Front matter (continued 4)

It seemed but a few minutes to the English lad, yet the space of a full hour had certainly elapsed, when Tom was violently startled from his sleep by a wild, terrified yell, which sounded close to his ears. There was something so horrifying about that wild scream, violently shattering the previous stillness of the night, that a shudder of apprehension went thrilling through Tom's whole person. In the same instant there was a rough pull at the lad's belt; he was turned half over. and, before he had time to snatch up the rifle by his side, he felt himself being dragged away over the ground at a rapid pace. The lad's mind instantly grasped the situation. Something--a lion, no doubt--had got hold of the unfortunate Peter, and was dragging him off; and Tom, being coupled to him by the long cord, was being dragged also. In an instant Tom had unbuckled his belt and was free. Springing to his feet and looking round, he saw by the light of the fire a huge yellow-maned lion, which had Peter by the neck, and was dragging him away into the darkness.

Meanwhile, the unfortunate black boy, after uttering that first wild, terrified yell, was shrieking out for help. Poeskop was running up to the rescue, and he afterwards affirmed that the boy had, beyond all doubt, suddenly recovered his native tongue, and was crying out and imploring assistance in Berg Damara. Tom rushed to the fire, seized upon a long piece of burning wood, and with that ran back to the lion, which was now dragging its unfortunate victim well beyond the circle of the firelight, and belaboured the brute about the head and face with the burning brand. It was a marvellously plucky act, but it was useless. The fierce brute held on grimly to its prey, and merely hastened its pace, now moving at a swift trot. Tom turned to rush for his rifle, and in the same instant something seemed to flash out from the darkness, and knocked him down. It was a lioness, which, as Poeskop and Guy came running up with their weapons, stood over the lad, growling horribly--a fierce, throaty, menacing growl--as if daring them to come on.

Guy and the Bushman fired together, and at the twin report the lioness, shot through heart and brain, sank quietly down upon Tom, and lay stark dead. At this moment Mr. Blakeney came up to their assistance. Between them they dragged the grim brute off Tom, who was by this time nearly suffocated. A full-grown lion weighs a good deal more than twice as much as a heavy man, and Tom, although happily not seriously hurt, was pretty well flattened, and had most of his breath knocked out of him. They got him to his feet, felt him all over, and asked anxiously if he was hurt.

"N--no!" gasped the lad; "I'm--all--right--I think. G--go on after Peter. Hark! He's there somewhere. The other lion's got him. Hark!"

They listened for a moment. There came faint, agonized cries from out the darkness. They were the unfortunate wild boy's last appeals. They ceased. All was still.

"Bring fire-sticks," cried out Mr. Blakeney. "You, Poeskop, stay with Baas Tom, and get him to the fire. Guy, Jan, Seleti, come with me. You, Mangwalaan, stay by the oxen."

Jan Kokerboom and Seleti armed themselves with flaming brands, and the four advanced into the darkness. They could see little beyond a dozen feet in front of them. Again they listened. The wild boy's voice was no more heard, but in its place there came from the outer darkness a sickening scrunching of bones. It was the lion devouring his victim, apparently some forty yards away.

"Oh," cried Mr. Blakeney, "I can't stand this. We must go on." They moved forward ten yards, and then, from some thick bush in front of them, there came a low, cavernous, threatening growl from the brute, disturbed at its prey. Mr. Blakeney and Guy fired together, and reloaded. They could hear the man-killer dragging the unfortunate lad yet farther into the bush. Again they fired. Now the men's torches were getting low. Still they advanced again, though much against the will of the two natives.

"Baas," whispered Jan Kokerboom, "this is madness. My fire-stick will be out in another minute, and we shall all be killed by the lions. There are more about. I have heard them."

Still Mr. Blakeney and Guy pushed on a few yards farther, until their advance was barred by thicker and stronger bush.

"It's useless, Guy," said Mr. Blakeney, in a stern voice. "We've done all we can. We must go back. By this time the poor creature is dead, undoubtedly. It's a bad job, but we can do no more. Come!"

They turned quickly, and with the torches flickering out made their way back to the camp fires. For the rest of that night they got little rest. Tom first had to be attended to. The lioness in her attack had badly shaken him; but beyond some deep scratches inflicted by one paw on the back of the shoulder as she held him down, he was unhurt. These wounds were dressed with carbolic and water, as usual. Two hours later an attack made by another pair of lions on the cattle scherms was successfully repelled, and an old, worn-out lion shot through the thorn fence by Jan Kokerboom and Mangwalaan. Towards dawn the white men slept for a couple of hours or so.

After breakfast they prepared to take vengeance upon the murderer of the unfortunate wild boy. Mr. Blakeney wished much to persuade Tom to stay behind and help Seleti and Mangwalaan to look after the camp.

"No, pater," pleaded Tom; "this is really my business. You know what an interest I took in the poor little chap. In a way I looked on him as belonging to me. I'll keep behind. My shoulder is not very bad, and I can, at all events, carry a spare rifle in case you need it."

Mr. Blakeney gave way, and the three, accompanied by Poeskop and Jan Kokerboom, went forth on their mission of vengeance. With them they took the wagon dogs to aid in hunting up the lion. They had little difficulty in finding the path of the man-eater. In the thorns, through which the fierce brute had dragged its victim, were to be seen shreds of the poor wild boy's old flannel shirt and knickerbockers, bestowed upon him by his young master. Here was where the monster had bitten through the poor little fellow's neck and finished him, and had even begun to devour some of his flesh. A large dark patch of blood and other hideous traces marked the spot. Farther on they came to a more grisly relic. In a little clearing, among some dense bush, there lay the head and the right forearm and hand of the unfortunate boy. Both had been severed easily from the trunk.

Tom turned with horror from these sad relics.

"Pater," he said, "if I were not so mad with the brute that did this, I think I should be sick. If you and Guy don't kill the monster, I will."

"We'll kill him, my boy," said his father grimly, "even if we have to follow him all day."

They moved on in silence, and, after going three hundred yards farther, spoored the lion and its prey to a dense, triangular piece of bush lying close to the little stream that ran through the valley. Poeskop quickly ran round this piece of bush, and made certain that the murderous brute had gone no farther. Mr. Blakeney now disposed his little force so as to command each side of the triangle. Poeskop and Guy crossed the stream, and guarded that side. Jan Kokerboom kept watch at the point where the lion had entered, well in sight of Mr. Blakeney, who, with Tom carrying a spare rifle, took the angle on the extreme right. Then the dogs, which had followed hot upon the trail, were cheered into the thicket. They were a plucky lot of curs, well used to this kind of work, and they did their duty well. Plunging into the bush and undergrowth, they quickly told that the game was afoot.

"To him, Nero! To him, Nelson! Push him up, Ponto!" cried Mr. Blakeney, in his strong, clear voice. The dogs, encouraged at the sound, renewed their attack.

"Push him out, boys!" again cried their master heartily. "Have at him, Nero!"

Nero, a huge, brindled cross-bred, half mastiff, half greyhound, with a touch of bull--a true Boer mongrel, picked up in the Transvaal--plunges into the fray again, well backed by the rest of the pack. The lion can stand the baiting no longer, and, creeping noiselessly through the covert, suddenly appears within thirty paces of where Mr. Blakeney stands ready for him. Seeing his adversary, the brute, his mouth and face still darkly smeared with the blood of his victim, bares his teeth, puts his head down, growls savagely, and, lashing his tail a few times from side to side, takes two or three stealthy strides right out into the open. Then suddenly he elevates his tail, straight and rigid as a poker. Mr. Blakeney knows the danger signal well; his nerves are like iron; he is as steady as if he were shooting at a francolin. Already he is down on one knee, the better to get his shot. Tom stands staunchly at his flank, ready with the second rifle. Taking swift aim, Mr. Blakeney pulls the trigger; the heavy .500 bullet strikes the man-eater full in the chest, and, raking the body and tearing through heart and lungs, instantly finishes its career. The brute falls to the shot, and after a convulsive struggle or two rolls over dead. Never again will he slay the shuddering Berg Damaras, or murder a harmless boy.

Tom's hat went flying up into the air.

"Hurrah!" he cried, in his high, cheery voice. "Well shot, pater! We've killed the brute, and avenged poor Peter. Hurrah!"

Guy came bursting round the corner of the covert, and, seeing the triumph, added two more "hurrahs" to Tom's exultant shouts.

There, in truth, lay the murderous brute, and the poor, innocent wild boy was avenged. He was a huge, dark-maned lion, fat and in high condition, and in the very prime of his strength. Poeskop and Jan now came running up, full of joy and congratulations.

"Ah, baas! that is a great lion," said the Bushman. "I never saw a bigger or a heavier. Look at his forepaws. Why, he could kill an ox as easily as I could kill a chicken. The Berg Damaras up yonder may well be glad. Two lions killed last night, and this old mannetje this morning. They will sleep in peace for a long time to come."

While Jan Kokerboom set to work to skin the lion, Poeskop, by Mr. Blakeney's directions, made his way into the thicket to see if he could discover any further remains of the unfortunate Peter. Meanwhile, a number of the Berg Damaras, guided by the rifle shot, had made their way down to the spot. Their delight on discovering, not only that the man-eater had been slain that morning, but that a lion and lioness had also been killed during the night, was very great. Something of their load of depression seemed lifted from their spirits. They even began to smile, a thing none of the English party had observed during the previous day. As to the death of their kinsman, the unfortunate Peter, they seemed not in the least affected; but, as Mr. Blakeney pointed out to the boys, wandering tribesfolk, such as Bushmen and Berg Damaras and the like, lead such precarious lives, and are so often confronted by death, danger, and starvation, that they become callous and indifferent to suffering, whether it affects themselves or others.

