Chapter Six.

Chapter Six.A False Alarm.Mr Rogers had felt a little hesitation in giving the fierce-looking Zulu permission to make one of the party, but as they journeyed on across the apparently interminable plains between the Vaal and the Great Crocodile rivers, he awoke more and more to the fact that he had secured a valuable ally. For the old warrior entered into the spirit of the expedition at once, helping with the oxen or to extricate the waggons in difficult places, showing himself quite at home in the management of horses, and being evidently an excellent guide, and above all a hunter of profound knowledge and experience.As soon as he realised the intentions of Mr Rogers, he became most earnest in his endeavours to get the party well on their way farther and farther into the wilds, making the eyes of the boys dilate as he told them in fair English of the herds of antelope and other game he would soon show them in the plains; the giraffes, buffaloes, elephants, and, above all, the lions, whose haunts he knew, and to which he promised to take them.Whenever the father began to talk in this strain his two sons grew excited, and started to perform hunting dances, in which the number of imaginary lions and buffaloes they slew was something enormous. Every now and then, too, the boys killed some imaginary elephant, out of whose unwieldy head they made believe to hack the tusks, which they invariably brought and laid at their young masters’ feet, grunting the while with the exertion.Dick soon grew tired of it however.“It’s all very well,” he said; “but if that is the way we are to load the waggons with ivory, we shall be a long time getting enough to pay the expenses of the journey.”Mr Rogers joined them one day as they were walking along in advance of the slow-moving waggon, and began to question the Zulu about the game in the wilds north of where they were; and in his broken English he gave so glowing an account that his hearers began to doubt its truth.He said that when he had had to flee from his own people for his life, he had at first gone right away into the hunting country, and stayed there for a year, finding out, in his wanderings, places where hunting and shooting people had never been. Here, he declared, the wild creatures had taken refuge as in a sanctuary; and he declared that he should take the boss who had been so kind to his boys, and both the young bosses, to a wild place where they would find game in abundance, and where the forests held the great rhinoceros, plenty of elephants, and amongst whose open glades the tall giraffe browse the leafage of the high trees. There in the plains were herds of buffalo too numerous to count, quagga, zebra, gnu, eland, and bok of all kinds. There was a great river there, he said, full of fish, and with great crocodiles ready to seize upon the unwary. The hippopotamus was there too, big and massive, ready to upset boats or to attack all he could see.Mr Rogers watched his sons attentively as the Zulu narrated his experience of the land, and he was delighted to see how much Dick was already leaving off his dull languid ways, and taking an interest in what was projected. One thing the father wished to arrive at, and that was whether Dick would be frightened through his weakness, and the hunting parties consequently do him more harm than good. But just then a question put by his son showed him that he was as eager as his brother for an encounter with the wild creatures of the forest and plains.“And do you say there are lions?” said Dick.“Yes, plenty lion,” said the Zulu. “They come to camp at night, and try to get the ox and horse.”“Oomph! oomph! oomph!” growled Coffee, in an admirable imitation of the lion’s roar.“Keep big fire,” said the Zulu, “then no lion come.”“Well, Dick,” said Mr Rogers, “how do you feel? Ready for the fray?”“Yes, father, I am longing for the time when we shall get amongst the wild beasts. I want to try my gun; and I want to grow strong and manly, like Jack.”“All in good time, my boy,” replied Mr Rogers, smiling. “We shall soon be leaving civilisation almost entirely behind, and then you shall make your first attempts at becoming a mighty hunter.”Comparatively uninteresting as the journey was, they still had plenty to take their attention—grand views of distant mountains; wondrous sunsets; great flights of birds; but the absence of game was remarkable; and twice over, in spite of their being so well armed and provided, Mr Rogers was glad to purchase a freshly-killed springbok of a Boer, at one of the outlying farms that they passed.On the seventh night out though, their fortune was better, for they had out-spanned, or loosened their oxen from the waggon, just by a clump of trees in a wide plain, and the Zulu went off the moment they stopped.Both Peter and Dirk began to complain, for they expected help from their black companion; but upon this occasion they had their work to do without aid, Coffee and Chicory having also gone off with their kiris in search of game.Mr Rogers and his sons started off to see if they could provide anything palatable for supper; but though there was a swampy lagoon about a mile away, they did not catch sight of a single duck, and were returning tired and disappointed when they caught sight of the Zulu signalling to them to come.“He has found something,” cried Jack eagerly; and they hastened over the rugged intervening space, to find that the father of Coffee and Chicory was evidently a keen hunter, and ready enough in knowing where to look for creatures that would do for food.With almost unerring instinct he had found out this clump of trees, evidently one where guinea-fowl came to roost; and full of hope that they would now obtain a good addition to the larder, or, in plain English, a few birds to roast for supper, guns were supplied with cartridges, and the little party waited for the coming of the spotted birds.The pleasurable anticipations of the boys, who had a lively recollection of the toothsome bird with a flavour half-way between roast fowl and pheasant, seemed likely to be damped, for they had been waiting quite half an hour without hearing or seeing anything, when suddenly the Zulu laid his hand upon Jack’s arm, and pointed in a direction opposite to the waggon.“Well, what are you pointing at?” said Jack. “I can’t see anything. Yes, I can; there they are, father. Look out!”Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!Half-a-dozen rapid shots, and then, amidst the whizzing of wings and cries of the birds, some of which flew off, while others ran through the short grass at an astounding rate, Coffee, Chicory, and their father ran out beneath the trees; and the result of the firing was brought in—ten fine plump birds for their supper.This was the first night that they had passed in the open, the previous halts having been made at some farm; so after the supper the blacks were set to gather in more wood, the fire was well made up, and the oxen secured, it being decided to begin at once upon the regular plan that they would have to adopt in the enemy’s country, the enemy being formed of the various wild creatures against whom they were having their campaign.Years back the spot where they were encamped had been famous for lions, but from what Mr Rogers had heard, none had been seen here now for a considerable time. Still he thought it better to take precautions, the party being divided into three watches, the first of which he took himself, with Chicory for a companion; Jack was to take the second, with the Zulu; and Dick, Coffee, and Dinny were to form the third.The oxen and horses having been all secured, the fire was piled up, and those who were to rest gladly availed themselves of the opportunity, and in a very short time nothing was to be heard but the fluttering noise made by the burning fire, and the snorting sigh of one or the other of the horses.In due time Jack was aroused, to sit up and stare at his father.“What’s matter?” he said sleepily.“Nothing, only that it is your turn to watch,” said his father.“Why, I’ve only just lain down,” replied Jack. “It can’t be time yet.”But a good rub at his eyes seemed to bring a little thoughtfulness as well, and he climbed put of the waggon and descended to the ground.“I don’t think you will have anything to alarm you, my boy,” said his father. “Wake me up though if there is the slightest sign of danger.”Jack promised, and, shivering and uncomfortable, he crept up to the fire, which the Zulu renewed; but though he roasted his face and knees, his back felt horribly cold, and he heartily wished himself at home, and in his snug bed. But the Zulu began to look round at the cattle, to satisfy himself that all were safe; and then seating himself with his assegai across his knees close to the fire, he began to tell the young Englishman about the dangers that would have surrounded them if they had encamped here a few years earlier; and, then he lapsed into such vivid accounts of his own hunting adventures and escapes, that the four hours’ watch seemed to have passed like magic, and Jack was ready to finish the next; but recalling the last injunctions he had received from his father, he went to the waggon, roused up Dick, and from under it Dinny and Coffee, and soon after left them to finish the morning watch.Jack felt as if it would be of no use to try and sleep again; but knowing that their next day’s journey would be very fatiguing, he lay down in his brother’s place, found the blankets very warm and cosy, and then, with the sound of Dinny yawning loudly, he fell fast asleep. He seemed hardly to have closed his eyes, when a shout aroused him, just as he heard his father seize his double rifle, and go to the front of the waggon.Jack did likewise, with as much speed as his sleepy confusion would allow; and on reaching the opening he found that it was still dark, so that he could not have been long asleep, the fire was burning brilliantly, and every one was on the alert.“Yes, I seemed to hear it myself in my sleep,” said Mr Rogers, in answer to some words spoken by Dick. “Did it sound near?”“Sure, sor, it was close by, and I thought the bastes had got one of the bullocks.”The Zulu was with them now, having sprung from his place beneath the waggon, asking eagerly what was wrong.“They heard a lion prowling round,” replied Mr Rogers.“No, no,” said the Zulu. “No lion here.”“But I heard it quite plainly,” said Dick, who felt angry at being doubted.“Sure and I did too, so close to me shoulder that I could feel the baste’s breath blow over on to me chake.”“No, no,” said the Zulu. “Look! see!”He pointed towards the oxen and horses in turn.“But it would be impossible to see it in this darkness,” said Mr Rogers.“Yes, but the oxen,” said the Zulu. “They would not lie quiet if there was a lion.”“Of course not,” said Mr Rogers, envying the savage his knowledge. “Then what caused the alarm?”There was no reply; and after satisfying themselves that all was safe, and piling up the rest of the wood upon the fire—for the streaks of the coming dawn could be seen—the tired watchers returned to the waggon, and slept until roused for breakfast, when the secret of the alarm came out, Coffee having been afraid to confess at the time that he knew it was his brother imitating the lion’s cry in his sleep, his proximity to Dick and Dinny making it seem the more real. Feeling sure that he would be punished if he spoke, Coffee had remained silent, and so the matter ended, Dick laughing heartily at the false alarm, though Dinny would not believe that the cry emanated from the boy.“Jist as if I was such a biby as to belave that story, Masther Jack,” he said. “I tell ye it was the lion himself attacking the bastes, and you’ll see he’ll be about the camp now every night, as regular as clockwork. It’s very good of the masther to try and put one at his aise about the wild bastes; but that there was a lion—I know it was; and if, Masther Jack, dear, I’m missing some night, ye may know that there’s a lion aiting of me; and I hope ye’ll take me bones back and give me a dacent burying somewhere among Christians, and not lave them kicking about out here in a foreign land.”“But how can you be so stupid, Dinny? Father says it was Chicory, and you know how he imitates the wild beasts.”“Ah, do ye take me for a baby, Masther Jack?” said the man, reproachfully. “There, let it go. I’m your father’s servant, and he must have his own way; but it’s cruel work this coming out into such savage lands; and there’s one man as will niver see home parts again.”When once Dinny had got an idea in his, head, to use his own words, “a shillelagh would not knock it out;” so he remained perfectly certain that the camp had been attacked by a lion; and he went about prophesying that the coming night would produce two.

