Front matter (continued 2)

It was now arranged that the Bushman should at once join the outfit. They walked with him to the wagon outside the town, and introduced him to the other servants. Had he a gun? asked Mr. Blakeney. Yes; he had a gun, concealed not far away. He would get it that night, and put it in the wagon. It was a Martini carbine, given to him by Baas Hardcastle, and in good condition; but he wanted ammunition. This Mr. Blakeney promised to procure for him; and they left the little man at his supper as happy as a king.

Next morning Poeskop turned up at the hotel in good time, as Mr. Blakeney had told him to do. It was after breakfast; and they were talking in front of the place, the three Englishmen asking the little Bushman all sorts of questions as to their route, the kind of country they would pass through, the prospects of game (which Poeskop told them were first-rate), and so forth.

"Poeskop," presently queried Mr. Blakeney, "how long will it take us, trekking steadily and with good oxen (which I have got), to reach the kloof?"

"About six weeks, baas," replied the Bushman. "It is far, and the way is hard."

"I had thought of getting another wagon," continued Mr. Blakeney. "It will be rather a squeeze for myself and the two young masters here to get into one at night. What say you, Poeskop? Can we manage with two easily?"

"Baas," replied the Bushman, "I would not take two wagons, if you can help it. It is a hard trek, and we have to cross a piece of doorst-land [thirst-land], which takes more than a week to get through: two days' and two nights' trek, then water, but not much; then two days and a night without water; then a water-pit; and then three days' and three nights' thirst. It will be hard to get across this with one wagon; much harder with two. If I were the baas, I would take the one wagon only and some spare oxen. We may lose some beasts on the trek from lions, or thirst, or hard work; and it will be safer."

"I'm glad you told me of this, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney. "You are quite right; we will take one wagon only. I can buy a small tent in the town; that will do for the young baases to sleep in, and I can have my kartel [bed-frame] to myself in the wagon. In the daytime the tent can be lashed along the buck-rail."

They discussed many other points connected with the trek, concerning all of which the little Bushman gave them copious information. Suddenly, as he glanced down the sandy street, his countenance changed; he trembled; fear unmistakably seized him.

"Baas," he said, in a hoarse voice, "there comes Karl Engelbrecht; I am afraid!"

"Who is Karl Engelbrecht?" asked Guy; "and why are you afraid?"

"He is the Trek Boer in whose service I used to be," returned the Bushman. "He beat me often with his sjambok, and treated me cruelly; and so I ran away. But I fear him still. He is a bad man--schelm!"

"You need have no fear, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney; "I will look after you. Put on a bold face, and stick to me; I'll see that your friend Engelbrecht plays no tricks upon you. Remember that you are in my service, and that we are in Portuguese and not Boer country."

They watched the two tall figures, on which Poeskop's eyes were fastened, coming up the street. The Bushman whispered that Karl Engelbrecht was the bigger of the two--the man on the right. The Boers--for they were manifestly both Dutchmen--were now close to the hotel. Karl Engelbrecht, of whom Poeskop stood in so much terror, was a typical Boer of Boers--a big, heavy, slouching fellow, six feet in height, powerfully made, very strong, but slack and loose-limbed. He wore the usual Boer clothing--short jacket and loose trousers of moleskin, a flannel shirt, velschoens (field-shoes) of untanned hide, and a big slouch-hat, ornamented with a single short black-and-white ostrich plume. His long hay-coloured hair ran over his ears and partly covered his neck, and he wore a huge untrimmed beard and moustache of the same dull hue. His hard, pale blue eyes were set deep above broad, sunburnt, fleshy cheeks. It was an unpleasant face; something in the lowering brows, the hard, furtive eyes, gave the beholder instantly an unpleasant impression; and about the man's whole demeanour there was an undefinable yet unmistakable air of menace and brutality. The Dutchman accompanying him was of a much milder and less aggressive type--a big, dark-bearded, slouching fellow, of dull and heavy countenance, with nothing much to differentiate him from scores of his fellows of the Transvaal, Orange Free State, and Cape Colony.

As Karl Engelbrecht strode up to the hotel, his eyes suddenly fell upon Poeskop. He started, frowned evilly, glowered at the three white men standing near, and then, taking a step or two forward, seized the Bushman by the collar of his jacket.

"So, my fine fellow, I have caught you, have I?" he said, in a deep guttural and manifestly angry voice. As he spoke, he cuffed the unfortunate Bushman heavily on the head with his huge hand.

Mr. Blakeney was a strong and determined man, and in no mood to stand by and see his servant knocked about. His blood rose instantly at the insolent aggression of this bully.

"Let the man alone!" he said angrily in Dutch, snatching Poeskop away so suddenly and with such force that he freed him from the Boer's grip. "He is my servant!"

Karl Engelbrecht turned instantly upon the Englishman. His face was inflamed with passion, and he struck a heavy blow with his right fist, which, if it had not been parried, would have caught Mr. Blakeney fair in the face. But the latter had been a good boxer in his young days, and had no difficulty in stopping the hit. He was an active man, hard as nails, and in the prime of life, and he was in no mood to take a blow from any man. He retorted by a swift left-hander, which crashed into the middle of the Boer's broad, fleshy face like a kick from a horse. The blood instantly gushed from Engelbrecht's nose. With an oath in Dutch the giant rushed upon his assailant, swinging at him some dangerous right-handers; but Mr. Blakeney, although angry enough, was much too good a general to be overcome in this way. He fought very coolly, parried the round-arm blows, and every now and again planted on the Dutchman's face heavy and telling strokes that quickly told their tale. Pausing to get breath, to spit the blood from his mouth, and to wipe his streaming nose with the back of his hand, the Dutchman once more rushed in to the attack. This time he fought desperately, and Mr. Blakeney had some ado to repel the rush. Changing his tactics, he delivered two or three heavy body-blows, under which the Dutchman winced visibly; the third of these took the Boer's wind, and doubled him up. As his head went forward, the Englishman let drive one vicious upper cut which took Engelbrecht on the point of the jaw and stretched him instantly on the sand. The fight was over.

Chapter V.

THE TREK BEGINS.

Karl Engelbrecht gathered himself up after a short pause, but there was no further fight left in him. He turned to go.

"All right, my fine Englishman," he said, shaking his fist at his conqueror. "I don't know who you are or what you are, but no one does Karl Engelbrecht an injury without paying for it. I shall be even with you, and that before very long. Meanwhile I shall go straight to the magistrate's office, and get that scoundrel arrested for running away from my service."

As he spoke he pointed to Poeskop, who was smiling all over his yellow face at his former master's discomfiture.

"And I'll follow you to the magistrate's office directly," said Mr. Blakeney, "and have you summoned for assaulting this native."

Accompanied by the two lads, who were overjoyed, if a little awed, at the result of the contest, Mr. Blakeney went into the hotel to wash his hands and get rid of all traces of the encounter. He himself had scarcely suffered at all. He had a lump on his forehead and a red patch on his cheek-bone, and one of his knuckles was badly cut; beyond these slight injuries he has untouched.

"My word, uncle," said Guy, as Mr. Blakeney took his coat off and poured out some water, "you did punish that ruffian. I had no idea you were such a fighting man. It was splendid!"

"Well, boys," returned Mr. Blakeney, "I don't like fighting, and I have always made it a point to avoid a scuffle if it can possibly be done. But sometimes there comes an occasion when a man must take his own part. This was one of them. I couldn't stand by and see that hulking bully knocking Poeskop about. My idea is that every decent Englishman, or English boy, should be able to defend himself when compelled to, and for that reason I believe in every lad being taught to box. My old boxing lessons stood me in good stead just now. I suppose the Boer was at least a couple of stone heavier than myself; but he knew no more about fighting than a baby, and he paid the penalty."

He soused his face in cold water, washed his hands, and with the two lads and Poeskop went off to the magistrate's office. The upshot of the affair was that Karl Engelbrecht was proved to be entirely in the wrong. It was shown that he had persistently maltreated Poeskop, and that he had seldom if ever paid him his rightful wages. Other natives in the town, who were under Portuguese rule, but who had served with Engelbrecht, could speak to these facts. In the end the Boer was fined for assaulting the Bushman, and ordered to pay him a further sum of money due for unpaid wages. The Dutchman paid the money with a wry face, and it was clear that he was yet more inflamed with hatred against Poeskop and his English supporters than he had been before.

But for the most part the people of Mossamedes, including the governor of the town and other officials, were delighted at the punishment inflicted on the big Boer. He was known and feared as a quarrelsome bully, and now some one had been found to check his blustering career and cut his comb. Mr. Blakeney was advised privately, after these occurrences, to keep his eyes open. Karl Engelbrecht was a man of evil reputation, who would not be likely to stop at trifles in the achievement of revenge, and revenge he was known to have vowed. In the town nothing would be attempted, but in the veldt such a ruffian might very well try to do mischief. However, Mr. Blakeney treated the matter very coolly. He was well able to take care of himself, he said; and having wide experience of the veldt and veldt ways, he felt perfectly competent to set at naught the blusterings of Karl Engelbrecht and his followers. The big Dutchman, having got over the effects of the fight, was having a good time in Mossamedes. For some time past the Portuguese Government had been employing the Trek Boers settled in their territory as mercenaries in their warfare against any tribes that happened to give trouble. The Boers took their payment chiefly in cattle, raided from the defeated tribesfolk; and Engelbrecht, who had been lately leading a commando against some unfortunate natives, had returned with much plunder in oxen and goats. These he had sold for good prices; his pockets were full of money, and he and his freebooting associates were bent on having a high time at the various bars and canteens of the place.