Poeskop presently returned. Beyond a few bones and a piece or two of flesh, he had found no further traces of the boy. The lion had devoured him. They returned to camp, leaving the Berg Damaras to deal as they pleased with the now flayed carcass of the dead lion. With this and the flesh of the other two lions the poor wretches seemed highly delighted. The hearts of these beasts, the headman explained, when they had eaten them, would give them courage, and the rest of the flesh and fat would be useful to them. Returning up the valley, Guy shot a fine waterbuck bull. After taking the horns and skin, this also was handed over to the tribes-people, who were now well provided with meat. The flesh of the waterbuck is coarse and unpleasant, and not at all palatable to Europeans; and as the hunters had plenty of meat at their camp, the Berg Damaras were welcome to this fresh food supply. On reaching camp Tom took a spade, and, with Guy, went out to bury the poor remains of Peter, the wild boy--the head and the severed arm. Tom returned from his task sorrowful enough, and was depressed and quiet for the rest of the day.

"Poor little Peter!" he said that evening at supper. "His meeting with us, which we all thought such a fine thing for him, was but a miserable bit of luck after all. I do believe, if he had remained with the baboons, he might have lived for years."

"Ay, Tom," rejoined his father, "it's a strange world; and human destiny, whether in the case of the black man or the white, is one of the most inexplicable of all mysteries. Still, we did the right thing in rescuing poor Peter. Think of it. What an existence would have been his if we had not discovered him. To live with the beasts of the field--and such beasts as baboons--surely even you, Tom, fond as you were of the little chap, could never have wished him such a fate."

"No, pater, I suppose not," acknowledged Tom; "but it was a cruel end. I shall never forget the little fellow, and it will be a long while before I shall get his death-scream out of my memory."

Chapter XIII.

GUY IS MISSING.

More than a month had elapsed since the beginning of the trek. They were now, as Poeskop had informed them, within little more than a week's journey from the kloof of gold of which they were in search. It was full a week since they had left the Berg Damara village behind, and they had progressed well and steadily during the interval. One morning Mr. Blakeney and Tom had ridden out together in search of game. Guy was sitting on the wagon, for a change taking a rest, going through some of his specimens, and packing away odds and ends. They were trekking across a wide, open grass plain, whereon various herds of game, for the most part hartebeest, blue wildebeest, and Burchell's zebra, were to be seen grazing in the distance. At half-past twelve the oxen were outspanned, and a halt was made. Guy, having finished his work and eaten some lunch, was now, with the aid of the Ross stalking-glass, ranging the wide grass flats, watching the various troops of game, and wondering what kind of luck his uncle and cousin were having. It had been a most beautiful morning. The hot, rather suffocating winds, which had been blowing persistently from the north for the last few days, had vanished. A most cool and refreshing breeze now came up gently from the south, borne from the cool regions of the far Antarctic; and there was a feeling of vigour in the sparkling atmosphere which, albeit it was now just past high noon, made Guy's restless English blood eager for action.

As he looked, he suddenly spied through the clear telescope a single ostrich, stalking across the veldt. It was a long way off--five miles certainly--but he would go after it. Telling Seleti to saddle up his pony, Guy's preparations were soon made. After their experiences in the thirst-land, he was not going to take any more unnecessary risks, and he had fastened to his saddle his water-bottle, coat, and a hunting case containing a little food. Thus equipped, he picked up his sporting Martini rifle--he had lent Tom his Mannlicher--and, swinging himself lightly into the saddle, rode off at a brisk canter, humming, in the lightness of his heart, a cheerful song. Poeskop gazed admiringly after him as he rode away.

"There goes a proper young baas!" he said to Jan Kokerboom, as they sat at their meal. "'Tis a fine thing to be an Englishman." Jan admitted that it was, and Guy's figure gradually receded into the distance.

Guy rode steadily for five or six miles, at the end of which he discovered that the ostrich had been moving away north-westward, and was still two or three miles distant. Some light bush now hid it from view, and, taking advantage of this screen, Guy pressed on until he saw that he was about to enter upon the plain again. Before issuing from the bush, he got off and carefully examined the country in front of him. Yes, there was the ostrich right enough, feeding quietly less than a mile away. It was a splendid cock bird, and its white plumes, showing up finely against its black body colouring, made Guy long to possess them. Walking his horse out of the covert, Guy now touched the good beast with his spur and galloped for the big bird, hoping to get a shot at it before it had discovered that the approaching object was anything more than a zebra. It was a wild, unfrequented veldt, and surely, argued Guy to himself, an ostrich in these parts would not be very suspicious. Half a mile was covered. He was now within seven hundred yards of the bird; surely he was going to get a fair shot directly.

But even as he thus flattered himself, he was discovered. The ostrich's head went up, and then, with a limp and a flutter of the wing feathers, the bird moved off. It went so lame that Guy at once perceived that something was the matter with it. So much the better--he would have an easy victory. Suddenly, fifty yards in front of him, there rose from the long grass veldt another ostrich, a hen bird manifestly. Nothing ailed her, and she rushed away like a steam engine, covering whole leagues, as it were, in her enormous strides. Guy reached the place whence she had started, and saw, as he expected, a nest full of huge, shining eggs. At a swift glance, as he galloped by, he reckoned that there must have been twelve or fourteen of them. But he had no time to attend to them now; he would ride back that way, and take toll of them as he went to the wagon. For the moment all his energies and attention were centred on the maimed or sick bird in front of him, the magnificence of whose plumes he could now plainly discern.

He galloped, but still the limping creature managed, not only to keep a start, but even to increase its lead. In a while it squatted, as if it had reached the end of its tether, and Guy thought now surely it was his. It was not so, however. As he approached within four hundred yards the great bird rose and pursued its way, stumbling, staggering occasionally, as if it would fall on its head, and flapping its wings, plainly in great distress. It was very annoying that, notwithstanding its apparent sickness, the bird could yet manage as it did to keep going. Mile after mile went by, and still the ostrich stumbled along, just beyond reasonable shooting distance. Once again, having gained a fresh lead, in response to a long spurt on the part of Guy, it sat down again; and once more Guy was most provokingly baulked of what he now looked upon as his legitimate booty--those magnificent plumes that waved and dangled so annoyingly, just beyond reach of his trusty Martini.

The lad had now become downright angry. That bird should be his, if he had to ride till evening; and so, about five hundred yards still separating them, the hunted and the hunter moved swiftly across the plain for another mile. Three o'clock went by--four o'clock--surely the bird would soon give in! But now it was running quite differently. There was no trace of the falterings and stumblings that he had so long noticed. The cock was apparently quite recovered, and running as strongly and as straight as had its mate. Then suddenly there flashed upon Guy's mind what had happened. The creature had been playing the fool with him all this time. It had simulated lameness and sickness, just as will a plover or a partridge, merely to decoy him away from its nest, which he had by a lucky chance ridden by and discovered.

Guy smiled grimly to himself as the cleverness of the whole ruse was borne in upon him. Nevertheless, he was wild with vexation; and setting his teeth, he said to himself very softly that he would make it hot for the shamming bird yet. And, indeed, he did so. He was now full twenty miles from camp; hills and kopjes rose not very far in front of him--hills which, now ruddy brown and plain to see, looked four hours ago blue in the distance. His pony was a good one, and in first-rate condition. It was not by any means at the end of its resources, and Guy called upon it for one more long and sustained effort. Two more miles were past. Then Guy, to his joy, discovered that the ostrich was really coming back to him. The long and persistent chase under the hot sun had at last told upon it. He had certainly gained one hundred and fifty yards in the last hour.

Once more the great bird set itself going, and raced away. So rapid was its flight that it seemed as if Guy and his nag were this time to be completely distanced. But it was soon very plain what the bird was aiming at. It was trying for an offing, so as to work its way round to the right, and thus, as evening fell, regain its mate and her nest once more. Guy saw the manoeuvre, and, galloping across the wide arc that the ostrich was now making, managed, by dint of pressing his pony for another and a final effort, to cut it off. The foolish bird stuck obstinately to its point; its pace was now slackening; and Guy succeeded in getting within fifty yards of its line. Slipping off his pony, he fired as the big bird came by, and, aiming well forward, struck the ostrich fair in the body. Even so tough a creature as this, the largest of all feathered fowl, could not resist the impact of a solid Martini bullet at fifty paces, and the bird suddenly fell dead in its tracks, a mere quivering bundle of flesh and feathers.

It was a splendid prize. Guy, as he walked up and looked at the dead bird, saw at once that the plumage was magnificent. Knee-haltering his pony, and taking off its saddle, he now refreshed himself after his desperate ride, and set to work to divest his capture of its finest plumage. The white feathers were magnificent, and Guy could scarcely admire them sufficiently. Making neat bundles of the prime whites, the shorter whites, the beautiful black and white plumes, and the black feathers, he now saddled up again, slung the longest feathers over his back, fastened the rest to his saddle, and mounted.

