"A Romance of Adventure and War in South Africa" (continued 3)

“Then go and—rot!” roared Kruger, bringing his big fist down on the table with a bang that made tobacco-box and Bible jump. “Send these ruffians to the landdrost, and let the law take its course.”

The last our heroes saw, for that time, of the humane president of the Republic, was him puffing furiously at his pipe, with his ugly face distorted and his eyes out of sight.

“I guess he doesn’t like to be contradicted,” said Ned, as the police once more marched them off.

Chapter Fifteen.

At Nylstroom.

Tender-hearted and magnanimous Uncle Paul had not come best out of this interview, neither had he exhibited much of his vaunted diplomacy and character-reading. Indeed, he had shown himself to be what he was exactly—a densely stupid and tyrannical Boer, who thought to cow three lads with his threats, and make them his tools by a little clumsy and transparent cajolery. This was the only method he had, however, of dealing with people, and what his parasites termed his greatness.

His agents and whitewashes have called him a man of deep religious feeling, honesty of purpose, singleness of life, thoroughness of character, free from all vices and defects, of great magnanimity, mercy, clemency, and justice, and possessed of the simplicity of a child.

Yes; he had the simplicity of a very much spoilt, greedy, and vicious child. Our heroes had penetrated this side of his nature. They were now about to taste of his clemency and justice. They had thwarted his intentions concerning them, and, being a Boer, he could not pardon that from either man or child. No Boer was ever known to forgive or forget any rebuff. They never reason; they can only brood upon their side of the question and plan revenge.

Kruger showed his thoroughness in the way he pursued them with his witnesses and private orders to the landdrost. He did this with the thoroughness of a red-skin. Their advocate was snubbed, and ordered to sit down the moment he rose to defend them. No witnesses were called on their side, while people they had never seen came and swore to actions and words they had never thought about or said. Then the verdict was given without a pause, and their sentence delivered with vicious denunciation from the judge. As they listened to him they were almost persuaded that they were very dangerous criminals, and deserved the gallows, instead of hard labour and long imprisonment.

Boer justices, now that Kotze was removed and they had only one will to consult, did their work with sweeping and drastic force. They punished not only the criminal, but his friends as well, when they could be got at.

Their sentences were—

Seven years each, with hard labour.

2000 pounds fine each, or another five years.

A hundred lashes, to be spread over the first two years in the following order: twenty-five lashes after the first three months’ imprisonment, and twenty-five each six months after.

Our heroes laughed at the fines, but they clenched their teeth and vowed that they would be free or dead before the lashes were inflicted upon them.

“If we get free and live, boys,” whispered Ned, fiercely, “I hope that fiend Kruger may not die before I can kill him.”

Mr Raybold and Philip Martin got a few words with them before they were led away.

“Don’t you pay that fine, father,” said Clarence.

“Not until you are at liberty, then I don’t mind what it costs me,” replied his father, brokenly.

“Don’t be afraid, father; the Transvaal hasn’t got a tronk that will keep us in for three months, now that we know our fate.”

Philip stooped and whispered in the ear of Ned.

“We shall move heaven and earth to get you sent to one jail. After that, day and night we will work to help your escape. Keep up your pluck, and take advantage of all chances. We’ll have you shadowed with friends and able horses.”

Ned smiled, and pressed the hand of his friend as he answered—

“I will not spend all my time sleeping, you bet.”

It was a desperate life our heroes led after this day, and might have broken even their spirits, only for the hope they had of accomplishing their escape.

After passing a week at Pretoria, they were sent up the country to Nylstroom, where some heavy road-making was being done. This they did not object to, as it was so far on the way to Rhodesia. They were glad also to find that they were not separated.

Here they were treated with all the ignominy and harshness that the stupid and merciless Boers could invent to make their captives sick of existence. They were put into a cell where only natives were confined, and not allowed any bedding whatever. If they could find space enough to lie down, that was all the comfort they were permitted to have.

This, of course, was intended to degrade them as far as possible, and doubtless would have been a terrible punishment to a Boer.

But our heroes, being more liberally brought up, did not find the company of those Kaffirs half the infliction that some of their late white companions had been. The captive savages were cleaner and more wholesome, both outwardly and inwardly.

They were men most of them, whose only crime had been that of conquered enemies. Tall, powerful warriors they had been once upon a time, with spirits still untamed, and hearts filled with undying hatred toward their harsh oppressors.

As soon as these prisoners discovered that Ned, Fred, and Clarence were English, and filled with the same hatred as they had, they received them into their ranks, and treated them with all the kindness and consideration which they were able to show.

Several of them formed a blood bond with our heroes, which made them allies and friends for life.

One clear benefit in this companionship was that these Kaffirs thus pledged would be faithful to them. Indeed, amongst the whole gang, there was not likely to be a traitor or a spy. These poor wretches had nothing to gain by treachery, for their condition would not be a whit improved. They all knew the Boers from bitter experience, and abhorred them as much as they respected their English conquerors.

By daybreak they were marched out to their work under the escort of an armed and mounted force of warders. The food served out to them was mealie-porridge with salt, and not too much of that. From the hour our heroes entered Nylstroom, they were constantly in a famishing condition.

Yet they had to labour as navvies all day long under the broiling rays until sundown, with hardly any intermission except the short time allowed for their midday meal. The overseers rode about abusing them in German and Low Dutch, and plying their cowhide whips over the backs of those who fainted or shirked their work. It was worse than slavery, as these Boers did not care whether the prisoners lived or died. If they resented the savage stroke by so much as a look, they were tied up and flogged almost to death. If they showed fight, they were at once shot down and flung to one side like carrion.

Our heroes could not have endured the whip even with their hopes of liberty buoying them up, therefore they laboured with a will, and gave the brutes no chance of chastising them. Sometimes the whip cracked over their heads, but fortunately for their future, it did not descend on their backs.

The reason for this was that their friends outside had managed to get at these venal wretches, and paid them a weekly sum to spare the young men that last outrage.

They were all the more closely watched for this very reason so that they might not escape. During the day this would have been impossible, as before they could have run a dozen steps, they would have been shot down.

They had passed a fortnight of this wretched existence, when, one day, as Ned looked up, he saw a party of horsemen riding past. Amongst them was Philip Martin, who, catching his eye, pointed quickly north, and then patted his horse.

Ned knew what that meant. They were to run northward when their chance came, where friends and horses would be in readiness.

His heart bounded as he read the signals and saw his friend gallop past him. Then he bent and plied his pickaxe with renewed energy.

In spite of their semi-starvation, the hard labour did not hurt our heroes. Already they had got over the utter exhaustion that made them so helpless when they reached their cells. They had lost flesh woefully, but their muscles were becoming tough and hard as steel, and their skins tanned and sun-proof. They did not fear but that they would be able to run once they got the chance.

Their cell was a small one, with corrugated iron on two sides and mud-cemented walls on the other two. Each night they were carefully searched before being locked in, so that it was impossible for them to smuggle in any tool.

Still, now that Ned had seen help so close at hand, he did not despair. What he could not get in himself might be sent to him from the outside.

That night he told his chums what he had seen, and their spirits rose wonderfully at the news.

“They will be on the outlook, I am sure, therefore we must let them know whereabouts we are located.” After some consultation the idea struck them to hang out a bit of rag from one of the narrow air-holes. If they did this that night, it was almost sure to be noticed and understood by those on the watch outside.

There were fifteen Kaffirs in this cell besides themselves who would have to be trusted. The lads had seen enough of them to risk taking the lot into their confidence.

“Cocoeni,” he whispered to a strong young fellow, who had vowed friendship with him, “would you like to escape?”

“You bet, baas,” replied the Kaffir, who understood and could speak a little English.

“And the others, will they help us?”

“Yes, baas; you may trust us all. We shall all help you if you show us how.”

“I have friends outside who, when they know where we are, will give us some instrument to break out of this.”

“Good. And what can we do to let them know?”

Ned had torn a piece from his shirt while he was speaking; he now said—

“Give me a back up, Cocoeni. I’ll push out this bit of rag. When the moon rises they will see it.”

“So will the Boers,” said Cocoeni.

“Oh, we must risk that. If they do wander round that side, they may not think anything about it. Besides, they are too lazy to do much knocking about at night.”

Cocoeni willingly placed his face against the wall, and bent his back while Ned climbed up on to his broad shoulders. It was pitch dark inside, but they could see the stars through the slits near the roof.

After the rag had been pushed half through so that one end hung outside and the other inside, they agreed to watch and watch turn about. At the first appearance of day they would take in the signal.

Clarence took the first watch of three hours, while the rest lay down to sleep. By this time every Kaffir had been told by Cocoeni, and they were prepared to obey orders.

Nothing disturbed Clarence. The Boers never troubled themselves to visit their prisoners during the night, and doubtless not many bothered themselves to keep awake.

He saw, however, by the rays of silver that the moon had risen and was shining on the outer wall. It was a full moon, so that the rag must be observed if any one was on the watch.

Fred took the next watch, nor had he anything to report when Ned relieved him. The moon by this time had moved round to the other side.