It is perhaps necessary to explain here, in a few words, how it came about that Boers were thus to be found in Portuguese territory, so far away from the homes of the South African Dutch stock settled in the Transvaal. Nearly twenty years before, many families of Boers, disgusted with the anarchy and bad government of the Transvaal Republic, and embittered yet more at the English taking over the country, as they had done in 1877, had quitted the Transvaal and trekked north-westward across the desert in search of a new Promised Land, which they believed to exist somewhere in the far interior. These ignorant and misguided folk found in their long wanderings no land of Canaan, flowing, as they had fondly hoped, with milk and honey. Their trek extended over several years; they endured almost unexampled privations and troubles from thirst, fevers, and the attacks of natives; scores of them died; they lost the greater portion of their stock, and abandoned many wagons; some turned back, and only a comparatively small remnant emerged from the perils of this unparalleled trek. After wandering about the western regions of the Kalahari, the Okavango country, and Ovampoland, they crossed the Cunene River and entered Portuguese territory.

Here they were well treated. They were allotted farms and encouraged to colonize the country, and many families did actually settle down at Humpata. Since that time--about the beginning of 1881--these Trek Boers and their descendants had accepted their lot in the new country and become Portuguese subjects. They tilled the ground, ranched cattle, sheep, and goats, rode transport (that is, carried goods) to and from Mossamedes and Benguela, hunted elephants for their ivory, and other kinds of game for their skins and flesh. Latterly, as we have seen, they had been assisting the Portuguese in native wars. For this kind of warfare they were excellently well adapted, being good shots and riders, and well versed in every trick and circumstance of veldt fighting. The Portuguese had, in fact, found them highly satisfactory auxiliaries, and the unfortunate natives--too often treated with the grossest unfairness and trickery by all parties--terrible enemies.

Among the Trek Boers of Humpata and the neighbouring country were many decent, deserving, and well-conducted people, who were only anxious to make a fair and honest living out of the country. A leaven of them, however, were mere filibusters and adventurers, cruel, cunning, and deceitful, ready to overreach and rob any man, especially if he had a black skin, and always prepared to use their rifles on small provocation. Among these was to be reckoned Karl Engelbrecht, who, even among these lawless spirits, had acquired a sinister reputation. Most of these Dutch settlers were fine, big, upstanding men, strong, bold, hardy, and athletic--as indeed they might well be; for they and their families represented the survival of the fittest, after one of the most trying and adventurous passages on record. Their seven years of wandering had, in truth, weeded out all the weak ones, and left alive only the toughest and hardiest of a tough and hardy race.

For the next few days Mr. Blakeney and his party were busied in pushing on their preparations for the trek. They filled the lower part of the wagon with various stores and provisions--meal, coffee, sugar, tinned provisions, jams, vegetables, and other small luxuries. They laid in also dried onions, always useful on an expedition of this kind, where green vegetables are unprocurable, as well as a bag or two of potatoes. They carried also sacks of mealies and Kaffir corn (the latter a kind of millet) with which to feed the horses. They anticipated a good deal of hunting; and you cannot pursue game on horseback, and run down giraffe, eland, and other fleet creatures, unless your nags are well fed and in good condition. This fact Guy had already become aware of during his stay in British Bechuanaland. Their saddlery, ammunition, guns and rifles had come round with them from Cape Town. Juno, their invaluable pointer, was also of the party. Juno seemed to be getting keener and keener as each day passed; she watched anxiously the loading of the wagon, and was evidently only too desirous to have the whole party out in the veldt. A good light tent had been procured, and Mr. Blakeney's kartel fixed up in the wagon. All was now ready for the trek, which they hoped to begin next day.

During these preparations they necessarily, moving as they did freely about the small seaport of Mossamedes, passed Karl Engelbrecht and his boon companions in close proximity. After his severe lesson the Boer, who was a coward at bottom, did not dare to attempt any further liberties with the Englishmen or their servants; but he scowled evilly as he passed, and had always some savage remark to make to his friends--delivered carefully in an undertone--as they went by. Mr. Blakeney and the two lads, for their part, took not the slightest notice of the freebooters; even Poeskop, strong in his reliance upon his English protectors, held his head well in the air, and assumed an air of supercilious indifference, which perhaps in his secret heart he felt was not altogether justified. For Poeskop, undoubtedly, knowing his former master and his evil ways so well, still retained within his soul certain secret quakings as he thought of or set eyes upon Karl Engelbrecht.

"My young baas," he would say to Guy, as they sighted the big, burly ruffian, "he is slim, and he is strong, and he is cruel. And he will try to make us suffer for his black eyes, which he still carries, the schelm! and his bleeding nose. Maghte! but it was good as a sackful of honey[#] to see Karl Engelbrecht floored by Baas Blackenny" (he always mispronounced the word), "and it does me good still to see his battered face."

[#] Honey is often carried by the natives in skin bags.

Then he would croon to himself in his croaking voice: "But we shall suffer, we shall suffer; Karl Engelbrecht is planning something; Poeskop knows it, ay, he knows it. Well, Poeskop will look out. He sleep always like the muishond [a kind of weasel], with one eye open."

On the last night before the trek Mr. Blakeney was with the two lads in their bedroom, having a chat with them, and helping them to complete their packings. They talked on many subjects, including the treasure hunt which lay before them. Then they bade one another good night, and Mr. Blakeney retired to his own room.

Next morning early Guy knocked at his door and aroused him. Guy was always the early bird of the party: earlier even than his uncle, who was always out and about before six.

"Uncle," he said, "I want you to come and look at something in our room."

"All right, Guy," was the reply. "What is it?"

"Something rather odd, I think," returned Guy, as they went down the passage. They entered the double-bedded room where the cousins slept, and Guy took his uncle across to the wall against which Guy's bed stood.

"Look at this, uncle," he said, kneeling on his bed and pointing to the wall. "What do you make of it?"

The wall was in fact nothing more than a fairly stout partition of varnished wood. Mr. Blakeney knelt beside Guy, and looked closely at the spot where the lad's finger rested. He saw at once that a neat hole had been bored through the partition from the other side, and a hollow left big enough to thrust the point of his little finger into.

"Well, what do you think it means, Guy?" he asked, screwing up his mouth with an odd expression.

"I think, uncle, it means," returned Guy, "that that fellow in the next room has been spying on us for some reason or other."

"Who has the next room?" queried Mr. Blakeney, manifestly with some anxiety.

"Why, that Portuguese brute who is always about with Karl Engelbrecht--Minho, his name is."

"Whew!" whistled Mr. Blakeney. "I wish I had known this earlier. What time does he leave his room?"

"Not for another hour yet," broke in Tom; "and he always locks his door and takes his key with him."

"Well, Tom," said his father, "you stay behind while Guy and I go out to the wagons and start the trek. Then we'll come back to breakfast, and afterwards ride out together and overtake the wagons by the mid-day outspan. Meanwhile if, by hook or crook, you can get into this fellow Minho's room, and see what this hole means, do so. Be careful, though, and don't get into any unpleasantness with the man. If you can't get in without trouble, leave it alone. I'll see the landlord about it."

They returned in an hour and a half's time, and were met by Tom with a smiling face.

"I've done the Sherlock Holmes business," he said quietly. "Minho went out and locked his door. I tried his window, which like ours opens on to the veranda, and found that the artful beggar had fastened it in such a way that, while the top sash is open, you can't pull up the lower part. It was impossible to climb in through the top without running the risk of breaking the glass. Well, I waited impatiently half an hour, and then Maria--the native woman who cleans the rooms up, and has evidently a second key--went in and did up the room. While she was gone with a bundle of clothes for the wash I nipped in, and had a good look round at the partition on that side. I found that a hole had been neatly bored with an auger, and the cavity filled up with a round piece of wood, which had been painted to look just like a knot in the pinewood. This, with a little coaxing of the finger nail, comes out, and then you have a view into our room, and I have no doubt can hear quite well everything that is said in here. I put the bit of wood back, and slipped out again before old Maria had got back from her errand."

"The brute!" ejaculated Mr. Blakeney. "He has evidently been spying on us. And when he bored that hole he must have got into this room and cleared away any traces of his work." He knelt on Guy's bed and examined the aperture carefully again. "He has even taken the trouble to put on some dark paint round this side of the hole," he added, "so that the place looks just like a pine knot from this side. I wonder you spotted it, Guy."

"Well, I noticed it from the bed this morning," said Guy, "just before I got up. It was a mere chance. The place looked uneven, and when I examined it I found I could just get the tip of my little finger inside the hole. Then I saw that the place wasn't natural."

"Well, the mischief's done now," said Mr. Blakeney. "I have half a mind to tell the landlord--in fact, I think I will straight away."

Senhor José Moseles, whom Mr. Blakeney at once interviewed, was no friend of Antonio Minho. He knew the man to be a shady character, and a friend of the filibustering Boer, Engelbrecht. But in Mossamedes such characters were not uncommon, and landlords had to put up with them, if they paid their bills. Minho was just now flush of money, and indeed was usually well supplied with that commodity. But Senhor Moseles would look after him. It was not Mr. Blakeney's plan to arouse the man's suspicions just then. Moseles therefore arranged to take measures concerning the peep-hole a week or two later; which, Minho having left the hotel, he did. The hole was plugged and varnished, and the matter, so far as he was concerned, ended.