The point now to be decided was, What should he do for the night? He knew that the camp lay away behind him, far across the dry and weary plain. But it was twenty long miles away; his pony was very tired and thirsty; and in the darkness now coming on he might easily lose his direction. Only a mile or two in front of him rose the line of low hills. Here he was pretty sure to find water for his pony. On the whole, it seemed better to make his way thither, water his pony, light a good fire, rest till early morning, and then ride back to camp. Having thus decided, he rode his nag at a walk for the kopjes. Night was falling rapidly as he entered the hills. After following an open valley for a quarter of a mile, he came, as he expected, to a vlei of water, recruited by a fountain flowing from the hill above. Here he off-saddled for the night. His pony drank till it cared to drink no more. Meanwhile he cut some grass for fodder, tied his nag to a bush, collected wood for a fire, and, taking out the meat and bread he had brought with him, ate his supper.

His position was a well-chosen one. At his back he had an impenetrable screen of thick bush and rock. He had seen no indication of lions as he rode into the hills. A big fire blazed cheerfully in front of him, and plenty of wood lay handy so soon as its first strength died away. The lad was very sleepy after his long ride. He lay for an hour or more gazing drowsily into the red blaze in front of him, turning over in his mind the events of the afternoon, and following with a feeling of placid contentment the shifting scenes depicted in the heart of the fire by various pieces of burning wood. His pony munched its food contentedly close to his head. Gradually his eyes closed, his head sank deeper into the saddle which formed his pillow, and he slept.

Guy had not enjoyed the blessed oblivion of slumber more than an hour--it seemed to him not a minute since he had closed his eyes--when he was suddenly and most rudely awakened. Strong hands gripped him fiercely on either side, and pinned him to the ground. With a cry he tried to spring to his feet. But his hands and feet were both securely held. He struggled violently, but his struggles were ineffectual against superior strength and numbers. Almost before he was fully awake he was bound hand and foot, and lay helpless in the hands of his captors. Then he had time to look about him. The light of the fire showed him that his assailants were four in number, two white men and two black. The faces of the white men were known to him. It was with something like a shock of dismay that he realized the fact that he was in the hands of Karl Engelbrecht and Antonio Minho, who were now regarding him, as they stood over him, with unmistakable signs of triumph on their unpleasant faces.

"What's all this about?" cried the lad angrily in Dutch. "And what do you mean by attacking me in this way? You shall suffer for it, and that before many hours are over."

"Softly, my young friend," answered Minho, a bantering smile illuminating his oily, yellow face. "You go a little too fast. You, and not Karl and myself, are likely to be the suffering party. We find you are necessary to our plans, and so we invite you to come with us. If you keep a civil tongue and behave yourself, we shall treat you reasonably well. If you are troublesome and impertinent, you will be corrected."

"Ja," added the slower-tongued Boer, who had by this time found his speech. "We shall stand no nonsense from you. Keep your mouth shut, you schepsel, unless you are spoken to. We want no tantrums, and no noise. If you don't behave, we shall teach you to, and that with the sjambok." As he spoke the great Boer touched significantly his riding whip of giraffe hide, just now stuck through his belt.

The English lad's eyes blazed with anger at this threat. If he had been free, he would at that instant have struck the Dutchman in the face, great as was the disparity in size and age between them. But he was helpless; and he saw, answering his own fiery look, such an expression of malevolence and hate spread over the Boer's countenance, that he judged it the wiser course to resume a less pugnacious demeanour. After all, pugnacity, when you are tied hand and foot, avails nothing.

"What do you want with me?" he went on, in a tone of assumed indifference, addressing himself to the Portuguese.

"We propose to take you with us on a short journey," returned Minho. "We shall tell you more of our plans later on. Meanwhile, you had better submit yourself quietly, and don't make a fuss, or it may be worse for you. There are more painful things even than sjamboks," he added, with a significant leer; "rifles and knives, for instance."

"Now, then," said Engelbrecht, in his thick guttural voice, "pick him up, you two."

The two strong natives, who were standing ready to obey their master's orders, stepped forward, picked up Guy, and set him on his feet. Then, saddling and bridling his pony, they unfastened the raw-hide riem that bound his feet, hoisted him to the saddle, and set off. All carried rifles; the Boer marched at the pony's head, holding its bridle. Guy's hands were firmly tied, and there was not the faintest chance of escape. Half a mile farther up the valley they came to Karl Engelbrecht's camp. Here a wagon was outspanned, and there were more natives. The word was now given at once to trek. Guy was placed on the wagon, and his feet carefully bound again, and in half an hour they set forth, steering a course through the hills which would take them north-west, in a direction almost diametrically opposite to that in which the English party was progressing. They trekked rapidly, and the oxen were pushed to their utmost speed.

Quitting the hills presently, they entered upon thin forest country, and thereafter their course was set, manifestly, for a chain of mountains which lay upon the horizon some fifteen miles distant. This range was reached before evening set in. Entering a deep and secluded gorge, Engelbrecht's party ensconced themselves in a strong defensive position, commanding a narrow pass, the entrance to which they blocked temporarily by rolling down boulders and rocks from the hillside. Here, with plenty of wood and water about them, and holding what they evidently looked upon as an impregnable position, the shadowers believed themselves in absolute security, and prepared to take the next step in the operations upon which their energies and schemes were fixed.

Engelbrecht and Minho had, in the course of their pursuit, followed pretty closely all the movements of the party in front of them. The Boer had with him clever and resourceful native servants. These he employed as spies, sending them forth scouting in front of him. These men, accustomed from their youth up to read accurately every sign and indication of veldt life, had traced with minute care every phase of the wanderings of the English trekkers. They had reported the various happenings--had observed the number of elephants slain in the big hunt, and had satisfied themselves and their master that the English leader and his party were all, white and black, good hunters and excellent shots. They were known to be very well armed, and it was obvious that any open attack upon them would mean severe fighting, in which the assailants, in all probability, would be beaten off or most seriously mauled. Besides, it was not the policy of the two allied ruffians to make any kind of attack before the gold treasure should have been discovered.

Upon the day before Guy had ridden out after the ostrich, Engelbrecht had made a forward trek, and placed his camp much closer to the English party than he had hitherto ventured. Minho was against this move, but the Boer was now growing somewhat reckless, and his persistency had carried the day. Guy's rifle had been heard that afternoon, spies were watching his movements from the hills, and his entrance to the valley and the place where he had camped for the night were carefully noted. The spies hastened back to the Boer's outspan, and reported all they had seen.

Then ensued a discussion between Engelbrecht and the Portuguese as to what course to pursue. Antonio Minho was in favour of letting the young man return to his own camp unmolested. But Engelbrecht's patience, as we have seen, was becoming somewhat exhausted. He was a man of action, and a plan had suddenly come into his mind which he at once unfolded. It was this. If they captured the English lad, they could hold him as a hostage, and make any terms they pleased with the gold seekers; nay, they might even force them to enter into a kind of partnership, by which the gold, when discovered, should be parcelled out equally between the two expeditions. This seemed to the Boer, upon the whole, a better and safer plan than attacking the Englishmen after they should have secured their treasure. After all, the attack might be repelled. Karl knew these Englishmen could shoot, and they would, no doubt, fight hard; and even if they were surprised and shot down in a night attack or ambuscade, there might be awkward questions to answer thereafter. Lawless and bloodthirsty though the man was, he knew that, even from amid the silence and solitudes of the desert, murder will out, especially the murder of white men. He still cherished bitter animosity and hatred against these intruders, especially against Mr. Blakeney, the man who had conquered him in the affair of fists at Mossamedes; but upon the whole he judged that he would now have a safer chance of gratifying his revenge, by seizing Guy and using him as an instrument for squeezing his rivals, than by more violent measures.

During an hour Karl and the Portuguese keenly debated the question, whether or not they should seize and carry away the lad, now sleeping in absolute ignorance of their vicinity no more than half a mile away. In the end the plan seemed good to Minho. The capture was effected; and now, having carried off Guy Hardcastle to a place which the Boer had in his mind--a place which could be made impregnable against any assault--they prepared to take their measures for squeezing Mr. Blakeney, and bringing him to the terms and demands upon which they had fixed their minds.

Chapter XIV.

POESKOP TO THE RESCUE.

Upon the afternoon on which Guy Hardcastle had been so busily engaged with the ostrich hunt, Mr. Blakeney and Tom had returned about four o'clock. By six o'clock, when it was getting dark, they were--although expecting him in camp at any moment--by no means anxious about him. Mr. Blakeney had heard from Poeskop that Guy had gone out after an ostrich, and ostrich hunting is always a difficult and oftentimes a long and tedious business. Night fell, supper was over, and still the lad tarried. A rifle was now discharged at intervals, and the fires were replenished, so that the wanderer might be guided to the safe haven of the camp. Still no Guy. There was nothing more to be done that night. They imagined that he had wandered farther away than he had intended, and was camping out somewhere. The veldt was not a waterless one, and there was therefore little anxiety on that score. Still, as morning came, Mr. Blakeney was determined to lose no time in going out in search. Something might have happened. The lad might have been thrown, or have suffered some other casualty.

After a hurried breakfast, taking with them Poeskop, Mr. Blakeney and his son rode out, Poeskop carefully following the spoor made by Guy's pony on the previous day. It took them a long time to puzzle out the intricacies of the spoor, and trace the devious wanderings of the ostrich hunt. But they came in time to the place where Guy had killed the bird. Then they traced him to the valley among the hills where he had camped. Here they at once discovered other spoor as well as Guy's. To the Englishmen, accustomed as they were to veldt life, it was difficult to understand what had actually happened. To Poeskop the whole story was plain enough. He searched about quietly for a few minutes, then he told his tale.