Ned waited patiently for about two hours in the darkness, when, just as he was beginning to think there would be no answer that night, Cocoeni touched him, and whispered softly in his ear—

“Baas, some one outside creeping gently.”

The keen ears of the savage had heard what Ned could not.

A few moments afterwards something heavy dropped upon his head, and fell with a muffled thud on the clay floor. He stooped to lift it, and to his delight felt the head of a small pickaxe wrapped in flannel. As he was unrolling it, another article came through the slit, and this he found to be the handle.

His friends had understood his signal, and this was their reply. He hugged handle and head in his arms with an ecstasy of delight. Now, at last, freedom was within sight.

It was too late, however, to do anything this morning. In another hour dawn would be upon them. They must defer operations for another night, and hide the treasure.

He explained what he had received to Cocoeni, who woke his friends to tell them, while Ned did the same with Fred and Clarence. A deep grunt of joy spoke the Kaffirs’ feelings, while our heroes fairly danced with pleasure.

To dig a small hole in the corner was the work of the next half-hour, after which they placed the articles side by side and covered them with the clay, which they pressed down, and moistening the top from their water-jug, they smoothed it as carefully over as they could in the dark.

One of the Kaffirs lay down on the damp clay and dried it with his body, while the others crawled about and picked up every portion of loose clay, which they swallowed as they found them.

Before the first streak of dawn crept in the floor was as clear of débris as it had been before, and the part over the pickaxe completely caked and dry.

Then Ned looked up to see and remove the rag. It was gone. The one who had brought the gift had removed the signal.

Chapter Sixteen.

Breaking the Tronk.

He is not a gregarious animal the Boer. Except for expeditions of murder or rapine, when expediency forces him to congregate, he prefers to wallow in his own sty.

He does not enjoy night-work, either. The night to him is thronged with “spooks” and other nameless horrors which he does not care to face. He can murder a Kaffir in the most atrocious fashion, and think nothing about it as long as the sun shines, but he dreads that Kaffir’s “spook” after the sun sets. Even the uncertain light of the moon doesn’t seem to comfort him greatly.

He has no humour in its sprightly and harmless sense. He can appreciate rough horse-play and clumsy practical jokes, particularly if there be a strong leaven of cruelty about them, and he is the joker. As a nation, the Boers have not wit enough to be sarcastic, although they can be bitter enough at times, and harsh always. But they are possessed, in its most childish, morbid, and undeveloped state, of imagination. During the day they are hard-headed, callous-hearted, keen-eyed men, ever on the outlook to best their neighbours and grab what advantage they can. Generations of previous warfare have made them quick and sure with their aim, perfect horsemen, and the finest skulkers in the world. By day they are impervious and vulture-eyed, and, according to their own uncivilised mode of conducting warfare, dogged and resolute, if not brave. We cannot call a man brave who slinks behind kopjes and circumvents his enemy only by treachery; yet, when driven into a hard corner, they will turn and fight with the viciousness of desperate rats.

But at night they are a most timorous and superstitious set of shrinkers. Every strange sound makes their flesh creep and their hair bristle. The kloofs, and veldt, and karri are packed with evil spirits, whose weird revels they no more dare disturb, than would a jackal a lion while he is feeding. Their God is the Lord of vengeance, their religion a hotchpotch of rank superstition.

Our heroes did not fear greatly that the cell would be disturbed while they were out of it. The prisoners were deputed to do the cleaning once a week, and Saturday was the day ordained for this duty. On Sundays they were allowed to rest, as according to the Transvaal laws, no trekking, or work of any kind, was permitted on that day.

It was Thursday now, therefore they were almost positive that after they were driven out, the door would be locked until their return at sunset.

How wearily the hours dragged on during that day which they fondly trusted was to be their last in this slavery!

It was dry weather, fortunately being the middle of the winter season, as Nylstroom in the summer was one of the most malarial districts. Yet the sun blazed fiercely down upon the exposed and shelterless place where they worked, and tried them all severely.

The mounted warders even became slothful with their whips as the morning advanced, and found smoking more to their minds than browbeating their charges.

Ned and his two chums toiled on even harder than they had ever done before. They were thrilling with suppressed excitement, and felt glad of the work that made the hours pass. They scarcely lifted their heads or rested until the call came for the midday meal.

Mealie-porridge for breakfast, dinner, and supper becomes monotonous; yet they were thankful enough even for this fare when it was served out to them. A mad longing for beef had been on them for some days past. The thought of it blended with their desire for liberty, so that they could think of little else.

“Oh for a grilled steak!” groaned Clarence and Fred, as they bolted their unsavoury mixture.

“We’ll have it, if all goes well, for breakfast,” whispered Ned, to keep up their courage.

It was a lovely dream, and they hugged it, and kept their tongues moist all the afternoon with the sweet anticipation.

It was astonishing to watch their companions the Kaffirs during that day of suspense. They wore their customary sullen and apathetic expressions, as if hope had no abiding-place in their bosoms. Not even by so much as a flash in their lurid eyes could any one have guessed that they were thinking of liberty. The only sign our heroes could note was their extra patience and endurance. When the cowhide ripped across their bare shoulders, they did not even give a quiver. It might have been a fly landing on the back of an elephant, for all they seemed to feel.

As afternoon drew on, Ned and his chums began to husband their strength. They dug the pickaxe and spades more lightly into the baked clay, and played themselves at working as much as possible.

At last the sun dropped to the horizon, and they were driven back to the tronk. As they approached, our heroes looked at the walls and building with keen speculation. The front was the portion occupied by the warders. A couple of men were supposed to watch the back from opposite corners, but, as Ned shrewdly surmised, they did not keep a very strict sentry, otherwise his friends could not have got over the wall as they had done the night before.

For the few moments that twilight remained in the cell, they examined the ground and gave their Kaffir friends directions. The poor fellows listened attentively to their chosen leader, Cocoeni, and showed that they were ready.

Then darkness came, and they began without delay. To prevent the sounds being heard, Ned and his chums began to sing; the others also made as much gabble as they could. In the other cells, which were divided by the iron sheeting, they could hear the prisoners quite distinctly. It was to prevent them hearing the pickaxe at work that they were making the row, but as for the Boers, they had no fear of them troubling to stop a wrangle or a ditty as long as it was not patriotic. Ned took care of this by starting and keeping up a few of Sankey’s hymns which he knew. While they were singing they likewise prayed fervently for their deliverance.

Cocoeni took the pickaxe, as he was the strongest man there. With a few deft strokes he had broken the hardened surface of the floor; then, while he dug, the others scooped the earth out of the hole with their hands. He went down by the side of the wall until he had cleared the foundations; after this he began to tunnel.

It took them till long after midnight before they got to the outside of the wall; then they began to dig upwards. They worked very carefully at this portion, and carried the débris into the cell by relays.

At last they had reached the surface, and as some of the earth fell in upon them, they were able to see the stars. To their joy this side of the wall was buried in darkness, for the moon was on the other side.

Ned looked out carefully as soon as the passage was wide enough.

Halfway across the yard the shadow fell, leaving a patch of whiteness for some fifteen feet between that and the outer wall, which was about ten feet in height.

At each angle a sentry-box stood clearly revealed. As far as Ned could see, they were unoccupied. The sentinels had evidently left their post, and the passage was clear.

One by one they crept out, Cocoeni bringing the pickaxe with him.

As they stood by the wall, Cocoeni whispered softly to Ned—

“Wait, Baas. I creep round and see if no one about.”

He crept off without a sound, while they watched and listened. In a moment more he was back.

“All safe that way, Baas. Now for the other side.”

They saw his dark figure glide along the whitewashed wall till he reached the end, then he disappeared round the corner.

He was longer gone this time, and when he returned, he was carrying a heavy load. As he reached them, he laid his burden gently down and stretched himself up.

“One Boer done for, Baas. Just caught him in time and brought him along,” he whispered. “You put on him clothes and take him gun, and it will be safe.”

“Is he dead?” asked Ned, horror-struck.

“Yes, Baas. Me make no mistake with pickaxe. Other fellow court him gal on the other side. Quick put on him coat and hat, and go over to the box. You see other fellow from there. If he still wait, hold up hand.”

Ned, repugnant as the task was, felt the wisdom of acting upon the suggestion of Cocoeni. Swiftly he drew off the coat and hat from the dead Boer and put them on; then, bracing on his bandolier and revolver-belt, he took up the rifle and boldly crossed the line of light to the sentry-box.

There were no windows to this end of the building, while from where he stood he could see the front gate, outside of which stood the figure of a stout-built woman pressing against the rails, while inside was the other sentry, with his face to her and his back to his duty. They were having their upsitting, or rather upstanding, in the moonlight, and seemingly totally oblivious to any one or anything else.

It was gruesome to think of that bleeding corpse within the shadow, and those ponderous lovers looking at each other with speechless and moonstruck admiration. Ned shuddered to think of it, and now he was wearing the blood-soaked hat at the same time.

However, there was no time to moralise. That Boer lover was likely to stand there until daybreak without budging, but some one else might come.