This little matter attended to, the three Englishmen breakfasted. Then, having put together their small kits, their horses were brought round, and they quitted Mossamedes. Their route lay along the main road running from the seaport to Humpata, and there was no difficulty in finding their way. The road, if road it could be called, was rough and uneven, and the country parched, hilly, and uninteresting. They overtook the wagon at one o'clock, and found it outspanned till the heat of the day was past. At four they trekked, and made fair progress till nine, when they outspanned again. For nearly a week the expedition pushed on steadily eastward, through sterile and mountainous country, until they had reached the Trek Boer settlement at Humpata, by the Portuguese sometimes called San Januario. Here they halted for a couple of days to rest the oxen and take in some further stores, including poultry, meal, and other produce grown by the Boers in this neighbourhood.

The Dutch people of this curious little settlement, so remote from the Transvaal, whence they had trekked years before, interested Mr. Blakeney and the boys not a little. They knew the pathetic history of these people: of their long wanderings, and of the terrible sufferings they had sustained before attaining this region. They found them, as a rule, kindly and hospitable folk, if rough and primitive. So soon as the Trek Boers discovered that the newcomers spoke Cape Dutch, and came from Bechuanaland, so near to the Transvaal border, they were only too anxious to render them hospitality, and make inquiries about the country they themselves had quitted years before. The English travellers, on their part, had many little returns to make for such kindnesses as were thus shown them. They had Cape and Transvaal papers to give away; a spare bag of excellent coffee to exchange; and they won the hearts of several families by the gift of tins of Morton's jams, marmalade, and ginger, which to the sweet-toothed Dutch, who seldom met with such rare luxuries, were as manna in the desert.

"Alle wereld!" said Mevrouw Van der Merwe, a stout, good-natured old Boer dame, living in one of the best houses in the little settlement. "'Tis a pleasure to set eyes on fresh-looking folk again from South Africa, with news of the Transvaal, and the Free State, and the Old Colony. One gets tired of seeing nothing but these little yellow-faced Portuguese, who to my mind are, after all, no better than Griquas and Bastards. I always say to our people here, 'There are English and English, just as there are Boers and Boers. You get good and bad of every race of mankind.' For my part, I have met many good English, and have received many kindnesses from them, just as I have from you, Menheer Blakeney, and your son and nephew. And so they are getting more gold than ever out of the Transvaal?"

"Yes," answered Mr. Blakeney. "They are getting enormous quantities--something like thirteen millions of pounds sterling during the year."

"Is it possible!" ejaculated the vrouw, pushing the tobacco canister over to Mr. Blakeney, and pouring him out another cup of coffee. "Ah, well! I always say that gold will be the ruin of the Dutch in the Transvaal; and Paul Kruger is a great fool to allow so much mining. If I were president I would close down every gold mine, and let the country be used only for farming. The Heer Gott never meant people to dig and claw into the bowels of the earth after gold, like a lot of greedy baboons after ground nuts. But I knew Paul Kruger well in the old days. He was a greedy fellow always; greedy for power, greedy for money. I hear he is rich as a Jew man, and spends £400 a year in coffee money, for which the burghers pay him--entertaining a pack of useless folk that come flattering and fawning about him. But it will be his downfall. I know it, I know it. I always told him so. Love of money, love of power. He had better have stuck to his farming, as his old father did before him.

"Your Jameson raid," she went on, "is a bad sign. It means that Paul Kruger is successful a second time. But you English can never forgive that or Majuba; and there will be a big row some day, and then Oom Paul will have to go, and we Transvaalers shall lose our country. I know it, and my husband knows it, though every one else here declares that the Boers can always beat the English. But, you see, I remember as a girl Zwart Kopjes and Boomplaats, when your folk beat ours; and I say that you have more men than we, and your turn will come some day."

"Well," rejoined Mr. Blakeney, after the old lady had finished her tirade, "your people are very warlike now. I'm sorry the raid happened. It was an idiotic business, and has done a good deal of mischief. I don't like the feeling that is rising between the two races in South Africa. I fear, with you, that it will come to a big fight some day; and when it does, the English will never rest till they have made all South Africa theirs. The Free State Boers say openly now that they will take part with the Transvaal if a struggle comes; and the gold-mining folk at Johannesburg, and Rhodes and the rest of them, are bent on forcing on a war, which I am afraid now will have to come."

"Yes," said the old lady. "It's just like a couple of boys who have bad blood between them. They will go on growling and being unpleasant to one another, and then all at once the fight begins and the blood flows. Still even that is better than perpetual miscalling and swearing at one another, for all the world like a pair of tom-cats. Better, I say, have the fight over and have done with it."

They spent two very pleasant days at Humpata, and then trekked. Before they left, Mevrouw Van der Merwe sent for Guy and Tom, and presented them with a quantity of dried fruits, peaches, quinces, and apricots. She added some of her precious apricot komfit, by which the Boers set much store. She had taken a great fancy to the two lads; they reminded her, she said, of two of her own sons, whom she had lost of fever at Debra and Vogel Pan on the trek thither. Guy and his cousin were perhaps not greatly flattered at being compared to Boer boys, for whom they cherished, like most English lads, a secret disdain. But the old lady was very kind, and they thanked her heartily for her gifts. They left her sawing through a big koodoo marrow bone with a hand saw. Her husband had lately come in from the veldt, and had brought her a quantity of biltong (dried flesh) and this dainty, of which she was inordinately fond.

"Farewell," she said again, pausing from her task and puffing hard for breath. "And, Tom, mind and tell your father once more to be on the lookout for Karl Engelbrecht. I am sorry they have had blows--though Karl was well served out, and your father was a right stark fellow to give him a thrashing. But Karl is a bitter bad enemy, and he will not forget. Be on the lookout, all of you, and if he comes troubling you"--here she lowered her voice to a tragic whisper--"don't be afraid to shoot! Tell your father that, and say that is my last word--Karl is a schepsel and a dangerous foe. Farewell."

The various trophies lying about the Boer settlement and in the primitive habitations had greatly fired the ambition of the two cousins, who were now longing to reach the game veldt and begin shooting. At Humpata there had been indications of many kinds of wild animal: horns of buffalo, koodoo, roan antelope, water-buck, eland, and many other antelopes; and the hides of lions, giraffes, hippos, and other heavy game were abundant. Here, too, were tusks of elephant and hippopotamus, and the formidable horns of the black rhinoceros. It was manifest that they were on the outskirts of a wonderful game country. As the lads approached each day nearer to this land of wonder and of bliss, their spirits became more and more high, their suppressed excitement more uncontrollable. For three weeks Poeskop guided the expedition steadily towards the north-east. Then, one evening, as they sat round the camp fire, he came up to the group.

"Baas," he said, pointing to the grim range of mountains which towered in front of them in massy outline, dim beneath the starlit sky, "to-morrow we shall pass the berg. Beyond is the game country, and the young baases will then have shooting to their hearts' content."

Already the lads had shot some few head of game, reedbuck and impala and springbuck. They had heard the roar of lions and seen the spoor of buffalo. Their hearts leapt within them at Poeskop's news. That night their dreams were chiefly of glorious adventures, in which elephants, giraffes, buffaloes, and lions played, with themselves, the leading parts.

Chapter VI.

THE SHADOWERS AND THE SHADOWED.

Antonio Minho, at eleven o'clock on the morning on which the Englishmen had quitted Mossamedes, was to be seen with Karl Engelbrecht in the coolest corner of the billiard-room in a well-known canteen in the town, engaged in earnest conversation. The two men had long glasses of cooling drinks in front of them, and looked thoroughly comfortable. Antonio Minho was a Madeira-born Portuguese, who, some six years before, having found that lovely island somewhat too hot to hold him, had made his way to Benguela and thence to Mossamedes. He was a clever rascal, who spoke English and Spanish as well as his own language, and in a year's time had found no difficulty in acquiring a fair knowledge of Boer Dutch. He had many transactions with the Trek Boers, and, having opened a general store, managed to extract from these farmers and hunters of the wilderness a good deal of profit. Karl Engelbrecht was one of his best customers, and the two had done much business together, the bulk of it of an exceedingly doubtful character. Each man had found the other useful to him, and a strong alliance, offensive and defensive, had been struck up between them.

"Well, Karl," said Minho, as he took a pull at his gin tonic and lit a cigar, "I have more news for you."

"What is it, my friend?" asked the Boer, in his thick guttural voice.

"Well, it's this," continued the Portuguese, contemplating the burning end of his cigar. "For several days, as you know, I have made it my business to discover what this Englishman and his two cubs are after. I have, as I told you, opened up communication through my bedroom wall, and by this means have overheard a good deal, as Blakeney has been in the habit of chatting with the boys before they went to bed each evening. Thanks to the two dear cubs, whose thirst for information is inexhaustible, I have managed to discover that they are on the track of some wonderful gold discovery. Poeskop, your Bushman friend, is, I gather, the man who is to lead them into some part of the interior where gold is to be found abundantly."

"Poeskop, my friend, is to do this, is he?" repeated Engelbrecht, with a grim, hoarse laugh. "Poeskop owes me for a good many rubs. Perhaps I may find means to make him repay me. Well, what further? You know I am not much of a believer in gold and gold mines."

"I have discovered something besides," pursued Minho. "Do you remember a man named Hardcastle, an English mining engineer, who was in this country a year or so back?"

"Yes, I do," returned the Boer. "He took on that scoundrel Poeskop after he ran away from me. What of him?"