"Karl Engelbrecht has been here," he said suddenly.

"Karl Engelbrecht!" repeated Mr. Blakeney. "Surely you are mistaken, Poeskop?"

"No, baas," reiterated the Bushman; "there is no mistake. Karl has been here. I know his spoor too well. He and another white man, the man from Mossamedes, Antonio Minho, have been here."

Mr. Blakeney knew by experience the extraordinary powers of South African natives, and especially those of Bushman blood, in reading spoor. But he was staggered.

"How can you know it is the spoor of Antonio Minho?" he asked.

"Baas," replied Poeskop, "I have followed Minho many a time in the soft, sandy streets of Mossamedes. There is no mistaking his spoor. Once I have seen a man's footprints, or an ox's, or a horse's, I can tell it anywhere. To you it may seem difficult; to a Bushman, no!"

"Well," rejoined Mr. Blakeney, "anything else?"

"Ja, baas," pursued the Bushman. "There are, as you see, two others. They are natives--Karl Engelbrecht's servants."

"This is bad news, Tom," said Mr. Blakeney, with a troubled brow. "Wherever Karl Engelbrecht is there is mischief. Minho is a scoundrel, and we know that he had some inkling of what we were after. The Boer has a grudge against us, which he would like to pay off. I don't half like the look of things." Then, turning to Poeskop, he went on: "Well, what else?"

"You see, my baases," replied Poeskop, "there has been a bit of a scuffle here. These men have caught Baas Guy, tied him up, I think, and put him on his horse, and gone off with him. Now let us follow their spoor."

They followed the tracks up the valley for half a mile, and then came on plain evidences of the Boer camp.

"Here's a pretty how-d'ye-do!" said Mr. Blakeney seriously. "What on earth are these villains doing in this part of the world, Poeskop? We must follow them up."

The Bushman took up the spoor, and they followed the Boer wagon tracks without any difficulty. By afternoon they had cleared the forest region, and were now halted in a small grove of giraffe-acacia trees by a pan of water, about twelve miles distant from the mountain range in which Engelbrecht and his party had ensconced themselves.

"Baas," said Poeskop, "you and Baas Tom must wait here. Karl Engelbrecht has trekked for the berg yonder. He cannot be far in; his oxen could not have travelled much beyond the poort [pass] which you see there"--he pointed to a dark ravine giving entrance to the hills--"in the time. So soon as evening comes, I will ride on, tie up my horse near the poort yonder, and creep about till I find what has been done, and where Baas Guy is. What say you? Is not that the best plan?"

"Yes, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney, "I think that is the best thing that can be done. You will have an hour or two's good moon to-night; and if you can't creep about and find out things, I don't know who can."

Poeskop grinned at the compliment.

"Baas, I will find out all right," he said eagerly. "I like Baas Guy--he is my baas; and I will, somehow or other, bring him away with me if I can. At all events, I will reach him. We Bushmen, you know, can creep like the snake on his stomach. I shall becreep Baas Guy to-night. You will see. Poeskop knows. You stay here. I will come back by morning. If I can bring Baas Guy, well and good. If not, we try some other plan."

"Very well," said Mr. Blakeney, "we will wait here. Do the best you can, but don't run Baas Guy into danger. Get him away if you think you have a fair chance. Now, how many cartridges have you, if these fellows come out and we have to use our rifles?"

"I have seventeen," interrupted Tom, hastily running his fingers over his bandolier.

"And I have fourteen myself," added his father.

Poeskop fingered his greasy old bandolier.

"Nine, baas!" he said, grinning.

"Why, you're as niggardly as a Boer with your cartridges," said Mr. Blakeney, with a laugh. "I've often told you that you don't carry enough for emergencies. Here, when we're in a tight place and may want every bullet we've got, you're short."

"The baas is right," said Poeskop apologetically. "I'll never come so short again. Never mind. Perhaps I may find some more in Karl Engelbrecht's camp; who knows?"

"Well, don't play the fool and do anything rash," added his master. "What we want to do is to rescue Baas Guy, and get away. At our own camp we have plenty of rifles and cartridges, and, with our other men, can give a good account of Karl Engelbrecht and all his blackguards."

Guy, meanwhile, had passed the day by no means comfortably. He had been duly fed, it is true, his hands being untied for the purpose; but while they trekked he had been fastened up again, and placed on Engelbrecht's kartel in the forepart of the Boer wagon. There he lay throughout the long, hot day, wondering what his people were doing after discovering his absence, and what was to be the upshot of his captivity. At evening, after they had passed into the kloof and the entrance had been barricaded, he was taken down from the wagon and placed by the camp fire, where, his hands being again unbound, he was supplied with meat, bread, and coffee. Having made a respectable meal, Guy felt somewhat more cheerful; and the liberty of his hands being allowed him for half an hour further, he was enabled to stretch himself, chafe his benumbed wrists, and restore the circulation.

He noticed various circumstances as he looked about him. Karl Engelbrecht and Minho kept themselves pretty much to themselves, sitting at their own fire, and engaging in a good deal of earnest conversation. Once the big Boer got up and stretched himself, and came over to the fire at which Guy sat. Here were gathered the five natives comprising Engelbrecht's retinue--a villainous-looking Griqua, who had special charge of Guy, two Hottentots, and a couple of Bihé natives. The Boer looked fixedly at the English lad, but said not a word to him. He addressed a few sentences to his servants; told Thebus, the Griqua, to fasten up his captive's hands again, and look sharply after him during the night; and stalked back to his own fire.

Half an hour later he and Minho retired to their kartels, and were soon sound asleep. The natives sat talking round the fire for another quarter of an hour; and then, tired with their hard day's trek, and the labour of barricading the poort, they made their way to Engelbrecht's wagon, beneath which, having ensconced themselves under their blankets, they were not long in following their master's example. There remained by their camp fire, which lay farthest away from the wagon, only Guy and the Griqua. The latter threw a blanket carelessly over his captive, and then settling himself comfortably under his kaross, a few feet away, went to sleep. Thebus was a light sleeper, he had by his side a loaded rifle, and he knew that the English lad was securely fastened.

Guy awoke very quietly some hours later. The moon had sunk; the Southern Cross, which he had last seen glittering bolt upright in the dark, star-sown night sky, now lay well over on its side. What had roused him? He knew that something had touched him; what exactly, his senses could not inform him. Then he felt a quiet, almost caressing touch upon his shoulder, and a voice whispered very softly in his ear, in Dutch, "Lie still, baas; it is Poeskop!" Guy did as he was told, and, immediately, he felt hands busy at the rawhide riem that bound his ankles. Then he became aware that a knife was at work; then his legs were free. A dark figure wormed itself up, towards his hands, and with the same silence and expedition his wrists were set free.

"Now," whispered the voice in his ear again, "creep away to the other side of the fire. Go very gently."

"But Thebus?" whispered Guy.

"Thebus all right; he'll not move again," returned Poeskop. "Come!"

Guy shuddered. He guessed what had happened, but did as he was told, and began to roll himself very gently over the sand towards the other side of the fire. Suddenly a dog barked in its sleep. The three figures--they appeared to be but two, for Poeskop lay crouched close alongside the Griqua--lay motionless as stones. Then all was silent again.

"Now," whispered Poeskop, after a pause of three minutes. They crept away, and after what seemed to Guy to be ages--so great was the strain--had reached the farther side of the fire. Guy looked across. Thebus lay as if sleeping, and Poeskop had so arranged Guy's blanket that it seemed as if he, Guy, were still beneath it. They crept yet farther, and were beyond the light of the now fading fire. It was a warm night, and Guy, what with the labour of crawling and the intense nervous excitement, dripped with perspiration. Still farther they crept into the darkness, and then Poeskop, taking Guy by the hand, led him very softly round the camp towards the mouth of the kloof. They reached the inner end of the poort, now blocked with huge boulders, and began to climb as softly as they could. The Bushman pulled himself over the obstacles with the lightness and the noiselessness of a cat. Guy did his utmost to follow his example, but he was much heavier; and presently a boulder, becoming dislodged under his weight, fell with some little noise. Instantly there rose from the stillness of the camp, sixty yards away, the furious barking of wagon dogs. Men stirred about the wagons.

"Quick!" cried Poeskop, in a hoarse whisper. "We must run!"

They were quickly over the litter of rocks, and running down the gorge as fast as the semi-darkness would permit. The camp was astir; voices were heard calling to one another; they could even make out Karl Engelbrecht's deep tones shouting commands.

"Run, Baas Guy!" urged Poeskop, turning to his follower. "If Karl catches us we are dead men."

They ran yet faster. They had a good start, and in fifteen minutes had reached the mouth of the gorge. Here, in a snug corner among some bush, Poeskop had fastened up his horse. It was a risk. If a lion or a leopard had come that way, the Bushman's plans might have been easily overthrown. But the good nag was safe. Unfastening it in an instant, Poeskop led it out into the open.

"Now, Baas Guy," he said, "jump up. I hear them following us. We have no time to waste."

Guy needed no persuasion. He, too, had heard the voices of their pursuers; they could now even discern the beat of their footsteps. He sprang up. Poeskop leaped lightly behind him.