He put up his hand, and at the signal the seventeen figures left their shelter and glided across like spectres. Ned could watch them and the pair at the gate. He was also able to make out that ghastly figure which they had left behind.

Cocoeni bent his back and put his head against the wall, while one by one they clambered over him and dropped out of sight.

“Now, Baas, your turn,” said the Kaffir, softly.

Ned laid down his rifle and walked over to Cocoeni.

“How are you going to get up?” he asked.

“Easy. You go first, I come after.”

In a moment Ned was on the wall.

“Come on, Cocoeni.”

“Wait a bit, Baas.”

Cocoeni ran over to the sentry-box and snatched up the rifle, then he returned.

“Catch, Baas, and get down other side. I be with you presently.”

Ned saw him run back a few yards and then take a flying leap. Next instant the Kaffir was beside him on the ground, and they were free.

So far all had gone well. Their danger now lay in the open country, which spread as clear under the moonlight as if it had been day. As they got away from the tronk wall they could easily be seen and potted by any of the authorities who might be posted about.

However, this had to be risked, and the only course they could pursue at present was beside the main track.

They therefore set off as fast as they could run, keeping to the grass, and making for the kopjes, which were some distance away. Ned had a notion that they would not have far to go before they met their friends, if their escape had not been already observed.

Cocoeni kept alongside of our heroes, and carried both the rifle and pickaxe, which he had taken a fancy for since the gory deed it had been the instrument of. The rest scattered and kept on abreast over the valley.

They ran past a couple of small houses, rousing the dogs, who started a chorus of loud yelps, but without disturbing the inmates, apparently.

They were clear of the township now, and with the open country before them, yet by no means out of rifle-range, when a most unlucky accident happened. Cocoeni, by some carelessness or want of knowledge, suddenly let off the loaded rifle with a bang loud enough to wake the dead.

Fortunately he had the rifle on his shoulder and pointing skyward, so that no one was hurt, but the effect meant disaster. It would rouse every Boer who heard it, and raise the tronk-keepers.

“You have done it this time, Cocoeni!” cried Ned. “Now it must be neck or nothing. Forward, boys, with all the wind you can put on.”

There was no time to look behind and see what result that shot had produced. One and all spun over the ground like racers.

“Ping! ping! ping!” came the bullets after them. The burghers had got out of their beds, and were driving away at them from the windows of the two houses. One poor Kaffir flung up his hands and fell on his face. The death of the sentry had already been avenged.

Up the hillside they rushed; they were amongst the stones now, therefore better able to dodge the bullets.

For one instant Ned glanced back, and what he saw quickened his paces. From the tronk gates a body of horsemen were riding out, and spreading out upon the road.

“We’re done for!” he gasped. “They’ll be up to us in five minutes.”

At this instant his ears caught a clattering of hoofs in front of him, and, looking forward, he saw half a dozen horsemen galloping along the road, with three empty saddled horses amongst them.

“Hurrah! we are saved!” he cried joyously.

“Not yet, my son; but jump up without delay, and we’ll do our best,” answered one of the riders, as they reined up beside the escaped prisoners.

“Halloa! you’ve got a tribe with you, I see,” said the leader, as Ned and his chums sprang into the empty saddles.

“Yes; what about them?”

“They must run for it and take their chance; we have no more horses here.”

“Never mind us, Baas. We know where to hide. You get along. The Boers will follow you.”

“Good-bye, brothers,” shouted Ned.

“Good-bye, Baas! I’ll see you again by-and-by, never fear,” cried Cocoeni in his full, deep tones.

Next instant the troop were riding at full speed, while the Kaffirs had disappeared as if the earth had swallowed them.

Chapter Seventeen.

A Record Ride.

“Halt!” cried the leader, after they had ridden about a couple of miles at full speed.

The company at once pulled in their well-trained horses and stood stock-still. They had quitted the track, and were now just behind the crest of a kopje, so that their pursuers could not be seen.

“There, lads, change your prison togs for these more befitting rigs-out, and eat some of that tucker while we settle off a few of these accursed Kruger whelps. We have a ride before us which will beat Turpin’s ride to York—for distance, at least—before we can next draw rein.”

His men had dismounted while he was speaking to our heroes, and ran back to the kopje’s crest. They were now resting on their stomachs and taking aim at the approaching Boers.

As he spoke he pointed to a bundle which was fastened to each of their saddles.

“Get into these as fast as you can slip, and put inside you what you find in the centre of each swag. We must be off again within the next five minutes.”

Saying these words rapidly, he left them and the horses, and ran up to join his companions.

Our heroes were out of their saddles, and had the bundles unrolled before he had run half a dozen feet. By the time he had taken his place on the kopje-top, they had got the riding pants and boots on, and were buttoning up. In half a moment more they were bracing on their waist-belts and bandoliers, etc., ready for the journey.

Then they opened the saddle-bags and commenced devouring some biltong and biscuit, washing this down with modest sips of cold tea which they found in their water-bottles. Their teeth were sharp and their appetites keen with long fasting, therefore they made the welcome viands disappear as rapidly as they had dressed.

Meantime those on the mound-top were busy. The Boers had galloped up with somewhat rash confidence, thinking that they had unarmed men to cope with. Those in hiding reserved their fire until the Boers were within a hundred yards. Then they fired unanimously, and emptied six saddles.

There were only seven burghers left, and they drew rein in sudden consternation.

Bang! went the second volley, and only one warder was left upright. Without waiting for his quietus, he wheeled about with the utmost promptitude, and raced back to the tronk as fast as his horse could carry him.

They let him go, satisfied with the slaughter they had committed, and, rising, they ran back to their horses and mounted in hot haste.

“It is saddle and spurs now, boys, until we get over the border. This morning’s work will raise the Transvaal. Forward!”

No more was said, but at their utmost speed they set off, and dashed over the country as if doing a race.

Mile after mile they sped without slackening rein for an instant. The moon went down by the west, and the stars grew dim. When the day broke they were at least twenty miles from Nylstroom, and in the midst of a wild and lonely scrub.

They had reached a fording-place on one of the tributaries of the Limpopo river, and were approaching a native kraal.

Here they saw a crowd of natives, and with them four horsemen, with a number of spare horses.

“You see we have made preparations for you youngsters; at every twenty miles we have relays waiting right on to Palla station. There we shall find a sufficient force to back us up if there is any fighting to be done.”

The natives, who, although under Boer control, hated them furiously, had beer and roasted meat ready for the new-comers. Galloping up, they flung themselves off their exhausted beasts and rapidly transferred their saddles and bridles to the fresh horses. The fagged steeds were turned out to grass.

Five minutes only they stayed at this kraal, and while devouring their meat and drink standing, they told the men who had been waiting about their last encounter.

“We must get through before the news can spread, and avoid, if possible, any more encounters; so here goes to beat the record.”

Together they all dashed on at the same speed as before. That morning our heroes had their first glimpse of some of the wild game of Africa. They saw in the distance a herd of quagga, and shortly afterwards sighted some giraffes fleeting away much more rapidly than they were doing.

It was a beautiful and varied country they were passing so rapidly through. But they were too deeply engrossed in the effort to get out of it to pay much attention to what they might otherwise have noted.

In another couple of hours they were joined by a fresh company of four, and again mounted.

By midday they had dashed across the border-line, having covered over a hundred and thirty miles in less than nine hours.

It was the longest and fastest ride at one stretch which Ned and his chums had ever taken, and by this time they were almost bent double with fatigue.

But they were safe from Kruger and his myrmidons. Clear out of the country, to which they vowed only to return with those who would terminate this vile oppression miscalled a republic.

It was their last stage. A few more miles, and they would be at the Palla Road railway stations, where they could wait for the up-train to Bulawayo.

They slackened pace now that they were so near the end of their desperate race. As they cantered along, they took out the remainder of their provender and emptied their water-bags; then, considerably refreshed, they began to converse.

There had been no leisure to see much of each other during this record ride.

Of the country our heroes could recall a flashing panorama of mountains, kopjes, and veldt. They had passed through the half-cleared portions of dark kloof, where tall trees were shooting above dense undergrowth. They had skirted mealie-fields and Kaffir kraals. They had crossed half-dried streams, with tangles of reeds lining the banks. They had startled quaggas, gnus, giraffes, and other tempting-looking game, and forced them to use their limbs over the wolds as the horses rushed along.

They had seen snakes spring aside from their horses’ hoofs, and natives who cheered them on their course with friendly cries; all through that line the Kaffirs knew who they were, and why they were speeding so swiftly from the country of the Boers. These natives, who waved their arms like signal-posts, were scouts who would have warned them had there been danger in front. They had seen with instantaneous glances all that they wanted to see, and were fortunately saved from the sight of their deadly enemies.

But, until now, our heroes had hardly looked at the men who were risking their lives to help them over the border. Now, however, that they were outside Kruger’s jurisdiction, they ventured to examine their brave rescuers.

Twenty-six men, fully armed, rode beside them. They were all tall and stalwart fellows, with the exception of the leader, who appeared short beside these six-footers. They were also all bearded like middle-aged Boers, and costumed like burghers when on field-duty.