"He's dead," said the Portuguese, "and one of these two boys is his son. They have from this dead Hardcastle some kind of a clue to a gold field or a gold treasure of some sort, and Poeskop is the man who is to guide them to it. Now, you scoff at gold, and in the ordinary way I should be prepared to scoff too. I have seen and heard of too many frosts in the way of mineral discovery, even in the six years I have been out here. But look at this case! This man, Blakeney, whatever we may think of him"--a snort and an opprobrious expression from Karl Engelbrecht here interrupted the Portuguese's remarks--"whatever we may think of him," he went on, "and I know your opinion is not a flattering one, is no fool. Blakeney, I say, has come out on no other errand than to hunt up this treasure. Hardcastle was, I gather, himself hot upon the scent of the gold, and he was not a man likely to run about on a fool's errand. I knew him, and he was a shrewd fellow. Poeskop seems to be the backbone or mainspring of the whole thing. As far as I can make out, he, and he only, is the man who knows where the gold is."

"Then," broke in Engelbrecht, "all we have to do is to kidnap Poeskop, squeeze his secret out of him--a matter easy enough away out on the veldt--and rake in the plunder. There will be no difficulty in surprising the camp at any time, and the rest is easy enough."

"Steady, my friend," said Minho. "You go too fast. This Englishman, as far as I can make out, is a good veldt man, and not likely to be hustled out of his secret in this easy way. And Poeskop, as you yourself know very well, is as cunning a little piece of vermin as ever crawled on two legs. He'll not be easily squeezed or caught either. I've had my eye on Poeskop for a long time, thinking to make use of him; and I should have done so already if that man Hardcastle had not turned up, and you, I may add, had not been so unwise as to quarrel with a clever servant. Why, Poeskop is worth all the rest of your 'boys' put together."

"Well, if my plan doesn't suit you, what do you propose?" asked the Boer gruffly. Engelbrecht, as the result of much experience, had acquired a good deal of respect for the crafty and resourceful mind of his Portuguese ally; he recognized that the affair they were now engaged on was something out of the ordinary run of things, and he was prepared to listen to his advice.

"My plan," said Minho, a smile of oily cunning illuminating his fat, yellow face, "is a somewhat different one. I think it would be very unwise to attempt to seize Poeskop before he has shown where the treasure is. If, as I hope and firmly believe, there is gold where they are making for, let us wait. Let us shadow them in their wanderings, and when they have laid hands upon the treasure, we shall find some means of making them part with it, even if"--and he smiled grimly at the thought that rose before him--"we have to use some of your strong measures to make them do so."

Karl Engelbrecht's right hand dived into his jacket pocket, from which he took a handful of Boer tobacco and filled his pipe. A hideous grin expanded over his broad face and illumined very unpleasantly his pale blue eyes.

"Ja!" he said, contemplatively. "That is a good idea of yours, Antonio. We will shadow them, and see them to their treasure ground. Then--well, we shall see what we shall see." The evil grin grew yet broader, and the Boer burst into a shout of laughter. "Ah!" he said, "I have two long accounts to settle; one with that schepsel Poeskop, the other with this Englishman. I shall not rest content, day or night, till I am even, and more than even, with them. But," he continued in a graver tone, "are you sure, Antonio, that these men are on the track of gold? What if the whole thing is a fool's errand, and the Bushman is deceiving them?"

"Trust to me, Karl, in this affair," returned the Portuguese; "I know what I am about, and I have heard enough to convince me that this thing is genuine. I want a change. I have been too long in Mossamedes, and I will come with you myself. We can take a wagon with a light load of trading stuff, and do some business. I have a lot of Hamburg gin, which I must work off somewhere. But we shall have to be very careful, so that the Englishmen have no suspicion that we are on their spoor."

"Ja," added Engelbrecht, emptying his glass. "We will keep at least two days' trek behind them. I will have a man or two out in front of us, keeping an eye on them. My Hottentot, Stuurman, is a capital fellow for a business like this. I will pack him off on a horse to-day with some provisions. He can follow the party up, and let us know their movements. At present they are taking the Humpata road--that much I have ascertained. We will get our things together, and start in a day and a half's time. That will be time enough."

"Right you are, Karl," added Minho. "I will be ready in twenty-four hours' time. Send your wagon round to my place, and I'll load up two or three thousand pounds weight of trading stuff. We must leave room for our kartels. Now, let us have one more drink, and be off." The two ruffians drank to the success of their precious conspiracy, and separated.

The English trekkers had negotiated, after considerable difficulty, the great mountain range that lay in front of them. There was some kind of a track, but it lay through wild ravines littered with boulders and overgrown with thorn bush and low timber, and it took them a long day and a half of severe labour before they had accomplished the passage and emerged upon the open country beyond.

The whole camp--oxen, horses, and men--enjoyed a long rest that afternoon, and after a good night's sleep all were refreshed and cheerful upon the following morning. They were up as the sun rose, and after ablutions in a bucket of water, Mr. Blakeney and the two lads sat down to an excellent breakfast of klipspringer chops and fry--Tom had shot one of these little mountain buck on the previous day--with keen appetites. Good coffee and a tin of marmalade rounded off an ample meal. Each of them had a little squat wagon chair, such as the Boers carry on their travels. The frames were made of the tough wood of the kameeldoorn (giraffe-acacia), and the seats consisted of thongs of raw hide. These folded up, and were stowed under the wagon while they trekked. A small folding table did duty for all three of them.

"Now, lads," said Mr. Blakeney, as, having filled and lit his pipe, he stood up and looked over the country in front of them, "Poeskop says that we shall find plenty of game out here. I believe we shall. It looks all over like a game veldt. We may see giraffe, buffalo, eland, blue wildebeest, roan antelope, zebra, lion, leopard, and wart-hog at any time. It's beautiful veldt. It reminds me of part of Khama's Country and Mashonaland. I only hope the game will be as plentiful as it used to be there twenty years ago, when I was a lad a year or two older than you are now, Guy."

And, indeed, the scene was very fair. They stood on the lower slopes of the mountain range through which Poeskop had shown them a path. For some miles in front open forest of giraffe-acacia lay before them. Beyond this stretched a vast plain of grass, here and there dotted with a clump or two of trees or a patch of bush. Through the centre of this great yellow plain ran a dark-green ribbon of thorn bush, indicating the bed of a stream. Far away in the dim distance rested, blue on the horizon, another chain of mountains.

"It's perfectly splendid," exclaimed Tom enthusiastically. "Father, I'll get your stalking-glass."

The boy climbed up into the wagon and took down from a hook at the side a leather case, from which he drew one of Ross's telescopes. Seating himself on the ground, he adjusted the focus and gazed over the plain.

"There's game out there on the flat!" he cried. "I can see clumps here and there. What do you make them out to be, father?"

His father took the glass, and indulged in a prolonged survey.

"I take most of those clumps to be blue wildebeest and quacha," he said presently. "When I say 'quacha,' Guy," he added, "I don't mean the old Cape Colony, half-striped quagga, which is now quite extinct, but Burchell's zebra, which the Boers and up-country hunters still always insist on calling quacha. As a matter of fact, the old Dutch hunters called the true quagga 'quacha,' and Burchell's zebra 'bonte quacha,' which latter means 'striped quacha.' Quacha, by the way, is an old Hottentot word, taken from the neighing call of the animal, which has been corrupted to our English quagga. Well, now, I think I see some other kinds of game, probably eland, hartebeest, or tsesseby--what the Boers call bastard hartebeest--and, I fancy, ostriches. We'll trek in an hour. The wagon will move along across the plain. Meanwhile we'll saddle our best ponies, and see if we can't find a troop of roan antelope or giraffe as we ride through the forest. We'll go ahead of the wagon. Jan Kokerboom knows the route, straight across the plain for the mountain yonder in the distance. Poeskop can come with us and help spoor. Hi! Poeskop!" he called out.

The little Bushman came up.

"Ja, baas!" he said, his eyes twinkling with pleasure.

"We shall go in front of the wagon, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney, "and you can come with us. Take the bay pony, Rooibok; he'll carry you very well. And mind, if we find kameel [giraffe] you are not to shoot; at all events, until the young baases have each had a fair chance. I want them to shoot a kameel apiece. When they have done that, you and I can join in. Shall we find kameel, think you?"

"Ik denk so, baas," answered the Bushman. "I have been out since sun-up in the forest yonder, and I have seen spoor of kameel and rhinoster."

"Splendid," said Guy. "Now let's saddle up and be off."

They soon had their ponies ready, and, strapping on their bandoliers, fastened their spurs, took down their rifles from the wagon hooks, mounted, and rode down the hill.

"Now, boys," said Mr. Blakeney, "I want you to remember two things. If we find giraffe--kameel, as the up-country hunters all call them--we must try and drive them out on to the plain in front. Then we can run them down fairly comfortably. You must ride hard at first. Don't be afraid of using sjambok and spur. Try and push the giraffe beyond their speed, and they are yours. Ride right up to the stern of the beasts and put in your shots as you gallop, as near as possible to the root of the tail. Your bullets will penetrate the giraffe's short body, and you'll bring him down. You, Guy, take the biggest one of the troop. Follow him as hard as you can split, and stick to him till you get him. Blinkbonny, your pony, is a real good one, and knows what to do. You, Tom, take the next biggest, which will be, probably, a tall cow, and run her down. Now we'll get on. No talking, except in the merest whisper. Spread out, and keep an eye on Poeskop. You can't mistake giraffe spoor. It's like the huge, elongated footprint of a colossal ox, if you can imagine such a thing."

