and to the tremendous reports, a little dulled by the intervening wall, made by the spurting water.  He watched the coming of the night, marked the gradual fading of the sheen on the stalactites, until softly the shadows sank and merged into the darkness of the cave, leaving nothing visible but a faint gleam where the nearest sulphur cone stood.

Eerie it was in the dim light, eerier it was now in the dark, with those hoarse mutterings from beneath, and those thunderous reverberations pealing at irregular intervals through the unknown spaces above.  He had his pipe, but his habitual caution deterred him from seeking its comfort, and he was glad he had abstained, and glad at having extinguished the fire, when suddenly he heard the sound of shrill laughter.  A sullen roar from the water-hole beyond drowned the sound, but he knew in every fibre that he had not been mistaken.  There were others beside him and Venning in the vaults, but not for a moment was he pleased at the thought.  Instinct or the association of the place warned them of danger.  For a long spell, however, he could distinguish nothing human in the hurly-burly of sounds, and then again, nearer and plainer, the shrill peal rang out exultant, with a note in it of some savage beast flinging back the news to the pack that the scent was hot.

Slowly he stooped his head to hear if Venning slept, for he dreaded what would happen if the boy awoke in the pitchy darkness and heard that demoniac cry.  The boy’s breathing came at regular intervals, and with a muttered prayer that he would sleep on, the Hunter felt for the trigger.

“Ngonyama!” From the height a voice calling to him dropped soft as the flight of a bat, faint as a whisper, yet clear as a bell in all that turmoil.