Dust-covered as they were, and swarthy with sunburn, it was difficult to gauge their years. Judging from their faces and beards, they might have been any age from forty to fifty-five.

From their movements, however, and figures, they ought to have been much younger men.

“Well, boys,” said the leader, “you have had a bad time of it lately; but I think your Transvaal troubles are about over—for the present, at least.”

He had kindly brown eyes, and an open fearless look about him that greatly took with our heroes. Also, in spite of his late exertions, he did not appear to be the least bit fatigued.

“Thanks to you, sir, and these gentlemen, we have achieved what would have been impossible otherwise,” answered Ned.

“Yes; I own that Kruger’s country is not easy to get out of, when the owners want to keep you. One thing this ride has done, I fear—closed a good road in or out for any future trekker. By Jove! there will be a nice kick-up over this affair, and no mistake. You’ll have to make yourselves scarce for a while.”

“But surely we are quite safe in Rhodesia?” asked Ned.

“Well, that remains to be seen. Kruger will make a mountain out of this ant-hill. Cables will be sent to the Home Government, demanding their prisoners to be arrested and returned to them, and large indemnities for the potted burghers.”

“And what will the British Government do?”

“Sacrifice you, without a pause, to pacify the old man of Pretoria, and us also, if we can be traced.”

“Then we have got you into a bad fix, I fear,” said Ned, regretfully.

“Oh, don’t concern yourselves about us; we are ready with our alibis,” answered the leader, with a merry laugh. “These gentlemen have been on the sick list in Bulawayo hospital for the past three weeks, while I have been looking after the health of my friend and chief, Cecil Rhodes.”

“I say, Jim,” said one of the others, “do you consider it safe for us to take the up-train to Bulawayo?”

“Perfectly safe. There will be a special waiting for us at Palla, and we will hang on till after sundown before we board her. A wire up to headquarters will prepare them for our arrival, then you boys can sneak back to your nurses, while we make our way to Salisbury. We shall have to disguise you for that journey, but my friends will be done with their beards by that time, so one of these each will do for you.”

At last our heroes understood what had been puzzling them as peculiar about their rescuers. They had disguised themselves for this expedition.

Who could the leader be, who was at that time supposed to be looking after the health of the great empire-maker? They looked at him again more closely, and then light broke upon them.

Dr Jameson, of course! The hero next to Rhodes most worth following and worshipping in Africa.

He saw from their expressions that they had recognised him.

“Yes, boys; I am Dr Jim. But no one outside this company must know it. Your friend Philip Martin wrote to me the fix you were in, so we thought we might as well have a little outing and help you away. Now we must finish our task and make you disappear altogether from the ken of man. That, however, we can discuss with our chief when we see him.”

Words failed our heroes; they could only gaze at this dauntless paladin with speechless admiration.

After a time Clarence ventured to ask about his father.

“Oh, he is all right! He was advised to clear out as soon as you were sentenced, as he could be of more use to you outside the Transvaal than in it. He has sold his property and transferred his shares in the mine, and moved his banking account to Cape Town. He is there also, and stands the expenses of this so far successful private raid. By the way, he writes to tell us you wish to do a little exploring.”

“Yes,” replied Ned; “that was our intention when we left England, but I don’t know how we can do it now.”

“It will be the very best thing you can possibly do, while the hue-and-cry is out for you. I think we shall be able to fix that for you at Salisbury. Meantime, as we are within three miles from Palla station, and it will not be dark for a couple more hours yet, we had better take a stretch here and breathe our horses.”

They dismounted, and while their horses were left to feed as best they could on the veldt, they flung themselves down to have a much-needed rest. Pipes were filled and lighted, then most of them lay on their backs and smoked enjoyably while they looked at the deep blue space overhead.

No one spoke, they were too tired for that; possibly each one had plenty to think about as they lay there.

They had accomplished their purpose and wiped out a few of the general enemy. They had also taken time by the forelock, and had not much fear of being stopped on the railway, no matter what telegraphic messages were sent on before them. Kruger had his spies in Rhodesia as he had elsewhere, but these agents were known, and could be kept back by those who were working this affair.

Dr Jim had the most to think about, for after Bulawayo was reached he had a long distance to ride before he could drop his disguise and feel safe. Our heroes also would run most risks.

But they had a fearless and keen-brained man to guide them and think for them; they felt they had not much to fear.

The sky was rapidly changing from deep orange to ruddy violet when Dr Jim roused himself, and said—

“I say, Lawson, you had better ride in advance, and get things ready for us. We’ll be after you in half an hour.”

One of the Boer-like men rose lazily and walked over to his horse; then mounting, he cantered easily off into the dusk.

Half an hour later, the ebon sky was clustered with stars; then the company got up and resumed their journey.

When they reached Palla they found the station clear of all except the railway officials, and the engine ready for starting.

Their horses were put into a couple of boxes behind them. Together they entered the comfortable saloon, where a good supper was waiting for them. While they were enjoying this, the train was running along smoothly at about forty miles per hour, and all their troubles over for the present. They made no stops, but glided on smoothly through the night.

When they woke the train was slackening speed, and the bright morning sun once more lit up the level veldt and glistened on the zinc roofs of Bulawayo.

They had arrived at the present termination of the Chartered Company’s latest and most gigantic enterprise.

Chapter Eighteen.

The Ride to Salisbury.

There was no chance of letters getting in before them, while as for telegraphic messages, it was too early yet for such to be delivered.

As they rolled into the station they saw no one about, except the station-master and one sleepy porter.

The town had not yet woken up, as they could see from the lack of wood smoke issuing from any of the chimneys.

Three of the men denuded themselves of their beards, which our heroes put on, transforming themselves into middle-aged men in a twinkling. They left three young fellows, with their handkerchiefs wrapped round the lower portions of their faces, so that no one could recognise them. These precautions were needful, even in loyal Bulawayo, for there were Boer agents here as well as elsewhere.

The horses were detrained, and led off by their owners to the stables of the Palace Hotel, where faithful grooms were waiting to receive them. After delivering over their steeds, each man went by different directions back to the hospital. As far as they were concerned the ruse had been entirely successful. As for the special train, it took on a fresh supply of fuel and water, and dashed off down the line again.

When the townsmen of Bulawayo would get up and resume business for the day, there was no one to tell them that a special train had arrived and departed.

“So far, so good,” said Dr Jim, as he sent off his wire to Salisbury. “Now, boys, let us get on. We shall find relays all the road up, and, although we need not make tracks quite so quickly, for the first fifty miles we mustn’t let the grass grow under us.”

They had filled their water-flasks, and laid in provisions while on the train, so that now they did not wait to look at this rising city. They put spurs to their steeds and dashed away impetuously towards Gwalo.

At Imbembesi they had breakfast, having ridden through a lonely, undulating, and woody country. The landlord of the small inn there was prepared for them, and did not keep them waiting. After enjoying a good wash and substantial feed, they mounted fresh horses and went on at an easy gallop.

At Shangain they changed again, and kept on until Gwalo was reached. Here they rested for a couple of hours, while the doctor received and answered some telegrams which were waiting.

“As I expected,” he said. “The hue and cry is out, but there is no one to stop us about these parts. We must keep on all night, though, as time with me is everything.” As they rode out of Gwalo he said, “This is a most interesting locality from an antiquarian point of view: all round are ancient mine-workings. Some day, when you can spare the time, you must come back and examine these remains of past races.”

They changed horses twice during the night, resting and eating at each place, so that when morning dawned they had reached Fort Charter, two hundred and fifteen miles from Bulawayo, and had only sixty-five miles more to traverse. At Fort Charter they had a bath, breakfast, and three hours’ rest.

They rode easy for the rest of that day, and arrived at the Hamyani River Hotel about sundown. They were only twelve miles now from their destination. They were not at all fatigued, although they had been for thirty-six hours almost constantly on their saddles. Their horses were also quite fresh.

Yet their leader, for reasons of his own, did not wish to reach Salisbury until after midnight. They had, therefore, supper here, and afterwards lay down and had a few hours’ sleep. At half-past eleven they once more took the road, greatly the better for that short repose and brush-up afterwards.

Their ride had been absolutely without human incident for the past two days, except for those people at the hotels. They had encountered neither horseman nor waggon. At the inns their coming had been provided for, so that they escaped any outside curious eyes.

Dr Jim was in a most contented mood now that he had escaped observation. It did not matter greatly after this if they chanced to pass or meet any one, since they were so near to the end. He had rescued three young Englishmen from the remorseless clutches of his enemy, and punished some of that enemy’s satellites.

“You are in great favour with the chief,” he said. “I don’t know if he would have permitted me to leave his side at this time for any one else. But when he heard your sentences he swore a mighty oath that you should not taste the cat, even if he had to go himself and pull you out.”

“We also made a vow that we should not be flogged,” said Ned, quietly.

“You are plucky young fellows, and have stood this journey gamely. If you look after number one, and do your duty, there is a future before you. Cecil Rhodes, once he takes a fancy, sticks to it through thick and thin.”

“We shall try to deserve his good opinion, and yours also, doctor.”

“Be true to your country, faithful to your friends, and never shirk your duty, and you are safe to keep the good opinions you have already gained. Here we are at our destination.”