They rode into the forest and, spreading out a few paces apart, followed the lead of the Bushman, who, mounted on an upstanding pony of fourteen hands three inches, looked an odd little figure. On they went in silence for half an hour, Poeskop pointing here and there to spoor as they passed it. A big troop of lovely red pallah swept across their front, the graceful antelopes bounding into the air as they shot past. Numbers of guinea-fowl were to be seen moving hither and thither, busily engaged in digging up the bulbs on which they feed. An hour had passed. They had sighted koodoo, and let them go unscathed, hoping for heavier game. Some tracks of buffalo had been crossed. But they were now hot upon the spoor of a good troop of giraffe. The boys noted with the keenest interest the huge, slipper-like impression left in the red sand. Here some of the troop had browsed round a giraffe-acacia; the scraping of their fore feet, as they had stretched themselves to their fullest capacity to seize some tempting morsel of foliage, was plainly apparent in the tell-tale sand. Poeskop, mounted as he was, described the operation in dumb show, with all the dramatic ability of his race.

Suddenly he drew rein and lifted a warning hand. Then pointing through a wide, open glade in the forest, he glared intently. His audience stared hard, and saw nothing stir for a full half-minute. Then something which they had mistaken for the trunk of a tree moved, and they saw instantly that it was a giraffe.

"Go on," whispered Mr. Blakeney; "ride for the right hand. Push them out in the open." They walked their horses forward, and then, on clearing a patch of timber, an amazing and most wonderful sight was before them. A hundred and fifty yards away, gathered round three or four spreading trees of the giraffe-acacia species, stood a troop of more than twenty tall giraffes. Most of the animals were browsing contentedly at the green leafage; some few stood with necks stretched out at an angle of forty-five degrees, quietly chewing the cud and apparently half asleep. The troop varied much in colour. A huge, old, mahogany-coloured bull, so dark as to appear almost black upon his back and shoulders, towered above the rest. Several fine cows of a rich orange-tawny colour stood next. Then came young cows, a young bull or two, and some stilty, half-grown calves, all varying in colour from orange-tawny and rufous-tan to a pale yellowish buff.

All this the hunters took in instantly; then, setting spurs to their ponies, they sprang forward in the chase. There was a strange, confused movement of tall heads and necks among the startled giraffe, and then the troop, having swung round their heads and noted the danger that menaced them, strode off at a curious, gliding shuffle. The hunters cantered, but their canter made but little impression. The shuffling walk of a giraffe is, as a matter of fact, far faster than any one unacquainted with these animals could imagine.

"Gallop hard, boys," shouted Mr. Blakeney excitedly, "or they will get away from us."

Following his example, the two lads now put spurs to their ponies and galloped in right earnest. Even in this open forest the chase was by no means an easy one. Guy, being the best mounted, pressed ahead, and, passing his uncle, rode for the great dark bull, which was lunging along at the head of the troop, evidently trying to sheer right-handed for the deeper parts of the forest. But Guy's blood was now up, and, pressing his good pony yet more, he galloped faster than the flying giants. The troop swung across an open glade, and, as they strode along like tall, dappled spectres, it seemed to Guy that he must surely be gazing upon some long-forgotten pageant of the earth's primeval past. These extraordinary creatures could surely scarce belong to this modern world! The whole thing seemed almost unreal. Still he galloped on, and presently achieved his purpose. The big bull, seeing that he was foiled in his attempt to plunge deeper into the forest, sheered left-handed and increased his pace. The troop began to string out, the calves and younger animals falling behind. Guy was riding, like his uncle and cousin, in his flannel shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. It was a warm morning, and their coats were as usual strapped to their saddle-bows.

On they went, through thorn jungle, over fallen timber, dodging tree trunks. Now the big bull tacked round a tree with the deftness of a well-handled yacht. Now a tall cow bent her swan-like neck and ducked marvellously under the spreading branches of an acacia. Guy felt many a scratch and stab as his excited pony plunged through the thorny brakes. In a patch of haak-doorn, through which they forced a passage, his left stirrup-leather and stirrup were ripped clean from the saddle. He lost his hat. These were mere nothings in the heat of a chase such as this, and he galloped on. At last they were clearing the forest. Now they were on the grass, with nothing but wide, open plain in front of them. Barring falls, that big bull must surely soon be his. The great giraffe was now running apart from the rest of the troop, going great guns, and manifestly thinking only of the safety of his own skin. The smooth, long, shuffling walk had been long since exchanged for a strange rocking gallop, in which the hind legs were straddled widely, and the long neck swung up and down in a rhythmic motion, which reminded Guy of a gigantic pendulum. Meanwhile the long black tail, screwed oddly up, was executing wild and fantastic flourishes. The chase swept headlong over the pale yellow grass plain. A mile and more had been accomplished since they quitted the timber. The great bull was running well, but Guy noted with a sense of exultation that he was now no more than eighty yards ahead. Another mile slipped by. The bull was tiring; he was now no more than sixty yards ahead. Guy shook up his pony and gave him just one firm touch of the spur. The gallant beast answered by a wonderful and prolonged spurt, which carried his rider to within twenty yards of that great dappled figure, rocking and swaying, like some tall ship on an uneasy sea, in front of them. One more touch of the spur and Guy was within eight paces of the giant's tail. Dropping his reins, he raised his rifle and fired. The heavy Martini bullet struck the giraffe fair, close to the root of the tail, and the great beast staggered to the shot. Still it pressed on. Guy instantly reloaded, and, taking aim as well as the motion of his pony would allow him, fired again. This time his bullet raked the giant's heart. Guy saw that its end had come, and galloped wide to the left. The bull faltered in his stride, staggered, strode on again, again staggered, and then with a crash that literally shook the earth fell to rise no more. The mighty limbs kicked twice or thrice, once the long neck was raised, then a shiver passed over the dappled frame, and the beast was dead.

Guy leapt from his reeking pony and, wild with excitement, turned to wave his rifle to the rest of the party. A quarter of a mile away on the left he saw Tom and his father riding close up to the rear of the main troop, which now contained about twelve giraffes. In a matter of a hundred yards Tom was right up behind a big cow. He fired, and the cow, turning away from her fellows, stood. Tom jumped off and finished her. Meanwhile Mr. Blakeney, having seen Tom bring his chase to a standstill, was himself galloping hard to make up leeway. He was soon up behind another tall cow, and she too went down. Three giraffes in the space of five minutes! Guy shouted congratulations to his fellow sportsmen, and turned to attend to his prize.

It was a magnificent beast, indeed, that lay before him. As Guy examined it, handled it carefully, almost lovingly, he realized the mighty proportions of the creature. His fingers could make no impression on the thick, tense skin of the back and ribs and neck. Almost the mighty beast seemed to be enveloped in a mantle of bronze. Presently Mr. Blakeney, having picked up Tom, rode up.

"Well done, my lad," he said. "You've got the finest camel of the troop. A tremendous old fellow. Let me tape him. I never saw a bigger."

The tape measure was carefully and scientifically applied.

"Eighteen feet nine, from hoof to tip of false horns! That's a great measurement," said Mr. Blakeney. "You seldom hear of a better. Only once or twice in five years of knocking about in the interior have I heard of giraffe of nineteen feet."

Chapter VII.

ADVENTURES IN THE VELDT.

They were now busily employed for the rest of that morning and some way into the afternoon in skinning and cutting up their game. The flesh of an old bull giraffe is not good eating, and they were content to take portions of the hide, the feet--which make excellent trophies--the tail, and the skin of the head. From the other two they took further trophies, and a large quantity of flesh. The wagons came up with them presently, and the meat was loaded up. Then they trekked on for the river, where they camped for the evening. After the oxen had grazed, they were brought in at sundown, and fastened to their yokes for the night. Big fires were lighted, and the two parties, masters and servants, enjoyed a banquet of giraffe venison. The flesh of a fresh young cow-giraffe is excellent, somewhat like good veal, with a game-like flavour of its own. But the bonnes-bouches of the evening meal were the marrow-bones of these gigantic quadrupeds, roasted in the hot ashes. These were then sawn in half, and the marrow scooped out with long spoons of wood improvised for the occasion.

"Why, father," exclaimed Tom, as he finished his second helping of the savoury stuff, "this beats boiled beef marrow-bone out of the field. I never tasted anything so delicious."

"No, I don't suppose you ever have," said Mr. Blakeney. "Giraffe marrow-bone is the king of veldt fare. There's nothing to equal it. But we must cry enough. It's rich food, and I've known men in the low country bring on a fresh attack of fever simply from over-indulging themselves in too much of this good thing."

They sat after supper near the blazing fire--the boys writing up their diaries by its cheerful light, Mr. Blakeney smoking his pipe and skinning a beautiful crimson-breasted shrike which he had shot that afternoon in some thorn bush along the river. He and the boys had already begun a collection of birds, which they meant to take home with them.

There was no moon, but through the dark, velvety pall of the night-sky myriads of stars pricked forth in an array of marvellous brilliancy. Down the river there came the curious wailing titter of a jackal, then another. Not long after, a low moaning roar was heard from the same quarter. This was answered by another roar nearer the camp.

"Lions!" exclaimed Mr. Blakeney. "Seleti, put more wood on the fires. Do you, Mangwalaan, light another there, beyond the leading span of oxen. We shall have to look out."