"Ride for the light yonder," he whispered, pointing to a brilliant star right in front of them, low down towards the horizon. A kick from Poeskop's bare heels, and away they went, the pony cantering along sturdily in the semi-darkness, despite the burden of a double load.

"We shall be all right now," said Poeskop. "It will take them half an hour or more to pull down those boulders and make a passage for a horse; but we must push on. Karl Engelbrecht and the Portuguee will certainly ride after us, perhaps also some of their men. They will have blood for the Griqua--if they can. And here comes daylight; we have no time to spare."

Guy looked towards the east, which lay nearly in front of them. It was true. Already the sky was paling. Dawn would be upon them in less than half an hour.

"Poeskop," he said, without turning in the saddle, "did you kill the Griqua?"

"Ja, baas, I did," replied the Bushman. "It was his life or mine. As I crept past him he stirred. I had my hand on his mouth. He struggled, and there was nothing for it but the knife."

"I'm sorry, very sorry," said Guy seriously. "You ought not to have done it. I hate the idea of killing a man like that. I wish now you hadn't come after me!"

"Well, baas, it was, as I say, my life or his. If Engelbrecht had caught me in his camp trying to rescue you, I was a dead man. And you yourself--if it suited his plans best, he would have put a bullet through you as soon as looked at you. Besides, Thebus was my enemy. Many a time he has sjamboked me, and drawn blood, when I was in Karl Engelbrecht's service. He treated me as badly as Karl himself did. I always said I would be even with him, and now I am. Pas op!" he cried, as the horse stumbled in a meerkat hole.

The poor beast floundered, tried to save itself, but came down on its head, bringing both riders to the ground. They were up in an instant, and, getting the pony to its feet again, remounted.

But, alas! it quickly became apparent that the pony had in some way injured its shoulder in the fall. It went very lame; and the lameness, as they rode on, increased instead of wearing off. Daylight was now rapidly overtaking them. The eastern sky was becoming suffused with wondrous hues of gold and crimson and pale green; long shafts of rosy pink were scattered upwards towards the zenith.

Poeskop turned and looked behind him.

"Baas," he said, "this is a bad job. They will all be coming after us soon on their horses, and then, with this lame pony, we are done for, unless we can lie up somewhere and defend ourselves. I don't like it."

"How far away are we from Mr. Blakeney and Baas Tom?" asked Guy.

"About an hour and a half's ordinary riding," replied the Bushman; "less than an hour if we could gallop hard. We must get off, and run alongside."

They slipped off the pony. Poeskop, who had his own carbine slung at his back, handed Guy a rifle and bandolier.

"Why, these are mine!" exclaimed Guy. "How did you get them?"

"I found them by the Griqua," responded the Bushman, "and so brought them away with me. Now, baas, hartloup!"

Guy took hold of the pony by the bridle, and they trotted along on either side at a good pace. For a little while the pony, relieved of its burden, seemed to move more freely. The improvement was but a fleeting one, however; the lameness grew worse. It became evident to the two runners that their pace was rapidly decreasing.

"This will never do," said Guy, looking with dismay at Poeskop. "What's to be done?"

"The pony is dead beat, baas," rejoined the Bushman. "We must just leave him to take his chance, and push on. I'll take the water-bottle, and we must run."

So speaking, and taking the water-bottle, they pressed on. They had now come some three miles from the mouth of the kloof where Poeskop had first left the pony. Another nine or ten miles lay between them and the woodland where Mr. Blakeney and Tom lay waiting the result of Poeskop's expedition of discovery. Guy was a first-rate runner, and had the pace of the Bushman. Poeskop, on the other hand, could go at a steady jog trot during the whole of a long day, and had often compassed fifty miles in a journey of ten or twelve hours. They were encumbered with their rifles and ammunition, and Poeskop carried the water-bottle, all of which tended, of course, to increase their difficulties.

As they trotted across the open plain Poeskop looked behind him.

"They're not coming yet," he said. "We must make the most of our start."

Away they went, running steadily at a pace of rather better than seven miles an hour, which, under all the circumstances, and seeing that they were moving through longish grass, was excellent going. For a couple of miles they kept this up.

"Baas," said Poeskop presently, looking at Guy with a strange, comical expression on his yellow, pinched face, "your legs are too long for me. I can hardly keep up with you."

"All right," said Guy cheerfully; "I'll slacken off a bit."

But at that moment Poeskop looked round over his shoulder towards the entrance to the gorge.

"They're coming!" he cried. "I shall run your pace after all. Now we must go till we drop. If I were only a hartebeest and you a springbok! Run, baas, run!"

Guy glanced back, and saw four mounted figures just emerging from the dark gorge on to the yellow plain. Broad daylight was upon the veldt. It was evident that their pursuers must have already sighted them. The situation was becoming serious indeed. They ran stoutly on, saying not a word, and directing their course for a clump of bush and low timber which, with two or three other similar patches, rose like islets upon the sea of plain.

But their pursuers were now galloping hard, and were getting over the ground just twice as fast as the two footmen toiling along in front of them. Already the hoof-strokes of the galloping horses could be distinguished by the two runners.

"Baas," gasped Poeskop, "we shall just reach the timber, and that's all. We shall want three minutes to get breath and steady ourselves."

Well and stoutly as they ran, it seemed as if the last three hundred yards that separated them from the islet of bush never would be accomplished. The haven was reached at last, and the two fugitives plunging in, sank down behind a couple of trees having a low screen of bush in front of them, and prepared for action.

The nearest of their pursuers, Karl Engelbrecht, was now but three hundred yards away. A hundred yards behind him galloped a native servant; then followed Minho, the Portuguese, and another mounted native. Engelbrecht drew rein, jumped from his horse, and taking quick aim, fired at the two runners just as they took shelter behind the trees. The bullet whistled idly by. The Boer waited till his comrades came up, and then, spreading out a few yards apart, they advanced at a walk upon the islet, their plan evidently being to envelop it. By the time they had approached within two hundred yards, the fugitives had recovered breath, and were prepared for them.

"Baas," whispered Poeskop, a fierce light gleaming in his set face, "you are the best shot. Fire first. Take plenty time."

Guy nodded. They were lying down; and resting his elbows on the ground and putting up his Martini rifle, he aimed at the big figure of the Boer, who, now mounted again, was advancing upon the patch of covert. Two hundred and fifty yards was the distance. The ivory rifle-sight was upon the Boer's body, Guy's finger upon the trigger. Should he fire? No, the lad thought; he would not spill the man's blood if he could help it. He lowered the rifle, and, taking aim at Engelbrecht's horse, pulled. It was a long shot, but a pretty good target. The result was, perhaps, most unexpected to Karl Engelbrecht himself, who had scarcely anticipated much resistance. At the loud report of the Martini, his horse fell instantly to the ground. In the next minute the poor beast was choking in its death struggle. Karl stumbled to his feet with a big Dutch oath, dropped in the grass, and, taking aim for the place whence the shot had been fired, let drive. It was a good shot; so good that the Westley-Richards .450 sporting bullet hit the tree behind which Guy crouched, striking it a terrific smack, within six inches of the lad's face.

Guy shifted his position and prepared for another shot. Meanwhile, Poeskop had got the Boer within range, and had let drive three successive shots in such close proximity to Engelbrecht's carcass that that worthy had deemed it wise to beat a hasty retreat. Worming himself through the grass, therefore, Engelbrecht crawled back a hundred paces or more, where he was joined by Antonio Minho, who, from that comparatively long range, now fired a shot or two at the patch of bush in front of them.

Meanwhile, one of the natives was riding round to the left, evidently with the object of getting a flanking shot into the defenders' position. Guy had no intention of being thus outflanked. He realized that his opponents meant business, and that this was no time for leniency, or any half-hearted measures. The mounted native came round within less than two hundred yards. As he turned and pulled up his horse, in order to fire from the saddle, Guy got a fair bead on him, and, pulling trigger, sent a bullet into the man's shoulder. The native staggered in his saddle, dropped his rifle with a loud yell, and, sorely wounded, lay forward upon the neck of his horse and rode off. Circling away from the dangerous proximity of the islet, the man rejoined his master, and fell fainting to the soil. Poeskop was delighted with the success of the defence thus far. The group of assailants was now some three hundred and fifty yards away, but a well-judged bullet from the Bushman's rifle struck the wounded native's horse, and completed the discomfiture of the party. Karl Engelbrecht, cursing the young Englishman and his assistant, and swearing horrible vengeance at some future time, now deemed it well to retreat. A dead and wounded horse, and a badly injured native, was sufficient punishment for him. Tying up his man's wound, and putting him upon the spare horse, the Boer and his party now drew sullenly off, their retreat hastened by the figures of two horsemen which they descried far off upon the plain behind Guy and Poeskop. On the way back to their mountain retreat, Minho rode a little off the route to secure the Englishman's unfortunate horse, which was now grazing on the veldt. Finding that the poor beast was too lame to travel, he shot it dead. This brutal act was witnessed by Poeskop from a tree into which he had climbed.

"Poor Blesbok," said Guy, at the intelligence. "I'll do my best to make things level with the brutes. I'm sorry now I didn't shoot Engelbrecht instead of his horse. I had a fair chance, and let it go. As for that Portuguese cur, I'll be even with him, somehow or other."

"My baas," returned Poeskop, grinning in high contentment, "if you'll take my advice, you'll never give Karl Engelbrecht another chance in this world. You might as well offer a good joint of meat to a stinking hyæna. If you don't watch it and kill Karl, he'll kill you. I know him. He'll never rest till he has another slap at us. Never mind; we've bested him this time, and we'll best him again...... Hurrah! here come Baas Blakeney and Baas Tom. They'll be pleased, anyway."