As he spoke he turned into a gate that was held open by a young Kaffir boy, and walked his horse up an avenue of blue gums, that looked inky, with their pendulous leaves, in the light of the late moon. The bush spiders were yet busy spinning their silky traps for the unwary, early morning fly, and the dew lay heavily upon those gleaming meshes. They were entering by the back road to the spacious Salisbury abode of the ex-premier of South Africa.

On each side of them as they rode slowly along were the numerous outhouses and stables, all substantially built of limestone, and slated. The gum trees, which had been planted within the past three years, were already thirty and forty feet in height, and gave out a pleasant aroma.

In front of them they could see a wide-spreading building, surrounded by three tiers of verandahs, and terminated with picturesque pinnacles. It was like a large hydropathic rather than a private residence.

A solemn stillness lay over this building, plunged as it was in darkness, and rising out of the shrubbery and fruit trees which had been planted and forced up regardless of expense. Solemnly and darkly this combined mass of building and foliage, with the delicate filigree tracings of palm trees and other exotics, rose against the declining moon. There was not a light to be seen in any of the windows.

But in a corner of the garden was a small single-storeyed building, like a summer-house, and here in the two windows facing them gleamed a ruddy glow of lamplight.

“The master is still up, Pete?” observed Dr Jim, as they dismounted and gave their horses to the Kaffir boy.

“Yes, Baas. He is waiting for you.”

“Then, we must not keep him waiting. Come, lads, and report yourselves.”

He opened a little side gate, and strode through the shrubbery towards the lighted windows, with our heroes at his heels.

For the second time they were about to behold this colossus of Africa—the man who never turned upon a friend, or took refuge behind an excuse; the man who considered his vast possessions as only trust-money for the good of his country; the most powerful and striking personality of the nineteenth century. Our heroes did not tremble as they had done when entering the abode of the ignoble enemy at Pretoria. There were no policemen here to guard this potent life. He was hedged round by admiration and affection. Nor had he any dread of the assassin’s bullet, for he was a man absolutely fearless. Yet they approached with timid expectation for all that.

Dr Jim tapped at the door, and a strong clear voice bade them enter. Next moment they were inside a small room plainly furnished with a table, a few chairs, and a small camp bed. They were in the favourite sanctum and bedroom of the modern Napoleon. He had been busy writing before they came, for the table was littered with papers. But at their entrance, he sprang up quickly, and, taking two strides, held out his shapely hand and clasped that of Dr Jim with a firm fervent grasp.

“Welcome back, old fellow, and you also, young gentlemen; let me congratulate you on your escape.”

He pushed the spirit-decanter and a box of cigars over to Dr Jim, who helped himself. Then he looked at our heroes with a genial smile.

“You have been already adding a line to our history, and making yourselves famous in Africa,” he said. “I have here my orders to look out for you, and hand you back to prison. Ah, there is a fine to do over this affair. Thirteen valuable burghers gone under, I believe.”

“Twelve I am answerable for,” answered Dr Jim, calmly.

“The thirteenth was killed by one of the Kaffirs who escaped with us,” said Ned.

He had been wondering how they had got on, and now enquired if any of them had been captured.

“Not yet. Nor do I expect they will be. I suppose you made arrangements about their safety, Jim?”

“Yes,” replied the doctor. “They will be passed on to their own people by the friendly Kaffirs, while if any care to come up here, the railway authorities have orders to forward them without delay.”

Our heroes rejoiced to hear this news, for their Kaffir friends had lain heavy on their minds since they had parted from them.

“Then, by this time they are into British territory, for these fellows know their way about much better than either the Boers or we do. We shall have them up here in a few days. Now, I suppose, you are ready for your breakfast, and bed afterwards?”

Our heroes were ready for their beds at least, although they declined the offer of any more refreshments.

“Right you are.”

Cecil Rhodes pressed an electric knob at his side, and in another moment the Kaffir boy Pete appeared.

“Show these young gentlemen to their bedrooms, Pete, and afterwards go to your own lair. I shall not require you any more this morning.”

He nodded to our heroes as he resumed his seat at the table.

“We shall have a chat after you have rested. Don’t hurry up before noon. Breakfast will be sent up to your bedrooms. Now, Jim, old fellow, you can do without sleep, I know, and there are three hours’ hard work before us here to get over ere I can let you go.”

Dr Jim drew a chair up to the table, and prepared to listen to instructions.

“I guess it is no sinecure that post of Dr Jim’s,” said Ned to his chums as they left the little house and walked after Pete towards the big one.

“When does your master sleep, Pete?”

“Never, I think,” answered the boy. “He is always working and wide awake. When sun rises he will be off to the veldt for a long ride with Baas Jim, then all the day they will be working again. Sometimes he lie down on that little bed for half an hour after lunch, or he have a nap in his chair after dinner, but that is all he takes of sleep.”

When they got inside, the boy set on the electric light in the hall and staircase to show them up to their rooms. There he left them, as they desired him, to manage for themselves.

Three nights before they had been slaves, with only a caked earth floor to lie upon. They were now the occupants of a sumptuous bedroom each, with every comfort and appliance that unlimited wealth could procure.

Full of heartfelt gratitude, they knelt and poured out their thanks to the God who had protected them and liberated them from the house of bondage. Neither did they forget to blend the names of those who had been the instruments in His hands of their deliverance. Lastly, they prayed that He might watch over and guard the dark-skinned brothers who had escaped with them.

After this grateful offering they crept into the comfortable beds, and very soon forgot all the troubles of the past.

Chapter Nineteen.

They start on their Adventures.

“Well, boys, at last we are having our desires and realising our wildest dreams.”

Ned was the speaker, and Fred and Clarence the recipients of his sentiments. Six weeks had gone by since the night they first slept at Salisbury, and now they were encamped in the heart of unknown Africa.

Cecil Rhodes, their benefactor, had taken up their idea of exploring, and as he never did things by half or in a dilatory fashion, he had fitted them with every requisite on a princely scale. As it was dangerous, even with all his great influence, to keep them within the limits of civilisation, he packed them off promptly and secretly to the kraal of a native ally, and there they remained perdu until their carriers and luggage were sent to them.

They were young and lacking in experience, but, as Rhodes said, so was Joseph Thomson when he led his first expedition across Africa, and what the son of a Scottish borderman could accomplish, so ought these plucky and well-educated young Englishmen. They had all the rudiments of science needful for their purpose, and experience would teach them the rest.

He therefore drew out a careful chart for them to follow, gave them full instructions how to treat with the natives, and, what was of most service, sent with them a full complement of tried native hunters, guides, interpreters, and carriers. They had not a boy that was not faithful and trustworthy. Each of them knew the man who had sent them, and could depend upon being well rewarded on their return.

Amongst their servants, to their great delight, were Cocoeni and six of their fellow-prisoners. The rest had decided to return to their own people, but these, having nowhere else to go, volunteered gladly to join the expedition.

Cocoeni had some adventures to tell them of their perils by the way. Fortunately, however, they had all got clear of the Transvaal without disaster.

Their outfit was thoroughly complete to the smallest detail. A dozen of properly salted horses accompanied them, while they had eighty carriers to bear their luggage. A good waterproof tent was amongst the items, with medicines, beads, and bales of showy cotton to pay their way along.

As for arms and ammunition, they had every weapon that was wanted for the largest game, as well as for smaller kinds. They were also amply provided with the best and latest improvements in rifles and revolvers, and sufficient ammunition to last them for a couple of years.

Ned, of course, took the leadership, and his orders from headquarters were most liberal. He was given a wide track of yet unexplored country to traverse, with full licence to use his own discretion.

“Keep a diary,” said Rhodes. “And jot down anything that interests you specially. Watch carefully the lands you pass through, and their condition and possibilities, and make the best maps you can of rivers, mountains, and plains. Above all, look carefully after your own health and that of your boys, and avoid as much as possible swampy and malarious ground.”

For all the rest they were to do as they liked. Hunt, enjoy themselves, make friends as much as possible with the chiefs, and avoid anything like aggression.

“Go, and stay away for at least six months, and when you return, bring a good report of yourselves. And may the Lord watch over you.”

These were the final words of their commander, who, with his lieutenant, Dr Jim, had come to see them make the start.

It gave them great confidence to have this great man as their friend and backer. They knew that he had smoothed many difficulties out of their path, and also that he would not be idle in their behalf during their absence. Kruger would not have it quite all his own way with Cecil Rhodes at their back.

What a difference had those six months of freedom and responsibility made upon them! They were master men now in all respects excepting years. With this large following to look after and provide for, what remained of their boyhood, which the prison had not shown, now had left them for ever. Cecil Rhodes knew what he was about when he sent them off on their own account to face the dangers and trials of exploration.

“If they come back, as I firmly believe they will, we shall have three worthy successors to Selous. These boys have brains and good pluck, and their prison experience will be all to their advantage. I am pleased with them, and have every confidence in their fitness for the task.”

So Cecil Rhodes said, as he waved his riding-whip to them for the last time, and returned to his own heavy and multifold duties.