The Bechuana boys piled up the firewood, and soon had yet another blaze going.

Just then Poeskop came up to his masters.

"I say, Poeskop," said Guy, who had finished his diary of the day's doings, "is it true that the jackal is the lion's provider, and goes ahead for him and smells out his food, and lets his master know of it?"

The Bushman squatted down near the fire, and smiled a broad smile that wrinkled up his whole face and nearly concealed his eyes.

"Nay, my baas," he said, "I don't think that. But the lion knows from the jackal's cry when he winds food, and comes after him."

Now, from the winding river, not more than a quarter of a mile away, there rose the loud roar of a single lion, then another, and then yet another across the river. Then the three roared in unison, creating a volume of sound that was not only strangely majestic and awe-inspiring, but seemed to make the whole air vibrate and tremble.

"Ah!" said Poeskop quietly, "they won't hurt us to-night. When they roar like that, lions have full stomachs, and are not hungry. It is only when they purr and growl, or, still worse, when they are silent, that you must look out for them."

"They've got our wind, Poeskop," added Mr. Blakeney, "and they're telling one another of the fact."

"Ja, baas," said the Bushman. "They smell meat and oxen; but they won't touch us to-night--at least, I don't think so. There's the old manikin, the father lion--that was the first roar; then his wife; and then a young, nearly full-grown lion, their son."

"How on earth do you know that, Poeskop?" exclaimed Tom.

"Well, Baas Tom," replied the little man with a snigger, "I was brought up in a wild country, much wilder even than this, and I learned to know every sound in the veldt by day and night, and the voice of every beast, big and little. My food and my life depended on it; and my parents, and theirs before them, knew all about these things, and told me of them. You may say I sucked them in with my mother's milk."

"Talking about jackals," he went on musingly; "they are funny beasts--the cleverest and most quick-witted in the veldt. We Bushmen have many tales about them. Shall I tell you one?"

"Yes, yes," said Guy and Tom together. "Fire away, Poeskop!"

"Well," proceeded the little Bushman, "there was once a jackal that lived in Namaqualand, not far from the sea. He saw one day a wagon laden with fish; and as he was fond of fish, and wanted a change of food, he tried to get into the wagon from behind. But it was filled up, and he could not do so. But he bethought himself of a plan. So he ran and lay in the road as if dead. He was a silver-backed jackal, and had a beautiful skin; and the fore-louper [ox-leader] came along and picked him up, and said to the driver, 'Here's a fine jackal skin for your vrouw!' 'Throw it up,' said the driver, and the boy threw the jackal into the wagon. It was a fine night, just like this, and the jackal busied himself in throwing the fish out of the wagon as far as he was able, sniggering to himself as he did so. Then, presently, he slipped down, and went back along the road to his feast. But he found, to his great annoyance, that a great spotted hyæna and his wife had already found and eaten up most of the fish. Master Jackal thought a little, and decided to hide his vexation, and then explained to the hyæna his plan; and the hyæna said it was good, and he would try it one of these days. So a little while after the hyæna saw the wagon coming from the sea again, laden with fish, and, just as the jackal had done, stretched himself out for dead on the road in front. The fore-louper boy came up, and seeing a mangy hyæna said, 'Here's an ugly brute!' As he said this, he dealt the hyæna a heavy kick. The hyæna flinched, and the boy, smelling a rat, as you English say, ran back to the wagon-driver and told him. The two returned with sticks, and belaboured the hyæna within an inch of his life. But the hyæna, as he had been told to do by the jackal, lay still till they had finished with him. Then he got up, sore all over, and dragged himself off. He told his misfortune to the jackal, who pretended to sympathize.

"'Ah!' said the hyæna, 'it was your handsome skin that helped you. Never mind, I shall find another way next time.'

"The jackal sniggered to himself, and went off with his tail up, having enjoyed a very pleasant revenge."

There was much laughter at this simple Bushman yarn.

"Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney, "what part of the country do your people come from, and what race are you?"

"Well, baas," returned the little man, "my people are San or hunting Hottentots, and my clan is the Matsana Khoi-San, who lived once in the country north-east of the Ovampo tribes. We say that our forefathers were once paramount in all this country, from Ovampoland to the Orange River. But we have had many wars and troubles, and have been hunted about by stronger tribes, until there are few of us remaining. And so we live in the deserts with the wild beasts, and pick up our living as best we can. There are other Bushmen tribes among us--that is, San-Hottentots--the Ai-San and the Kun-San, and the Au-ai-San and the An-San, and others. They lead hard lives, and have many enemies. My mother was taken by a lion one night, when I was a child, and my father was killed soon after in a raid by the Ovampos. These people made a slave of me, and sold me afterwards to a white trader from Walfish Bay, who treated me well, and gave me my freedom. I was with him a long time, and he was a good master."

"How did you get your name, Poeskop?" queried Tom. "Did your father give it you?"

"No, Baas Tom," said the Bushman. "That was given me by a Dutchman with whom I worked for some time. He had been in the Old Colony, and knew all about the coast. He said my face reminded him of a seafish called poeskop, so he called me by that name, and it has stuck to me ever since. My Bushman name was Akabip."

Poeskop pronounced this word with two appalling clicks of the tongue, which Guy and Tom vainly tried to imitate. The little man went into fits of laughter over their struggles, and they all roared together.

It was now time to turn in. In the hunting veldt most men are glad to retire by nine o'clock, often even earlier. Guy and Tom said good-night, and betook themselves to the tent, in which stood their low beds, constructed of iron and canvas. These folded up into wonderfully small space, and were put away on the wagon each morning. The two lads were at this time allowed to sleep the night through without being disturbed. Mr. Blakeney, Jan Kokerboom, the driver, and Poeskop each woke once in turn during the small hours, and saw to it that the fires were kept up and the camp in safety. As Poeskop had predicted, they were not disturbed by lions; and at dawn next morning the whole company were awake and astir, vigorous and refreshed, and ready for the adventures of another day.

Although they were now fairly in the land of big game, it was not part of Mr. Blakeney's design to waste time by the way. Each day the wagon was to trek steadily on under the guidance of Poeskop towards the appointed goal, that mysterious kloof of gold of which they often talked as they sat together round the camp fire. The wagon moved off after breakfast, therefore, while Mr. Blakeney and the two boys, with Poeskop--who had meanwhile set the course for the day--as after-rider, rode off into the veldt to the right front. They could see clumps of game grazing ahead of them, about a mile away in the distance, and towards these they took their way.

Crossing the river which intersected the plain, and which at this the dry season of the year held only a few pools of water here and there in its sandy bed, the hunters rode on quietly till they came within half a mile of the nearest troop. Mr. Blakeney took out his field-glass from its case--this he carried slung over his shoulder--and surveyed the prospect before them.

"That nearest troop, now getting fidgety," he said, "are tsesseby. It's no use running them across this big flat. They're the fleetest of all the antelopes, and stay for ever. Yonder are ostriches and Burchell's zebra. Tom and I will have a try at those. Do you, Guy, take Poeskop, and ride quietly for the big troop of blue wildebeest on the right. You'll have to ride hard, if they begin to run before you get within shot. But they may pull up when they get over the dip yonder, and give you a chance. Now then, Tom, away we go."

Guy and Poeskop cantered quietly in the direction of the blue wildebeest, a troop of some eighty of which were grazing quietly about a mile and a half away. They approached without difficulty to within some six hundred yards, and then, from the left of them, came the report of a rifle, then another, and yet another. Already, then, Mr. Blakeney and Tom were engaged! Guy looked in that direction, but could see no more than the distant figures of his uncle and cousin scouring away after some specks--the game they were pursuing--in front of them. He now turned his attention to the wildebeest of which he was in pursuit. The noise of the shooting had already disturbed them. Their heads were up, scenting the air for danger, and those animals which had been lying down had sprung to their feet. There was no time to be lost. "We must hart-loup [gallop]," said Poeskop quietly; and shaking up the willing nags, the two dashed headlong for the game. Now, at last, the wildebeest took real alarm. Bunching together in a big phalanx, plunging and capering, and whisking their long black tails, the troop set off at what looked like a heavy lumbering gallop, but was in reality a swift pace, taking a course right-handed in the direction of the river-bed. Guy, as he galloped, watched the herd with intense interest. It was the first time he had run blue wildebeest, or, as he had been accustomed to call them in England, brindled gnu. Their big, heavy, somewhat buffalo-like heads, carried low as they ran, and the masses of dark hair that covered their necks, throats, and faces, gave them a cumbrous appearance; but there was no mistake about the pace they went. They swept over the grass plain as fast as the ponies could gallop, and they were evidently not yet stretching themselves out. It was going to be a long and a stern chase. Pursued and pursuers had run somewhat over a mile, still bending towards the river, with its thick fringe of bush and low timber; five hundred yards separated Guy from the nearest wildebeest. They were stringing out now; it was useless to think of firing just yet; and then a diversion happened.