Guy and the Bushman stepped out of the covert which had proved so timely a refuge for them, and, waving their rifles, drew the attention of the two horsemen, who were now cantering towards them. In twenty minutes they were together once more.

Chapter XV.

THE KLOOF.

The mutual congratulations that ensued were very real and heartfelt.

"My dear Guy," said his uncle, as he threw himself from his horse and wrung his nephew's hand, "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you safe and sound. I have imagined all sorts of dangers from your captivity. Now tell us what has happened."

Guy related as shortly as possible all his adventures since he had left their camp. Then Poeskop told of his doings, and how he had managed the rescue.

"Well, you have both done excellently well," said Mr. Blakeney. "It's a clever feat to have outwitted these scoundrels, and beaten them off as you have done. We heard your firing as we waited at the edge of the forest yonder, and galloped this way. But you had really finished the fight, and well beaten Engelbrecht, before we could take a hand. I congratulate you, Guy. Here comes in the advantage of an athletic training and early practice in rifle-shooting. An old veldt man could not have done better. The question now is, What are these rascals likely to be up to? I don't think Engelbrecht, after this mauling, will be very keen to attack us again. And in our own camp, and with all our own men about us, we should have no trouble in repelling him. Still, we must keep a sharp lookout."

Poeskop, questioned as to his idea of the Boer's future movements, was of opinion that Engelbrecht would never think of attacking them with his present force. He might go off and try to raise more men. But that would take time; and in the meanwhile they would be at the Gold Kloof, and could make more ample preparations against further assaults. On the whole, the Bushman was of opinion that Engelbrecht would certainly try to take his revenge; but he inclined to the belief that it would probably be more in the way of an ambush on the coastward trek. This could be guarded against by careful scouting.

They returned to their own camp, where Jan Kokerboom and the other men welcomed them with great delight. Guy's first action on getting back was to do something to show his gratitude to Poeskop for his clever and courageous rescue. He knew that the little Bushman had always immensely admired a Marlin repeating carbine which he (Guy) sometimes used. Taking this out of the wagon, he now handed it to his follower.

"Here, Poeskop," he said; "here's a little present for you. You did me a real good turn, and I shall never forget it. You are a good fellow, and when we come to the town again I hope to do something more for you. I was in a very tight place when you crept into Karl Engelbrecht's camp and got me out of it."

Poeskop duly returned thanks, and the incident ended. But the real feeling of friendship between the young Englishman and the half-wild Bushman was yet further cemented by the events of these few days.

They trekked once more, and after steady travelling for some days further, through a wild and remote wilderness, came at length to that goal of their desires, the Gold Kloof. One magnificent evening they outspanned under the shadow of a great mass of towering mountain, the highest peak of which must have been full seven thousand feet high. Within this range lay their secret. As the white men looked up at the peaked and serrated crests of the berg before them--now glowing with crimson and rose under the magic of the African sunset--they could not help being sensible of the spell of mystery and expectation cast over them by the witchery of that wonderful hour and the sight of this magnificent mountain land, which had lain here during ages of the past, remote and unknown, hugging within its solitudes the wealth that all civilized men covet so greatly. The fires of evening passed, and the mountains sank into more sober colouring. Puces and mauves and brown, contrasted in the deeper shadows with cobalt and indigo, were succeeded by yet darker and more sombre hues. Finally night sank, and only the faint looming of the great berg could be perceived. A thin silver crescent of a moon swam in the palest green sky; the stars pricked forth in amazing brilliancy; and the whole firmament became arrayed in its night robe of the deepest and most velvety blue-black.

They spent a most cheery evening by the camp fire, and turned in to sleep with all sorts of anticipations for the morrow.

After breakfast the next morning they advanced, under the guidance of Poeskop, into the heart of the mountain. Trekking through a wide and well-timbered valley, bordered on either side by towering and majestic walls, they entered suddenly--after the dry country through which they had for six weeks been travelling--upon what seemed to the two lads a perfect fairyland. Rain had lately fallen, and nature, responding in her eager way to the welcome moisture, had awakened, as by the spell of a magician's wand, into a most wonderful and verdurous beauty. The grass grew green in the valley, the trees were arrayed in new and brilliant foliage, the flowers everywhere checkered the veldt and shed splendour upon the hillsides. Acres of lilies--white, pink and white, crimson, and pale blue--starred the earth; while irises, gladioli, pelargoniums, heliophilas, and many other flowers, flourished in wild luxuriance. The round, plushlike, yellow and orange balls of the acacia trees spread abroad upon the soft breeze a most delicious, honey-like scent. Up the mountain sides various heaths, now in the full beauty of their flowering, brilliantly relieved the dark greens and red browns of bush and rock. Huge aloes stood sentinel upon the kloofsides, and held aloft immense spikes of dark crimson flowers. Amid all this wealth of flower life, innumerable birds of gay and brilliant plumage, now on their way south with the rains, flew hither and thither. Here were to be noticed especially those lovely feathered creatures, the emerald, the golden, and Klaas's cuckoos, whose glorious colouring is among the chief marvels of South African bird life. Gorgeous sunbirds dipped their long tongues into the sugary hearts of the blossoms scattered so plentifully around; and resplendent kingfishers of divers hues sped in arrowy flight up and down the clear stream that murmured through the centre of the valley. Far aloft, wheeling and circling above the tall mountain peak which dominated the range, numbers of vultures were to be seen, cleaving the clear air of morning with wonderfully majestic flight.

"Hullo, Poeskop!" said Tom; "aasvogels?"

"Ja, Baas Tom," rejoined the Bushman; "they nest in the cliffs yonder. So long as I can remember, and I first saw these valleys when I was so high"--he stooped his hand within a couple of feet of the earth--"the aasvogels have bred here. From the side of the berg yonder you can overlook the Gold Kloof."

"Can you, though?" broke in Guy. "Let's push on. How long will it take to reach the place?"

"It is a longish trek yet," said Poeskop. "We have to go winding through the hills, and it will be late afternoon before we reach the poort."

They moved steadily up the lovely kloof until midday, when they outspanned for a couple of hours to rest and feed the oxen. The work had been heavy. Many small trees had to be cut down to admit the passage of the wagon, boulders had to be pushed and levered aside, and all were glad of rest and refreshment. At two o'clock they inspanned and trekked again. Two valleys lay before them. Poeskop led them up that lying on the right hand. More tree-cutting and hard travel lay before them. The gorge was in places so littered with monstrous boulders that progress at times seemed almost impossible.

"I don't quite understand it, baas," said the Bushman, as he walked by Mr. Blakeney's side in front of the wagon. "The mountain seems to have been falling about here. When I last came this way there was nothing like the quantity of rocks that there now are about the valley."

"Perhaps there has been a bit of an earthquake in these parts," rejoined Mr. Blakeney. "I don't quite understand such a litter of boulders myself. The natural work of time and weather would hardly suffice to account for this valley of rocks. The mountains seem to have been in labour hereabouts."

At four o'clock they came at length to a mighty angle of mountain, where the face of the cliff, jutting out from the main mass of rock wall, ought, according to Poeskop's notion, to bear some faint resemblance to the profile of a man. But much of the cliff had fallen, and, as Poeskop confessed, the likeness had vanished.

"Now, my baases," said the Bushman, his bleared eyes gleaming with suppressed excitement, "after we turn that hoek you will see a narrow poort, and beyond that lies the kloof where the gold is. Come!"

Leaving the wagon, the four pressed on. The mountains encircling them had here, at the farther end of the valley, narrowed greatly. The precipices that frowned above them seemed almost menacing in their proximity. The place was wondrously silent. They turned the angle of the cliff, and then Poeskop suddenly halted in his tracks and stared about him. He seemed utterly bewildered.

"Where, where is the poort?" he stammered, glaring wildly in front and upon either side. "Where?" He rubbed his eyes and looked again. "The poort is gone!" he said solemnly. "What has happened?--Poeskop knows not!"

"What do you mean, Poeskop?" demanded Mr. Blakeney, somewhat sternly. "Don't play the fool."

"I am not playing the fool, baas," answered the little yellow man, a strange quiver of anguish in his voice. "The poort has gone. Look!"

And indeed it was not difficult for Mr. Blakeney and the two boys, staring in front of them, to picture what had happened. The mountain walls, through which a narrow cleft--Poeskop's poort or pass--had, not three years before, led, had fallen in. Some mighty convulsion of nature had so shattered and shaken them that they had collapsed; and where, as the Bushman explained, he had passed through between beetling walls, a solid barrier of rock and boulders, strangely riven and tumbled, now rose in a vast mass before them to a height of at least four hundred feet.

Poeskop stood, with scared and fallen face, staring at this strange and utterly unlooked-for obstacle.

"What is to be done now?" he said ruefully, "and how are we to get at the gold? We cannot climb that cliff; and if we could, we should not be able to get down on the other side."

"When you passed through the poort here, which is now blocked up," said Mr. Blakeney, "how far did you go before you came out into the Gold Kloof?"

"About a quarter of a mile, baas," answered Poeskop.

"And do you mean to tell me," pursued his interrogator, "that there is no other passage into the kloof?"

