The voice of Swartboy, uttered in loud barks and clicks, summoned them elsewhere; and they now beheld a red flaming brand rushing through the darkness, which no doubt was carried in the hands of that worthy.
They started off in the direction of the blazing torch, and ran as fast as they could.

They still heard the Bushman's voice, and to their dismay _beyond it_ the screams of little Jan! Of course they could not tell what was causing all this.

They only pressed on with fearful apprehensions.
When they had got within some fifty paces of the torch, they perceived it suddenly descend, then raised again, and again brought down, in a rapid and violent manner! They could hear the voice of the Bushman barking and clicking louder than ever, as though he was engaged in chastising some creature.
But Jan's voice they no longer heard--he was screaming no more--was he dead?
With terrible forebodings they rushed on.
When they arrived upon the spot, a singular picture presented itself to their eyes.

Jan lay upon the ground, close in by the roots of some bushes which he was holding tightly in his grasp.

From one of his wrists extended a stout thong, or _rheim_, which passed through among the bushes to the distance of several feet; and, fast to its other end, was the ourebi fawn, dead, and terribly mangled! Over the spot stood Swartboy with his burning tree, which blazed all the brighter that he had just been using it over the back of a ravenous hyena.