Disturbed by the trample of four-score fleeing wildebeest, a troop of buffalo, which had been resting in the shade of the river bush, suddenly emerged from their concealment and began to run up wind, taking very much the course of the retreating gnu. They had not gone a hundred yards when there burst from the seclusion of the river greenery, just in advance of them, two huge, unwieldy figures. It needed not Poeskop's excited exclamation of "Rhinoster, baas!" to convince Guy that he now saw before him a brace of rhinoceroses, as well as buffaloes and blue wildebeest. It was a thrilling moment; and the lad, with blithe countenance and the light of supreme joy--the wild joy of the hunter--in his blue eyes, shook up his good pony to yet a faster pace. The blue wildebeest were neglected now; which should he first go for, the buffaloes or the rhinoceroses? His mind was instantly made up. The buffaloes were nearest, no more than two hundred yards away; he would have a try at them first. With a press of the knees and a touch of the spur, Guy sent his pony at his hardest gallop. In less than ten minutes he was close up to the herd. Suddenly reining up, and jumping from his nag, he took aim at a huge old bull, carrying a pair of massive horns. The shot was a good one; and as the troop thundered on, the bull turned aside, galloped on for another fifty yards, and stood.

"Baas, get on the horse again," whispered Poeskop, who had ridden up with Guy's second rifle. "If he charges you on foot he'll catch you."

Guy looked at the grim beast, standing moodily waiting for his foes, with head down and eye askance, and thought the advice good. Jumping on to his pony again, he took the Martini rifle from Poeskop, handing him his Mannlicher in return, and moved to the right to get a better shot at the beast's shoulder.

Suddenly and without warning the bull charged, galloping down upon them at a pace that, considering its short legs and enormously massive frame, seemed little short of marvellous. The fleeing hunters, looking back as they rode, saw the bull within twenty yards of their horses' tails. Would he catch them?

"Pas op [look out]!" cried the Bushman, as they both turned and fled, digging their rowels into the flanks of their startled steeds. But the beast was too sorely wounded to run far. The charge was a short one, and the buffalo, dripping blood from his distended nostrils and mouth, stood again. Again Guy approached, this time very warily. He walked his pony to within fifty paces of the bull, and then, getting a quick but steady aim from his saddle, fired. As the loud report of the rifle rattled out upon the hot air, the sturdy brute staggered, sank to the veldt, and, with the strange moaning bellow characteristic of these animals in their last moments, yielded up his breath.

Guy rode up to the dead bull, and gazed with interest upon its mighty proportions, and especially at its grand horns, so gnarled about the centre as to remind him of the roots of some tough oak. They were, indeed, trophies to be proud of. Poeskop, who had ridden up, looking as pleased as Punch, was thinking of yet other feats.

"Baas," he said, his bleared eyes gleaming, "you must shoot a rhinoster. Look!" He pointed towards the river-bed, skirting along which two black figures were still plunging heavily.

"Yes, Poeskop, of course," replied Guy; "the rhinoster, by all means. Come along; forrard on! I'll keep the Martini for the present."

Once more they set their ponies at the gallop, and rapidly overhauled the two black figures ahead of them. Far to their left front, the herd of wildebeest were vanishing into the heart of the great plain; the buffaloes had sheered away yet more to the left, and were standing at gaze a quarter of a mile away, evidently meditating a rush for the coveted shelter of the river bush. Galloping on, the hunters were presently within a quarter of a mile of the rhinos, which, considering their gigantic size and unwieldy shape, moved at an astonishingly fast pace. Now the two beasts swerved suddenly to the right hand, and were presently lost to view among the river jungle. As Guy and the Bushman approached the place where the animals had disappeared, Poeskop whispered,--

"They stand somewhere in there, baas. You must look out, for the rhinoster is a nasty-tempered fellow, and they may go for us."

They turned, and rode very quietly into the bush. After two hundred yards of spooring, they were about to emerge from the denser thickets into an open glade, when Poeskop, who was leading, lifted up his right hand. Guy peered from behind their screen of shrubbery, and saw one of the two rhinoceroses standing facing their way. It was evidently scenting the air for danger, and listening intently; its huge misshapen head, garnished, as Guy noted, with a magnificent fore-horn, turning swiftly from side to side, as if peering this way and that. Guy knew from his uncle what poor sight these creatures have, and, dismounting, crept round to obtain a fairer and a closer shot. Poeskop meanwhile remained with the horses. Guy succeeded admirably in his stalk, and getting within thirty paces of the monster, let drive for its heart. The Martini bullet clapped loudly as it struck the animal's thick hide; and upon the instant, the infuriated beast, snorting like a steam-engine, charged for the smoke of the rifle.

Guy had jumped aside behind a tree and reloaded. So quick was the charge that the monster had vanished into the dense bush almost before its assailant had realized that it was past him. He ran for his pony, and met Poeskop bringing the nag to meet him.

"He's turned, baas, and gone up wind again," said the Bushman. "We will follow him up; but you must keep a sharp lookout."

They took the blood spoor, and went on for about a mile, and then crossed another opening in the bush. Suddenly, without a sound of warning, the rhinoceros started from a clump of thorn scrub in their front, and came straight for them. Poeskop's horse whipped smartly round, and took its rider soon out of danger. Not so Guy's mount, which seemed for some seconds paralyzed with fear, and stood rooted in its tracks, staring at the approaching monster. By dint of a violent wrench of the bridle, and fierce spurring, Guy got the affrighted pony's head round. It moved at last. It was too late, however; the rhinoceros, snorting loudly, was upon them. Guy, looking backward out of the tail of his eye, caught a glimpse of a huge, pig-like head and a massive fore-horn close to his pony's flank, and then he was hoisted into the air. There was a violent crash, and he remembered no more.

When he came to himself he was lying on the ground, his head supported by a saddle, and Poeskop looking anxiously into his face.

"That's better, my baas," said the little Bushman cheerfully. "Now you will soon be your own man again. Here, drink some more of this."

Guy drank from a flask of brandy, which Poeskop put to his lips, and felt better. His mind and recollection came back to him.

"What's happened?" he asked.

"Take another soupje, and I'll tell you," replied Poeskop. The lad did as he was told, and then the Bushman went on. "Well, what happened was this," he said. "That rhinoster caught you, and just ran his horn through your horse, and threw you both over his head. I caught sight of you flying through the air, and I thought, Well, Baas Guy is done for, and his hunting has soon come to an end."

"Not quite yet, Poeskop," returned Guy, a smile flitting over his white face. "I feel better already. Here, help me to sit up."

Poeskop lifted him up, and propped him in a sitting posture.

"Why!" exclaimed the lad, rubbing his eyes, and looking at his pony, which lay near, "there's Bantam--dead!"

"Yes, baas," added the Bushman. "Bantam is dead. The rhinoster's horn ran right through his lungs and heart, and I saw he was dying, and put a bullet into him to hasten his end and save him suffering. He was a fool, and might easily have escaped. As it was, he nearly did for you as well as himself by his stupidity. It's a pity. He was a right good pony, and could gallop like a springbuck."

"Poor Bantam!" groaned Guy, "what an untimely end. He was a duffer to behave as he did, but I shall miss him badly. What's happened to the rhinoceros, Poeskop?"

"He is dead, too," said the Bushman. "That was his last charge. He lies in the bush yonder, two hundred yards away. Now you must rest here while I make a fire and get some food for you. Baas Blakeney will see the smoke presently, and will come this way in search of us. Let me see if you can get to your feet, and you shall rest against yonder tree."

Guy, who was already feeling much better, rose to his feet with the aid of the Bushman's hand. He felt strangely stiff and sore and much shaken, but he had no broken bones, and his severest injury, beyond the shock of the fall, was a sprained thumb.

"On the whole, Poeskop," he said, as he sat down against a tree, "I think I got off rattling well. A toss from a rhinoster isn't an every-day sort of a business, is it?"

"No," returned the Bushman, grinning hugely, "it isn't. I have known two men tossed by rhinosters, and they were both dead men after it. But you are born to be lucky as well as rich. I saw it in your face when first I set eyes on you. You will be a great hunter, and have already made a first-class beginning. But you must beware of three things in the hunting veldt--a wounded buffalo, a wounded rhinoceros, and a hungry lion on a dark or stormy night. The last is the worst of all, and nothing, neither guns nor fires nor thorn kraal, will stop him."

So talking to his young master, Poeskop busied himself in making a big fire and getting some food out of the saddle-bags. Guy having eaten some bread and meat, and drunk a little more brandy and water, felt vastly stronger. Poeskop now set to work, and with a light native hatchet chopped the horns from the snout of the dead rhinoceros. Then, taking some of the flesh, he made a neat bundle against the coming of the other hunters. By three o'clock Mr. Blakeney and Tom had ridden up and learned the story of Guy's adventure.

Chapter VIII.

THE ELEPHANT COUNTRY.

"It's a bad job," said Mr. Blakeney, after hearing the news, "but it might have been worse. The pony is a loss, it is true; but I'm heartily glad you got through with so little damage, Guy. The fact is, I never imagined we were going to encounter rhinoceros so soon. I should never have forgiven myself if anything had happened to you. You must go steady, my lad, and don't be too adventurous. And in future, as we are likely to tackle rhinoceros and elephant, it will be better to have always in reserve a heavier gun, the double .500 or the eight-bore 'Paradox,' for a second shot. Poeskop, or whoever is with you two boys as after-rider, can carry it for you. Few beasts, not even rhinos, or elephant, or buffalo, can stand up against the smashing blow dealt by such a bullet. Still, these are heavy guns, and kick a good bit, and you needn't use them except in case of emergency, to turn a charge or stagger an animal at close quarters." As for Tom, he was so much overjoyed by Guy's supreme feat in slaying a rhinoceros, that he felt he would gladly have accepted the risk of that adventure, even to the extent of being tossed bodily into the air--horse, foot, and artillery.