"None whatever, baas," answered the Bushman. "I know it well--every yard, every foot of it. In the old days, before this thing happened"--he pointed to the barrier of cliff and debris--"you walked through a quarter of a mile of narrow poort, in some places no more than ten feet across, and came out into the kloof. The kloof is shut in by high walls, much higher in some parts than this, and there is no other way of getting in or out. Of that I am as certain as I am that in one hour it will be nightfall. If we had wings, we could get into the valley. Without them, I don't think it is possible. The cliffs are high and sheer; not even a baboon could get down them."

They went sorrowfully back to the wagon, outspanned for the night, and, after supper, sat discussing long and earnestly the solution of the difficult problem that lay before them.

"I know!" cried Guy suddenly. "We'll have to make a rope-ladder, or a ladder of some sort. We're bound to get into this place. I know my father would, if he were here!"

Mr. Blakeney smiled at the lad's enthusiasm.

"Rather a large order, isn't it?" he said. "Five or six hundred feet of rope-ladder! And where's the rope to come from? We may have as much as a couple of hundred feet on the wagon. I brought that much, thinking we might need it; but for the rest, I for one don't see my way to it."

"I know, baas!" cried Poeskop. "We can do it; but it will take time. There is plenty game round about here. We can shoot elands, and hartebeest, and zebras, and blue wildebeest, and cut riems and bray them; and there is your rope-ladder."

"I believe you are right," said Mr. Blakeney thoughtfully. "The thing never occurred to my mind. It's an excellent idea, and if we can carry it through we shall be beholden to you, Guy. Our plan now is to start right away and begin shooting game. Only the largest animals will be of use to us. We shall want big and strong raw-hide riems, roughly dressed."

Next morning they set about the task to which they had now to devote themselves. It was an unpleasant and most thankless business, this of slaying game merely for their hides. They compared themselves with the skin-hunting Transvaal and Free State Boers of a generation before; and at the end of a week all thoroughly loathed the job. Yet it had to be done. Day after day the three white men rode out into the plains and shot game, and rode back to camp laden with skins. These the five natives cut into long thongs, or riems, and dressed and brayed in the rough but effectual South African fashion. At the end of fifteen days this part of the work was accomplished. Next they set to work to make the ladder. First, Mr. Blakeney and Poeskop, after a careful survey of the country, found their way up a long, gently-sloping nek on the northerly or left-hand side of the valley in which they were encamped, by which they attained the edge of the Gold Kloof. That evening, when they came in with their report, their discovery was received with rapturous applause by all in camp. Next morning Mr. Blakeney, Guy, Tom, and Poeskop sallied forth with four horses, laden with over five hundred feet of rope and riems, to measure the depth of the cliff wall down which they were to hang their rope-ladder. It was a long and toilsome ascent; but at length the little party stood above the kloof, and knee-haltering the horses, crept to the edge of the chasm and looked over.

It was a wonderful scene. Far below lay spread one of the fairest valleys that the eye of man has ever rested upon. Green and well bushed it was in places, and here and there thorn trees and wild olives spread their shade. Through the very centre of the valley ran a clear, shallowish stream, which seemed to take its source in a narrow cleft or ravine far up at the eastern end of the kloof. A troop of graceful red pallah wandered along the stream, apparently no whit the worse for their imprisonment in this lovely valley. Wildfowl and wading birds of various kinds checkered the surface of the stream, or ran hither and thither along the yellowish-red sands of the shallows. The kloof appeared to be about a mile and a half long by half a mile in breadth. Right in front of the watchers, on the other side of the valley, towered the mountain of the aasvogels, around the summit of which numbers of huge vultures were circling in the clear sunlit air.

"What a lovely spot!" exclaimed Tom. "It looks like gold all over."

"Yes," added Guy; "and it's quite certain we've got it all to ourselves."

"How does the stream escape out of this kloof?" asked Mr. Blakeney of Poeskop.

"It makes its way somewhere under the mountain, baas," answered the Bushman, "and comes out to the right of the poort where I used to enter--"

"And from there flows down the valley where our camp lies?" interrupted Mr. Blakeney.

"Ja, baas, that is just so," said the Bushman.

"Poeskop," again interrogated Guy, "whereabouts does the gold chiefly lie?"

"All along the banks of the river-bed, Baas Guy," returned Poeskop, "and in the river, right through the kloof. But the most of it is in the upper half of the kloof. Right up towards the deep, narrow cleft where the stream runs down from the mountain," he added, pointing to the far end of the valley, "there is plenty gold; heaps of it. You may find nuggets about the stream every ten yards or so."

"That's all right, Guy," broke in Mr. Blakeney. "No doubt the matrix of the gold lies in the bowel of the mountain yonder. Ages of time and hot sun, and weathering, and no doubt such convulsions as lately barred the poort through which Poeskop used to enter the kloof, loosened the gold, and the rains and torrents have washed the stuff down-stream and worn it into nuggets. That roughly is, I suppose, how it all happened.--Now," he continued, "let us get to work, and measure the depth of this wall of cliff."

They undid the rope and riem, and fastened them together. Then they tied a big stone to one end and lowered it over the precipice. It seemed ages before that stone touched the floor of the kloof. But at last it did so; and carefully marking the distance, they hauled it up again. Then, with a yard measure which they had brought with them, they measured the length required. Four hundred and twenty feet three inches, exactly, lay between them and the level of the treasure they sought. Hastily repacking the rope and riem on the four horses, they set off at once for camp, bent now on constructing their ladder of rope and hide as expeditiously as possible.

For three long days all hands were busily employed at work on the ladder. At length it was completed, and lay in four portions, ready to be conveyed to the edge of the cliff. It was a question whether or not they would use steps, or rungs, of wood or of hide. The latter were finally settled upon. It would have taken much longer to cut and prepare and fasten wooden rungs; and, upon the whole, steps of raw hide seemed to the adventurers lighter and more easy to fasten to the rest of the structure.

A long night's rest, and then, leaving Jan Kokerboom and Mangwalaan to guard the camp, they packed the ladder upon four oxen, and taking with them Seleti, the Bechuana lad, and September, the Zulu, set off for the cliff top. Arrived there, it was a matter of two long hours before they had pieced the four portions of the ladder together and made all ready. Then came the work of getting the ladder over the cliff. Poeskop had been busily reconnoitring the wall of the precipice before they set to work. He had chosen an excellent spot, where the rock walls sheered gently inwards towards the base. Very carefully they let the ladder over, and lowered it yard by yard. At last, after one or two delays, it touched the bottom of the kloof. Hearty cheers from Guy and Tom, in which Poeskop's shrill voice joined, signalized the successful accomplishment of a difficult piece of work.

"Now then," said Mr. Blakeney, "who's first?"

"I think I ought to be," cried Guy eagerly, "by right of patrimony. If my father had lived, he would certainly have gone down first."

"No, pater," urged Tom; "I'm the lighter of the two. Let me go. It will be safer."

"Well, on the whole," said Mr. Blakeney, smiling at their enthusiasm, "I think Poeskop had better go first. His claims are undeniable. His weight is about two and a half stone less than either, and he was the first of us to set eyes on the kloof. Let him go."

"Very well," said Guy.--"Poeskop, you go first, and I'll follow."

They had fastened the top end of the ladder with the greatest care to a sturdy wild olive tree which grew there. They had taken the utmost precaution to guard against any chafing at the edge of the cliff, and, to strengthen the ladder yet more, had added two extra pieces of hide to the side-supports for thirty feet from the end where it was fastened to the tree. All being prepared, Poeskop, with his carbine slung to his back, put his foot on the first rung of the ladder, and began the descent. The little man had not an atom of fear in his composition, and he went down steadily, hand under hand, with the greatest composure. The rope and hide structure bore his weight easily. There was no strain, and it was evident that the great care which Mr. Blakeney had bestowed on the making had not been thrown away.

At last, after what to the watchers at the top seemed an interminable length of time, the Bushman reached the foot. Stepping out from under the base of the cliff to a spot where he could see his masters, he waved his hat and called out in English, "All right."

"Now then, it's my turn," cried Guy.

"All right," said his uncle. "Away you go. But take care. Don't be in a hurry."

Stepping over the edge of the precipice, and hanging on firmly with either hand, Guy went briskly down. It seemed a rather fearsome height; but the lad had a cool head and had been an expert climber, scaling many a lofty tree in search of hawks', rooks', and carrion crows' eggs. Still, more than three parts of the way down, as the cliff sheered inward and the ladder hung dangling in mid-air, it was none too pleasant. The task was presently accomplished, however, and Guy stood by Poeskop's side. Next came Tom, and after him Mr. Blakeney, Seleti and September remaining at the top to look after things and guard the end.

"My word," said Mr. Blakeney, as he set foot on the ground with a sigh of relief, "that's one of the nastiest jobs I ever tackled. I was never much of a climber as a boy, and I didn't quite realize what such a descent was like until I was ten paces over the cliff and looked downward. It's more the sort of game for rock rabbits and lizards than for a douce, middle-aged man."

"Never mind, pater," said Tom, who had slipped down the ladder with the ease of a lamplighter, "you'll soon get used to it. After another ascent and descent you'll think nothing of it."

"Don't you make any mistake, my boy," retorted his father. "It's very easy for a light, limber lad like you to get down that ladder. You'll find it a vastly different job getting up. Four hundred and twenty feet of rope-ladder upwards is a stiff task, and you'll find yourself not so keen to do it very often--I'm convinced of that fact."