Filled with fortitude and high hopes, our heroes departed, leading their company of followers into the tropical forest. They were on the outlook for adventures, and from the first day they were not disappointed.

Every hour brought some fresh excitement, and opened new wonders to their eyes. They were passing through a land perfectly crammed with animal life, so that there was no fear of going supperless to sleep, so far at least.

Our heroes had been wonderfully particular in keeping their diaries for the first week or two. A good deal oppressed with the importance of their mission, and fresh to the work of note-taking, they cudgelled their brains to find far-fetched and varied expressions, so as to give their efforts literary style. Their models in style were those ponderous and laboured essays which generally find favour with dictation masters, where a word repeated is considered bad form. The result was that their descriptions were of the grand, verbose, and vague order, rather than the terse and realistic. Striving to produce effect and variety of language, they at times forgot the main object, which was to make themselves intelligible, and present the route vividly in few words. Redundancy is the failing of juvenile literature. Brevity the soul of experience as well as wit, and simplicity the gift only of poets and matured masters.

They went along, more often thinking of what they should write, than watching for material by the way. They pulled out their pocket-books when any particularly erudite words or expressions occurred to them, and jotted these down with supreme satisfaction, to drag them in somehow in the day’s log. At nights, while sitting at their camp fires, they compared these high-falutin notes, and mutually congratulated each other over these jaw-crackers. It was a sweet joy to read them over aloud, and roll them round their tongues. They were most generous to each other in imparting their critical advice, and sharing their choice expressions, while, as they had all been educated in the same school, the three logs, rolled into one, was written down by Ned, and after great deliberation and corrections, was laid aside as the final copy.

This was composed and written, as they fondly imagined, for the printers. They were mighty particular, therefore, over it, so that it would read smoothly and roundly, and when done, they compared it with other travellers’ works that they had read, with happy conceit. Herodotus and Mungo Parke, they admitted modestly, had done as well, perhaps. Joseph Thomson also was pretty fair with his wise and moral reflections; but as for those other slovenly writers like Stanley, Selous, and such-like, they thought their amalgamated journal would keep them at a respectful distance.

This juvenile mutual admiration and camp log rolling was a great solace to them for the first week or so. The journal interfered a good deal with sport and real business, of course. Thinking of it made them miss many a fine chance and good shot, and several times ran them into real danger; but it consoled them all the same, while the novelty lasted, for those other unavoidable mischances.

Their carriers did not object, as it gave them many opportunities for resting, which they would not have had otherwise.

But Cocoeni and the hunters protested often and vehemently against this waste of time and opportunities. The hunters, who had started full of faith in their young masters, lost a good deal of their enthusiasm and respect, and might have turned heel altogether in disgust, if Cocoeni had not flagged up their weakening interest. Cocoeni was, however, their right-hand man and staunch supporter. He was an enthusiast in deeds of daring and destruction, and equally ready to wash his spear in wild beast or hostile man. If he grunted impatiently when he saw the note-book produced instead of the gun, he always did his best to excuse the weakness and explain the mistake away to his sable brethren.

“Bah! this is nothing,” he would say, when he saw the carefully tracked animal bound away unscathed, all on account of those note-books. “Don’t be afraid. This is only the beginning. By-and-by you will see our masters wake up and do great deeds. By-and-by they will not write. We have been together before, and I know them to be men.”

A timely accident, for which Cocoeni was to blame, either with intent or through carelessness, terminated this fit of cocoethes scribendi for the rest of that expedition, at least, and woke them up to sterner duties.

Cocoeni, whom they trusted with their most valuable effects, was one day carrying the small valise which contained their entire stock of writing-material. They were crossing a mountain torrent, which rushed tumultuously through a chasm and over a series of cataracts, when his foot slipped, and in an instant the precious packet was swept out of his grasp and whirled out of sight.

The caravan was instantly stopped and a wild search ordered, in which Cocoeni willingly took the lead.

But, alas! all that was found of the contents of the valise were a couple of closely written sheets. These Cocoeni brought back in a smudged and soapy condition after many hours’ absence. As for the broken valise and its pulpy contents, he said he had seen a greedy crocodile bolt these without compunction at one gulp, and straightway disappear into a dark pool as if he had taken enough.

Our heroes spent a doleful night, looking at their crammed note-books and those two hardly legible sheets of paper, all that remained of their painful and laboured efforts.

They had plenty of pencils, but not one blank scrap of paper to use them on. The wail of Ramma rang in their hearts, and for a time they were disconsolate.

Then Ned plucked up his courage and cheered his chums.

“We’ll just have to do a bit of memory practice after this, boys, and put down all we have seen when we get back to civilisation.”

“Let us keep these two sheets carefully as a specimen of what we are capable of. I fancy they will rather impress our great chief when he reads them.”

Comforted with this reflection, they packed their note-books and the manuscript carefully inside their medicine-chest, and devoted their future days to adventures, and their evenings to criticism on the faulty writings of other travellers. This cheered and elevated their minds greatly, until the time came when note-books and style were completely swallowed up by action as their valise had been by the saurian.

When Cecil Rhodes read those two rescued pages he laid back in his chair and wept. When asked by Dr Jim the cause of his emotion, he replied that it was out of pity for that poor crocodile. Even the most loathsome of reptiles deserved commiseration for such a dire fate.

We quote a few extracts from the precious manuscript which affected this most reticent of men so visibly. A little will be sufficient to prove how thoroughly in earnest our heroes were.

“July 28.—The palaeolithic region over which we are passing possesses fertile streaks of fluviatile deposits that are most encouraging to future agriculturists. This superincumbent alluvium is most effusive on the depressed basins or water-sheds. Here also the tsetse fly is indigenous and multitudinous. Three of our horses have succumbed to the virulence of these pestiferous and dipterous insects.

“Memo.—The tsetse is similar in appearance and magnitude to the ordinary house epidemic.

“July 29.—After traversing for the past lunar month over more or less elevated plateaux, with intermissions of gorges and kloofs, we have commenced our descent into a deep depression, or valley. Before us extends an umbrageous and interminable wilderness. Precipitous cliffs bar our progress to the right and left, which have been gradually approaching each other until we are enclosed in a circumscribed upland chasm. We must either retrace our steps or enter this lower level. We have decided to proceed downwards. Hitherto we have been on friendly terms with the inhabitants. They have welcomed our presence and imparted to us all the information at their command. They have also accepted our presents with the most affable liberality.

“The country over which we have passed has been generally adequately populated, with distinct communities and agglomerations of huts of considerable magnitude. It is well watered by rivers and tributaries, and each village has its own fructiferous plantation, also fields of maize, manioc, and other granuliferous produce. The Carnivora fissipedia is well represented in these upland regions, likewise the ungulated order. We have encountered several lions and leopards, and demolished a pair of the first and one of the latter species.”

(One of these first-named Carnivora fissipedia had nearly demolished Ned while he was making his notes for this elaborate extract, only that Cocoeni came to his rescue just in the nick of time. Ned, however, did not think this narrow escape worth making a note about. It was merely a personal item, he said, which could not possibly interest the great public that he was striving so hard and conscientiously to instruct.)

“We have been dining on buffalo-steak and elephant heart tonight, having bagged one of each species this afternoon in a reedy swamp through which we passed. The pecora was a tough customer to deal with, as we failed to kill him at the first volley, but eventually he was subdued. The tusks of the proboscidean weighed over a hundred pounds. We have inhumed this ivory until our return. Tomorrow we vertigate the forest.”

Chapter Twenty.

In the Forest.

Our heroes were encamped within the “umbrageous wilderness,” as Ned had named it.

A howling wilderness they discovered it to be, where constant vigilance had to be exercised, and thinkers-out of verbose phrases had no place.

Each moment of the day and night they had to be on the qui vive, for it swarmed with hostile enemies, both human, inhuman, and climatical. It was lovely in its tropic luxuriance and lushness. They cut their path through a labyrinth of juicy greens and vegetable parasites which untravelled Europeans see only in the hothouses of their botanic gardens. Great trunks festooned with tendrils rose and spread over their heads hundreds of feet. They were able only at rare intervals to see the lower limbs, for all above was so interlaced and covered, that an everlasting twilight of green reigned even on the brightest day.

Sometimes a slender shaft of sunlight penetrated to the canopy over them and illumined a patch of leaves, making them gleam like old stained glass, but that was all they saw of the sun. As for moon or stars, they were perpetually shut out from these secluded glens and avenues.

Round, as above them, the same mystical shadow prevailed. They could see an intricacy of snaky rope work and leaves intermingling, the creepers crossing and recrossing in all directions as they drooped or sprung up from the dank undergrowth, or threw themselves from tree to tree in bewildering arches. Through these tough tendrils they were forced to cut their path.

The compass was their only guide, and Ned carried it in his hand and kept his eyes upon it constantly while they were on the march.

Under their feet they squashed through oozy slime and rank vegetation, or tripped over spreading roots. They skirted deadly looking pools, black, and suggestive of unknown horrors where the fluid was visible. This was, they knew, only visible when it had been disturbed by the monsters who made it their noisome lair. The other portions were covered with flowering reeds and treacherous emerald bright grasses.