The wagon came along presently, and they loaded up the trophies, and some meat from the buffalo and rhinoceros. Then they moved across the plain, making a long trek far into the evening before they outspanned for the night. Next day, after a rather restless and uncomfortable night, Guy felt far too stiff and sore from his fall to sit a horse. He remained with the wagon, therefore, taking things easily, and amusing himself by skinning half a dozen birds which Tom and Mr. Blakeney had recently shot. These included several very interesting species. First, there was a most lovely roller, a bird usually known to South African colonists as a blue jay. This, as Guy discovered by looking up the species in "Layard's Birds of South Africa," a most valuable book for the bird collector, turned out to be the lilac-breasted roller (Coracias caudata), a bird more than ordinarily remarkable, even in a country thronging with brilliant birds, for the beauties of its plumage. The upper colouring was a ferruginous green, the reddish hue showing most strongly on the back; the under parts were pale, bluish green, as were the tail feathers; the rump was bright blue, the lilac breast touched with streaks of white and rufous, the forehead and chin buff. At each outer edge of the blue-green tail feathers there extended a single long feather of dark, blackish green. These are much sought after by certain native chiefs, of whom one was the redoubted Moselikatse, father of Lobengula, king of the Matabele. For this reason this roller is known as Moselikatse's bird.

Having finished with this handsome species, which is about the size of our English jay, Guy took next in hand a perfect little gem of a feathered creature--one of the curious bee-eaters, known to naturalists as Merops bullockoides. The upper colouring of this diminutive bird was a light green, the rump and vent blue, the throat a brilliant scarlet, the front, chin, and moustache white, with a greenish tint. The back of the head was rufous. These tiny creatures, which in the wonders of their colouring remind their captors of the glorious humming-birds, take their names from their family habit of devouring bees. They have longish bills, and, seizing the bee deftly across the body, give it a sharp squeeze and swallow it. There are various kinds to be found in Africa, all distinguished by most beautiful colouring. One species, the European bee-eater (Merops apiaster), passes to and fro between South Africa and South Europe. In the former country it exists largely on a red wasp, of which it seems particularly fond. All these little creatures, none of which measure more than eight or ten inches in length, including a tail of four to five and a half inches, are fond of water, and are often to be seen flitting after their prey over some deep river pool or quiet lagoon.

Having carefully divested the bee-eater of its skin and rubbed in a preservative powder known as taxidermine, the young collector put it beside the other to dry. Guy, while at school, had been a fair amateur bird-skinner, even with no more aid than the small blade of his pocket-knife. Before leaving England he had bought a small case of instruments at Rowland Ward's in Piccadilly, for the more careful manipulation of skins. He had also procured at the same place an excellent book, known as "The Sportsman's Handbook to Practical Collecting," which gave him all sorts of useful information on the preparing and setting up of skins, from birds and small mammals to the biggest of big game. By the aid of this book he was able to settle at once the sex of the bird he skinned, a matter of much importance to all collectors. In addition to these birds, he skinned and prepared an Angola kingfisher; a rufous-necked falcon (Falco ruficollis); a red and black weaver-bird (Ploceus oryx), a very handsome species, seen near the river in large numbers; and a pink-billed lark. To all of these skins, after having got them ready, Guy affixed a label with short particulars, showing the species, sex, and when and where they were shot.

Towards four o'clock Mr. Blakeney and Tom returned to the wagon. They had had an excellent day's sport, and Tom was in a state of high exultation, having run down and shot a fine gemsbuck cow, carrying a splendid pair of horns, measuring no less than thirty-eight and a half inches in length. Mr. Blakeney had secured from the same troop a good bull. It is a somewhat remarkable fact that the females of these grand antelopes carry longer and finer horns than do the males. In most species of African antelopes the converse is the case; and in many specimens, such as the water-bucks, the koodoo, the reedbuck, steinbuck, klipspringer, and others, the females are hornless.

In two days' time Guy had recovered from his toss by the rhinoceros, and was longing to be in the saddle again. They had reached the second range of mountains, and, after a long and hard day of trekking up and down hill, had surmounted the pass by which Poeskop guided them, and outspanned on the farther side. The spoor of elephants had been found near this camp, and next day was to be devoted to a hunt, if the party could come up with a herd. Poeskop alleged that this country was full of "oliphant," as he called them in Boer Dutch, and attributed their plenty to the growth of a favourite tree, the machabel, which grew in this locality.

After much discussion it was settled that they should hunt on foot. The ponies wanted a rest, and, to the uninitiated, shooting elephants from the saddle is not an easy matter. Moreover, so far as they knew, none of their nags had ever been in pursuit of these animals, and it was by no means certain that they would behave properly in the presence of such formidable beasts of chase. At dawn next morning they had breakfasted and were away. Mr. Blakeney carried his .500 express, a weapon powerful enough, with solid bullets, to account for the heaviest game. Tom, who was to accompany his father so soon as the hunt began, was armed with a double Africander rifle, carrying Martini-Henry bullets. Guy was armed with a .303, in which his uncle had a good deal of confidence; but Poeskop, who was to accompany him, carried the Paradox eight-bore in case of necessity. The Bushman had the strictest injunctions to stick close to his young master, and to hand the spare rifle instantly in case of a charge. All were clad in their lightest kit. They anticipated much walking, and probably a good deal of running. They wore, therefore, no more than flannel shirts, old breeches or flannels cut down to the knees, and velschoens. Their legs and arms were bare, their heads protected by the usual broad-brimmed felt hats. Poeskop appeared in nothing but an old shirt and a pair of velschoens. An odd little figure he cut, indeed, loaded as he was with the weight of a heavy rifle. The Bushman stepped out briskly, however, and by the end of the day his masters were fain to confess that, in spite of severe exertions, he was as fresh and as fit as any of them.

For three miles Poeskop conducted the little party along the lower slope of the mountain. Finding the spoor he expected, he led them at a rapid walk, with an occasional jog trot, on the tracks of the gigantic game. They descended to the level ground; and presently, after another hour had elapsed, the Bushman whispered that they were approaching the troop. They were now in a fairly level piece of country, the open parts of it consisting of grass veldt. There was a good deal of timber and bush. On the whole, the veldt seemed favourable for hunting: it was not too open, and in case of pursuing or charging elephants, as Mr. Blakeney had carefully explained to the two lads, there were plenty of opportunities for dodging behind bush and tree-trunks, and so evading a charge.

The wind was light. Poeskop picked up a handful of dry sand and let it run through his fingers. The direction was all right, and the falling sand was puffed gently towards them. On they went, now stepping with the greatest caution so as not to break a twig or make any kind of unnecessary noise. Now they crossed the bed of a dry streamlet, negotiated some more bush and timber, and then suddenly, in a great opening of the forest, dotted here and there with islets of heavyish bush, came upon the herd. It was a wonderful spectacle. Sixty or seventy elephants, big and little, but most of them full-grown bulls and cows, were shambling slowly along; some plucking at clumps of bush, some tearing at branches of trees; two or three, with their huge gleaming tusks, stripping the bark from some good-sized timber and conveying it to their mouths. One or two great cows were caressing with their trunks some half-grown babies that moved alongside them.

With a motion of his hand Mr. Blakeney signified that he and Tom would take a big bull that was engaged in stripping a tree of its bark. Guy nodded, and indicating that he would go farther up the herd for his shot, turned back into the shelter of the forest and ran swiftly along. As he ran he heard the loud report of two barrels from his uncle's rifle; then Tom's Martini rattled out twice. In an instant the forest, but a moment before so silent and so peaceful--for the elephant moves with singularly noiseless tread--was in an uproar. Wild trumpetings conveyed the danger signal from one to another. The great beasts massed more closely together and moved on. Yet, at present, they were no more than walking quickly. They had not broken into a run.

Guy skirted the glade, and reached the point he had aimed at just in the very nick of time. As he crouched behind a patch of bush the troop came right past him, within fifteen yards. He let two or three cows and calves go by, and then, as a huge bull with immensely long tusks shuffled up, looking, as Guy thought, like some gigantic mammoth of the primeval world, the lad knew that the supreme moment had come. Raising his .303 very gently, he took aim for that part of the great beast's skull which lies between the eye and the orifice of the ear, and let drive. To his immense astonishment the mighty beast went down like a shot rabbit. The tiny sporting bullet had pierced the brain, and the elephant never moved again. Full of confidence now, Guy rapidly worked another cartridge into the breech, and seeing that a bevy of big elephants, which were following hard upon the great bull, had swerved to the right, he left his concealment and ran in after them. Picking out the best bull he could see, he ranged up within twenty paces, and, not being able to get the head shot, fired for the shoulder.

This time the result was nothing like so encouraging. The great brute wheeled round with astonishing quickness, and with a trumpet that sounded to Guy like the scream of a dozen railway engines rolled into one, charged instantly. There was nothing for it but flight; and good runner as Guy was, he always said afterwards that never had he sprinted so fast as he did over the fifty yards of open ground across which the wounded bull now chased him. Poeskop, who was twenty or thirty yards behind as Guy fired, had turned short as the beast turned, and doubled back into some bush, and for the present was safe; but Guy, with the elephant following upon his heels, trumpeting wickedly as it ran, felt that he was in a very tight place indeed. Nearer and nearer came the great brute. The lad felt that each moment the monster's trunk would come slipping round his waist. A clump of trees and some bush stood just before him. How he accomplished it he never quite knew; but he reached the shelter, dodged round a tree like a rabbit, slipped behind some bush, and crouched close to the earth. As he expected, the elephant thundered on; and before it could check its impetus and turn, Guy had crept farther away.