All four now being safely landed at the bottom of the kloof, the question which instantly absorbed their attention was, Where was the gold? Poeskop led the way, and, walking swiftly, at a pace certainly exceeding four miles an hour, they hastened towards the far end of the valley.

"Hullo!" cried Tom, as a handsome little reddish antelope, spotted and lined with white, bounded away from one patch of bush to another. "Bushbuck, by all that's wonderful! We've seen pallah. I wonder what other kind of game is shut up in this kloof."

Almost as the words came out of his mouth he was answered, for a magnificent bull koodoo strolled out of a thorn grove by the river a hundred yards away, and, with a family party of hornless cows and young animals, stood staring at the intruders, who now in their turn halted to gaze at the spectacle.

"You beauties!" said Mr. Blakeney enthusiastically. "It seems a shame almost to intrude upon you! And, indeed, we won't shoot here unless we are absolutely driven to it. It's a place of enchantment, and we ought not to bring death here if we can help it."

Forward they went again. After walking twenty minutes, Poeskop crossed the river at a shallow ford where a sandbank ran out into the stream, and stopping, said, "Baas, I think we shall find the gelt here."

Chapter XVI.

GATHERING GOLD.

Instantly they all set to work with a feverish intensity which almost surprised themselves. Poeskop was hunting about on the big spit of sand and shingle, quartering the surface very much as a pointer quarters its ground in search of game. In less than five minutes he had found what he expected, and, holding up between his right finger and thumb a flattish object, which shone perceptibly in the strong sunlight, exclaimed,--

"Here so, baas! Here is de gelt!"

One and all of the trio searching near him forsook their task and rushed up to him. Mr. Blakeney took the piece of metal from the Bushman's outstretched hand. It was a flattish nugget, pale yellow in colour, smooth and rounded as to its edges, manifestly much water-worn, and measuring about three inches in length by one in breadth. He examined it very closely, weighed it in his open palm, and said quietly,--

"Yes, that's gold, right enough. Where that came from there ought to be lots more. Guy, I congratulate you. We have accomplished our object, and I think the search is likely to be a very profitable one." Then, glancing at Poeskop's delighted expression, he added in Dutch, "Well done, Poeskop; you were quite right. The gold is here. We must now set to work and find all we can. I suppose there's plenty of it?"

"Banje [plenty]!" replied the Bushman, his odd yellow face expanded into the widest grin of which it was capable. "Banje!"

"Well, now," said Mr. Blakeney, "what we have to do is to explore this place carefully and systematically. To-day, and for the next week, we'll go over the surface and work our way upstream towards the ravine at the head of the kloof. When we've gone over the surface, we'll set to work with pick and shovel, and wash the gravel and soil. We shall have to knock up some kind of cradle, but I know how to do that. I was on the Lydenburg alluvial fields, in the Eastern Transvaal, in 1875, and saw a good deal of rough mining. I knew at once that this was a real gold nugget. We'll have a test at the wagon to-night, but I haven't the least doubt in the world that this nugget, which weighs about four ounces, is the genuine metal. That, at £3, 15s. per ounce, means £15--not by any means a bad result for about five minutes' work."

"Splendid, pater!" put in Tom enthusiastically. "Why, I feel like a millionaire already." As he spoke, he was turning over some gravel with the tip of his boot. "Hullo!" he said, suddenly stooping and picking up something small and bright. "Here's another!"

And so in truth it was. Tom's nugget was smaller than that found by Poeskop, and was rounder in shape. But a nugget it was, of pure gold, free from any trace of quartz, and weighing about an ounce and a half; and the party were proportionately delighted. They now set to work, and, arming themselves with sticks, cut from the neighbouring bush, for the purpose of turning over the gravel, hunted with minute care over the big spit and in the clear shallows of the stream flowing by. By twelve o'clock, when they knocked off for half an hour's rest, and ate some lunch under the grateful shade of an adjacent acacia tree, they had all been more or less lucky. Poeskop had gathered up nine nice nuggets of varying size. Next to him Guy had been most successful, having picked up seven; while Mr. Blakeney and Tom followed with five each.

"I'm going to keep my best nugget and give it to mother, to make a brooch or a bracelet of," said Tom, as he dived into his pockets and examined his spoil.

"All right, Tom," added Guy; "I'll do the same by Ella. There's a fine nugget, which ought to make her a real good necklet."

"And I'll provide for Marjory," said Mr. Blakeney, laughing at the lads' eagerness. "But where does Arthur come in?"

"Oh, I'll look after Arthur," said Tom. "I feel such a bloated capitalist that I can provide for anybody. There," he went on, selecting a good nugget, "is Arthur's dot or dowry, or whatever you like to call it."

Lunch over, and Mr. Blakeney's pipe finished, they went to work again. From half-past twelve till three o'clock they steadily pursued their investigations. At two o'clock the greatest and most amazing discovery of the day was made by Guy. While turning over some gravel, just at the edge of the stream, he came upon what he took to be a submerged, rounded stone, of which there were plenty scattered about the bed and edges of the rivulet. In trying to push this out of its cradle of sand and gravel he found it unexpectedly heavy. At last he shifted it from the soil in which it lay, and lifted it out. Its weight astonished him. Suddenly a thought flashed across his mind. He whipped his hunting-knife from the sheath, and scraped away a coating of what looked like rusty soil which covered it. Then, cutting into the stone, a streak of bright yellow showed instantly. The lump was solid gold. His shouts brought the rest of the party running up to him.

"Here's something like a nugget!" said the lad, with flushed face. "Look, uncle, it's gold right enough; and it weighs, I should think, at least ten pounds. It's certainly the weight of a light pair of dumb-bells!"

Mr. Blakeney stooped and picked up the stone, and carefully examined it. Then, taking out his knife, he cut into it as Guy had done. Again there showed a streak of bright yellow.

"Yes, that's gold right enough," he said, in answer to Guy's intense look; "and it must weigh well over ten pounds. I see there's just a thin skin, apparently of quartz, on one side. Deduct, say, a couple of pounds for that and quartz further inside, and you have something like eight or nine pounds of virgin gold. A magnificent find, indeed! I congratulate you, Guy, with all my heart."

Leaving the big nugget, they worked till three, and then knocked off for the day. The occupation was so exciting, so entrancing a one, that it was difficult to tear themselves away. But, as Mr. Blakeney pointed out, they had the climb out of the kloof before them, and an hour's walk to camp, and they would scarcely reach the wagon much before sunset.

The valley, as they walked down it on their way to the ladder, looked marvellously fair. Flights of wild duck, geese, widgeon, and teal flew up and down stream. A big troop of guinea-fowl, at least fifty or sixty strong, was making its way to some favourite roosting-place; the sharp, metallic cry of the various members of the flock, calling to one another, sounded curiously resonant in this rock-engirdled kloof. Many birds of lovely plumage flitted hither and thither; occasionally a small steinbuck, duyker, or bushbuck would dart away in front of them. The flowers and flowering shrubs starring the green of the kloof and climbing the cliffsides added not a little to the beauty of the scene.

"What a lovely spot, uncle!" said Guy, as they marched steadily forward. "I feel almost as if I should like to throw up gold-digging, and settle for life in such a paradise."

"I'm afraid, Guy," replied his uncle, "you would soon grow tired of the place. It's very beautiful, certainly; but it's mighty lonely. And you would have a rare business to keep yourself supplied with even the bare necessaries of life. Think of the long trek from Mossamedes--six weeks' travel before your tea and coffee, and sugar and other small luxuries, can reach you. Take my word for it. No one has enjoyed the life of the hunter and explorer more than I have done. I knocked about, as you know, for years in South Africa before I settled down. After a time, even the most inveterate wanderer begins to sigh for rest and some of the comforts of civilization. I speak of what I know. I dislike town life; and the huddling together of huge populations, with an immense deal of misery for two-thirds of the poorer folk, is to me absolutely hateful. I believe the system, for which machinery is largely answerable, is absolutely wrong, and will lead to untold misfortunes to the so-called civilized nations in the future, if persisted in. But on the other hand, fascinating as is the life of the wilderness for a time--say a year or two at a spell--you would become weary of it if you had to settle down in such a place as this, fair though it is, for the rest of your existence. The fact is, mankind is to a great extent gregarious, and you would want some kind of company as an occasional relief from the monotony of too much solitude."

"Besides," broke in Tom, who had been listening quietly to his father's ideas, "I should say this kloof, jolly as it looks, would be pretty feverish--wouldn't it, pater?--especially after the rains."

"Yes, Tom; I think it would. This country is a good deal nearer the equator than British Bechuanaland, which I take to be the healthiest part of South Africa; and where you get the combination of moisture and heat you are bound to have fever. That reminds me, we shall have to look after our health on the homeward trek. The rains haven't fairly set in yet, but they will soon, and I shall have to put you fellows on a course of quinine. I don't want to take you home mere pallid spectres, like men who have been suffering from Zambesi fever."

They reached the rope-ladder at length, and then began the upward climb. As Mr. Blakeney had warned them, the ascent was a very different matter from the journey down. For the first fifty feet or so, as the ladder swung and swayed in empty air, it was by no means pleasant progression; and by the time they had reached the top, all were out of breath and exhausted.

"My word, pater!" gasped Tom, as he threw himself on the ground and lay panting. "Shall we have to do this often? It's a beast of a climb, and our gold will be jolly hardly won if we're to have much of this sort of thing."