There were paths intersecting this malarious dankness, some worn by human feet, others trampled by the ravenous beasts with which the forest teemed.

They passed well-made, fresh-cut, and straight paths at times, but they did not use these tempting ways, for they knew the traps which they led to, as well as they knew that murderous eyes were watching them from the closely woven thickets and impenetrable canopy that covered them.

They crossed streams where the clear water ran noisily over sandy shallows or flowed smoothly beneath waving leaves. Sometimes the ground became elevated and rocky, then again it dipped into dark hollows that made them shudder at what lay below them. At times they had to surmount precipices and listen to cataracts thundering down unknown depths. At times they drew back with horror at the covered edges of inky chasms.

At night the blackness was palpable, except when it was rent up by the most vivid lightning-flashes and appalling thunder-peals. Then they heard all round them the splitting of limbs and crashing of giant trees which had been struck, while the tornado shrieked high up and the rain poured down solidly.

The atmosphere was as airless, moist, and sultry as that within a Turkish bath. Whether they walked or stood during the day they were always wet with perspiration and gasping for breath. At night cold exhalations rose from the slimy soil and chilled them to the marrow.

It was the dry season, or none of them could have survived this march. Yet it is never dry in those forests.

In the mornings the densest of fogs shrouded everything, and clung to them like a vast grey muffler. This entered their lungs and nearly choked them with its thickness and heavy effluvia. While it lay round nothing stirred. Nature seemed dead, animal and insect life asleep; a weird and ominous hush brooded over the scene like the sombre stillness of a grave. They were entombed and spell-bound with the universal and dim death-silence.

When this vapour dispersed, the labyrinth would suddenly start into life and swarm with motion and sounds. Birds would shriek at the welcome light, baboons chatter and swing themselves aloft with merry and noisy antics; butterflies would flutter and gleam with gorgeous colours as they sported through the open spaces.

Swarms of fierce mosquitoes and other venomous insects buzzed and flew about, stinging viciously. Ants dropped down their necks or rushed up their trousers in countless hordes and with maddening effect. These tormentors never left them alone day or night. Under the deadly bite of the tsetse fly their most seasoned horses fell one by one, and had to be left behind before they had gone very far. This, however, did not discourage them, and when they came to the rock climbing they felt they were better without these poor beasts.

All night long the forest resounded with the roaring, trumpeting, and other strange cries of wild beasts, while round their fires they could see at times an outer circle of flaming phosphorescent eyes. During the day they could see sometimes what they took to be a stout tendril or limb detach itself from the tree and glide noiselessly out of their path. Sometimes also what they thought was a mud-covered log in their path would suddenly gape horribly at them, showing serrated rows of gleaming teeth inside the ugly long snout, while the seedy monster wallowed ponderously into the turbid bog.

These were only a few of the countless perils which beset them every foot of their leafy journey. The reptile, animal, and insect world encompassed them with as deadly intent as the noxious vapours. But what they had to look out for and dread more than these were the human savages who infested and disputed the upper branches with the man-like apes.

But our heroes were resolute, and held on undauntedly day after day. They kept to one course with the dogged perseverance of Englishmen, and their followers followed after them with blind confidence.

The wild beasts and savages they scared with their gunpowder and bullets. The malaria they fought with their medicine-chest. The insect pests they endured with philosophy.

They went along happy and fearlessly, for it was their nature to enjoy danger and exertion. Their youth, buoyant spirits, and cheerful confidence not only supported them, but inspired their followers with the same fortitude, while their pure constitutions, unimpaired by any excess, rendered them almost invulnerable to the insidious grip of the fever. In this their patrons had made no mistake. Where older men would have succumbed they passed on unscathed.

“I tell you what, boys, I call this jolly fine experience, and I consider us lucky to have it,” cried Ned one night, as he carefully took a bead at one of a pair of glowing green eyes which were shining out of the darkness.

He fired, and immediately a wild stampede took place from all sides with thunderous roarings, while a bulky body leapt into the firelight and rolled over, clawing the ground in its death-throes.

He had made no false aim this time, but had brought down a well-developed leopard.

“A pity we cannot take those skins with us. The people outside won’t believe in our stories when we have nothing to show on our return. But we cannot cart any more luggage. Never mind, we have something to boast about all the same, whether we are credited or not, when we get back.”

“If we get back,” murmured Clarence, gloomily.

Since his knock on the head by the Boers, Clarence had suffered now and again from depressed spirits. The organ of hope must have been damaged somehow on that occasion. At the present moment, however, he had a touch of malarial fever, which always makes one feel very morbid and despairing.

“Hallo, Clarence!” cried Ned. “I see you require some more quinine. Never mind, old fellow, we shall soon be out of this swamp; then you will be all right.”

No one paid any attention to the dead leopard as yet. They had grown used to incidents of this sort, therefore felt little excitement. However, seeing that it was a magnificent specimen, and appeared jet black as it lay stretched out, Cocoeni rose and went over to skin it. While he was so engaged, the others kept a close watch over him with their guns, ready to shoot any covetous molester. As they watched the thickets round, they could see dark forms gliding about. These were wolves and hyenas waiting to devour the carcase when Cocoeni was done with it.

From all sides resounded the howlings, sharp cries, and vibrating roarings of hungry animals on the prowl. These never ceased all through the night.

Neither did the everlasting and varied croaking of the frogs, that kept up an increasing chorus, running up and down the scale of notes, from the deep bass of the bull to the reed-like treble of the tender froglet. Through this orchestra sounded the irritating and brisk humming of the indefatigable mosquitoes. As Ned remarked merrily, “No one could feel lonely while this concert went on.”

They had no stint of fresh meat, for as they camped mostly where they found a running stream, the beasts generally had their choice of the menagerie as they came down to drink. Sometimes they would pot a fine young elephant or a hippopotamus, while they could always rely upon some variety of the antelope family for their larder.

Each morning and night Ned served out regularly to each man two grains of quinine. If any showed symptoms of fever, he repeated this mild dose every half-hour until they were better. Clarence had been under this treatment for the past two days.

“How much longer do you think we shall be in this earthly paradise?” asked Fred, as he brought his Metford up to his shoulder, and took a careful aim to the left of where Cocoeni was kneeling.

Ned waited until the bullet had sped on its deadly mission, then he answered—

“Not many days now, I reckon, Fred. We have been gradually ascending for the last day and a half, as you may know from the more solid state of the soil under our feet. That stream also, which has kept with us, shows that it comes from high lands by its speed. I expect we shall have some climbing to do very soon; then we shall begin to see the sun and have a breath of clear air.”

“Where are you going to, baas?” asked Cocoeni, who had finished his skinning, and now returned to his place by the blazing fire. He spread the hide on the ground, and flung himself upon it as he spoke.

“Straight ahead, wherever that may take us to,” answered Ned. “We will keep a bee-line as much as possible until we discover something worth reporting. This course is out of the ordinary track, as any one can tell from the absence of humans; so that we are sure to find out something new.”

“Plenty humans by-and-by, you bet, baas; more than you may care to meet.”

“Still we shall go on, Cocoeni, as far as we can. We shall be friendly with them, and spare them all we can; but if we have to fight, then we must do so.”

“That all right, baas. Go ahead, and we will follow, never fear.”

Ned knew this without one of his men assuring him. There wasn’t one of them who would turn and leave him in the lurch. They were all picked fighters as well as hunters, whose glory and occupation had been battle from their boyhood, while their pastime was the chase. The oldest man amongst them was not yet twenty-eight, while the others ranged from eighteen upwards to that glorious period of manhood and strength. They were also all tall fellows, belonging to the Matabele and Basuto races, who were absolutely fearless and disdainful of death in any aspect. They were devoted friends of Rhodes, who had won their fealty by courage, and their devotion by kindness afterwards. None would have turned back if they could, but now retreat was impossible, even if any would have entertained such a thought. Each man carried his own share of the load. In this duty our heroes also took their equal part, for these men were men-at-arms, not henchmen.

They had cleared an open space, and made a huge fire in the centre, round which all now lay, except those appointed to keep watch and attend to the fire.

High above, the smoke roared and filtered through the canopy of leafage. For a dozen yards on either side the ruddy flames lit up the massy trunks, tendrils, and drooping leaves which hemmed them in, with the fringe of close undergrowth which gave solidity to the thickets.

They were camped near the bank of a torrent that rushed with impetuous force over rocks, foaming and swirling over and round these impediments, and covering the deep pools with curds and bubbles. This was the most cheerful sound of the many that filled their ears, and it lulled them to sleep. They had come upon it the day before, and as it was in their course, they had kept as close to it as they could.

By-and-by only the watchers were awake, among whom stood Fred, with his rifle ready for emergencies. He, with Ned, had enjoyed perfect health since the start; only Clarence gave them any uneasiness.

He was lying now on three folds of skins stretched face upwards, with his mouth open, and very wan and sallow. Fred occasionally looked at him with tender anxiety. He also attended to giving him his medicine regularly. Doubtless he would be all right when they got out of this fever-infested valley. He was still able to keep up with them, although he had not carried anything for the past two days.

While Fred was looking at his sleeping friend and listening to the forest outcry, all at once he was startled by the most furious bellowing and hoarse shrieking, accompanied by the crashing and tearing of some huge body bursting through the thicket.

Instantly his rifle was at his shoulder, and the barrel pointed in the direction of the advancing turmoil.

Nor had he many seconds to wait before he saw a buffalo, with a leopard on his neck, rushing at full speed along the open avenue which they had made in coming straight towards their camp.

He fired instantly, as did also the other watchers, and before they could get in second shots, the infuriated beasts had thundered past them into the other side of the forest. The buffalo had swerved aside at sight of the fire, and passed just within a couple of feet of where Cocoeni lay stretched on his new skin. As the pair rushed past, Fred had a passing glimpse of the red blood glistening ruddily on the sides of the bull as it gushed out of his wounds.

Fred calmly reloaded and stood once more at attention, for this was but one of many such incidents which might be expected before the morning fog rose and enveloped them.

Chapter Twenty One.

A Baboon Hunt.

Towards morning Clarence broke out into a lavish perspiration during Ned’s watch. The moisture poured from him like rain for about half an hour, after which he sank into a more refreshing sleep.

Ned during this time kept him well rolled up in furs, after which he rubbed him dry and covered him lightly, giving him at the same time about a tablespoonful of brandy. When he woke in the morning he was clear-skinned, hungry, and better. After a hearty breakfast, they once more continued their journey.

They did not progress very fast, as they had to cut through the tangle, yet, to their joy, they found that they were ascending to loftier ground each step they took, also that the torrent kept beside them.

After about six hours of this steady upward marching, the undergrowth became thinner and the ground more solid. At places they had to climb over moss-covered rocks, which jutted from the earth. The tendrils, also, were not so thick, nor the tree-trunks so great in girth.

That night they pitched their camp at an elevation of over four hundred feet from where they had lain the night before. The forest was still dense, but there were greater spaces between the trunks.

“We are approaching the open!” cried Ned, exultantly. “Tomorrow, perhaps, we may see the sun.”

A herd of koodoo dashed past them up the hill, followed by a pair of large leopards, and in their rear a pack of spotted hyenas also coursed along.

They fired at random into the koodoo, and brought down four. The second volley killed one of the leopards and wounded the other, who, however, made his escape, carrying with him one of the antelopes, while the evil-smelling jackals disappeared with savage yelps.

There was a succulent supper that night, which all devoured eagerly, as they were hungrier than they had been for some days past.

Next morning they rose all in a healthy and energetic condition. The usual thick fog was absent, and the green looked lighter which spread around them. All about them the winged insect and feathered world seemed more full of life and pleasure.

They were going up the sides of a decided hill now. By-and-by it got so stiff that they were forced to drag themselves up by gripping the creepers that spread over and barred the way.

The torrent was now a series of cascades as it bounded from ledge to ledge a swirling mass of foam. At times they lost sight of it altogether.

They were toiling over an upward spread of forest-clad terraces. When they reached one ridge, they found several yards of gentle slope, or even level ground, with a jutting out of boulders to be surmounted after these spaces were crossed. Still they were hemmed closely in with vegetation, and could only see a few feet ahead of them.

All at once they came to a kind of clearing, where the undergrowth was trampled down and the tendrils roughly broken asunder.

“Big man-monkey live about here,” said Cocoeni, as he looked about him carefully.

In front of them were several gaping avenues amongst the undergrowth. Ned decided on keeping to one that went in the direction his compass pointed to.

They went upwards now cautiously, making as little noise as they could. There was no occasion to use their axes, as the baboon-path was wide enough for them to pass through in single file.

Cocoeni and two of the hunters went first, and some feet in advance of the others. All were on the alert, with their guns ready and their hearts beating with suppressed excitement. Not a word was spoken. They even held their breaths as much as possible, and took care not to make any rustling with their feet.

This was new game to our heroes, and they were trembling with eagerness. They crossed several of these open spaces as they scrambled up the heights.

Before entering these, Cocoeni scrutinised them cautiously and keenly, while those behind waited on the result. Until he entered they stood still and mute as statues. The only sound they could hear as they stood and listened was the loud-sounding and tumultuous rushing of the torrent. This being close on their left, although hidden, seemed to deaden all other sounds.

At the fringe of the fifth opening Cocoeni suddenly drew back, and held up his hand as a signal for them to advance carefully.

One by one they crept up until they were able to see what he was looking at.

A strange, weird, yet singularly human-like and domestic picture met their gaze.

At the root of a huge tree squatted the most diabolic-looking mother-ape nursing her baby at her hairy breast. She was a gigantic creature, with the most villainous-looking face that our heroes thought they had ever looked upon.

Yet there was an expression of grotesque tenderness and sentiment upon that dreadful visage as she looked down at her hideous youngster, that was half pathetic and half ludicrous. One hairy arm was holding the young ape up, while the other paw was gently stroking its face as any human mother might have done when similarly occupied.

But if she was frightful to look at, her mate, who sat at her side and also watched his offspring with paternal complacency, was the most awful and devilish monster that the imagination could conjure up as a nightmare.

There was nothing ridiculous about him, but a combination of all that was revolting, bestial, and terrifying.

His flat forehead and pent brows; his dreadful jaws, which were slightly open in a senile kind of leer that exhibited his fangs; his shapeless, bulging paunch, short legs, deep chest, and long arms covered with dingy-looking hair,—he looked the embodiment of brutality, loathsome ugliness, and ferocious strength.

The first glance made them shiver with horror, the second filled them with the desire to kill this half-human, wholly fiend-like monstrosity.

The tree under which this awful group sat grew on the edge of a precipice, while in front of them the torrent could be seen and heard as it fell into the chasm, with a sound like thunder, from a lofty cliff. With that thundering in their ears, and the vibration of the covered rocks under their feet, they did not fear being heard by the brutes in front of them, Cocoeni made a silent sign, and the hunters crept through the leafage to make a half-circle round the still unconscious family party. While they were doing this, he drew back and whispered to Ned—

“Don’t shoot till I give you the sign. I know how to manage this fellow.”

“So do I,” replied Ned—“from what I have read.”

“All right. Now for him.”

Cocoeni stepped into the open, holding his gun ready, while our heroes followed him. They knew that they must kill with the first shot or it would be all over with them.

Neither of the baboons had heard them, but they had got the scent of the other hunters, and looked up sniffing the air suspiciously.

In a moment the male baboon saw his foes, and scrambled upright, fixing his wicked and ferocious eyes upon them. With a roar that eclipsed the thunder of the waterfall and echoed horribly in their ears, he opened his jaws, and grinned on them, showing all his teeth.

A tremor passed over them, and for a moment unnerved them—he was so horribly like an exaggerated Kruger as he stood there glaring at them.

He gallantly waddled in front of his wife and child, covering them with his ponderous body, while she sat still and waited. This action on his part the young men could not but admire.

With another fierce roar he stopped, and beat upon his stomach with both hands until it sounded like a big drum. He was getting ready for the fight, and bidding defiance to them.

Three more paces did he advance, then he once more stood still, and made the forest resound with his cries and drum-beating; then he threw his arms out, and crouched ready for the spring. He was about two yards’ distance from them by this time.

“Fire!” shouted Cocoeni.

Two rifles belched out at the same moment. Ned and Fred had fired off, while Cocoeni and Clarence stood ready.

The monster flung up its arms and fell on his face without a moan. He had been pierced through the heart and lungs.

The mother, when she saw what had befallen her mate, did not attempt to escape. She looked at the prostrate body stupidly for a moment; then, as if suddenly realising the disaster, she placed her baby on the ground, and rose, as the male had done, to her feet with a barking roar.

Ned and Fred meanwhile had fallen back a pace, and put another cartridge into their weapons. They were cool now that they had succeeded in their first shot.

She repeated the tactics of the male, only moved more actively, not giving them so much time to aim.

But their shots told all the same, even if she did not die so rapidly. With a shriek she fell forward, after she was shot, on to the body of her mate, and there she lay moaning and gasping piteously.

Our heroes were transfixed with horror at this death-struggle. It almost felt as if they had committed murder. With her life-blood streaming out, the mother made a frantic endeavour to cover and protect her little one, who had run whimpering over to her. She half turned, and got one hairy arm round it, hiding it on her bosom, all the while those human-like moans and gasps broke from her.

But the struggle was short. Even while Ned was aiming to finish her off, Cocoeni gripped his arm.

“No use wasting bullets, baas. She is dead.”

Yes; the arm suddenly relaxed its maternal hold, while the moans and groaning ceased. Only the baby remained. Ned would fain have spared the little one, but the hunters were round it by this time, and it was fighting tooth and nail to resist them. Before our heroes were able to reach it, one of the men had plunged his spear ruthlessly through its body, and pinned it to the ground. With a series of shrill and plaintive cries, it writhed for a moment, then closed its little eyes, and was suddenly still.

“I don’t care much for baboon-hunting,” said Ned, with a shudder, as he turned away, feeling sickish. “I hope we don’t meet any more.”