Mr Rogers had felt a little hesitation in giving the fierce-looking Zulu permission to make one of the party, but as they journeyed on across the apparently interminable plains between the Vaal and the Great Crocodile rivers, he awoke more and more to the fact that he had secured a valuable ally. For the old warrior entered into the spirit of the expedition at once, helping with the oxen or to extricate the waggons in difficult places, showing himself quite at home in the management of horses, and being evidently an excellent guide, and above all a hunter of profound knowledge and experience.

As soon as he realised the intentions of Mr Rogers, he became most earnest in his endeavours to get the party well on their way farther and farther into the wilds, making the eyes of the boys dilate as he told them in fair English of the herds of antelope and other game he would soon show them in the plains; the giraffes, buffaloes, elephants, and, above all, the lions, whose haunts he knew, and to which he promised to take them.

Whenever the father began to talk in this strain his two sons grew excited, and started to perform hunting dances, in which the number of imaginary lions and buffaloes they slew was something enormous. Every now and then, too, the boys killed some imaginary elephant, out of whose unwieldy head they made believe to hack the tusks, which they invariably brought and laid at their young masters’ feet, grunting the while with the exertion.

Dick soon grew tired of it however.

“It’s all very well,” he said; “but if that is the way we are to load the waggons with ivory, we shall be a long time getting enough to pay the expenses of the journey.”

Mr Rogers joined them one day as they were walking along in advance of the slow-moving waggon, and began to question the Zulu about the game in the wilds north of where they were; and in his broken English he gave so glowing an account that his hearers began to doubt its truth.

He said that when he had had to flee from his own people for his life, he had at first gone right away into the hunting country, and stayed there for a year, finding out, in his wanderings, places where hunting and shooting people had never been. Here, he declared, the wild creatures had taken refuge as in a sanctuary; and he declared that he should take the boss who had been so kind to his boys, and both the young bosses, to a wild place where they would find game in abundance, and where the forests held the great rhinoceros, plenty of elephants, and amongst whose open glades the tall giraffe browse the leafage of the high trees. There in the plains were herds of buffalo too numerous to count, quagga, zebra, gnu, eland, and bok of all kinds. There was a great river there, he said, full of fish, and with great crocodiles ready to seize upon the unwary. The hippopotamus was there too, big and massive, ready to upset boats or to attack all he could see.

Mr Rogers watched his sons attentively as the Zulu narrated his experience of the land, and he was delighted to see how much Dick was already leaving off his dull languid ways, and taking an interest in what was projected. One thing the father wished to arrive at, and that was whether Dick would be frightened through his weakness, and the hunting parties consequently do him more harm than good. But just then a question put by his son showed him that he was as eager as his brother for an encounter with the wild creatures of the forest and plains.

“And do you say there are lions?” said Dick.

“Yes, plenty lion,” said the Zulu. “They come to camp at night, and try to get the ox and horse.”

“Oomph! oomph! oomph!” growled Coffee, in an admirable imitation of the lion’s roar.

“Keep big fire,” said the Zulu, “then no lion come.”

“Well, Dick,” said Mr Rogers, “how do you feel? Ready for the fray?”

“Yes, father, I am longing for the time when we shall get amongst the wild beasts. I want to try my gun; and I want to grow strong and manly, like Jack.”

“All in good time, my boy,” replied Mr Rogers, smiling. “We shall soon be leaving civilisation almost entirely behind, and then you shall make your first attempts at becoming a mighty hunter.”

Comparatively uninteresting as the journey was, they still had plenty to take their attention—grand views of distant mountains; wondrous sunsets; great flights of birds; but the absence of game was remarkable; and twice over, in spite of their being so well armed and provided, Mr Rogers was glad to purchase a freshly-killed springbok of a Boer, at one of the outlying farms that they passed.

On the seventh night out though, their fortune was better, for they had out-spanned, or loosened their oxen from the waggon, just by a clump of trees in a wide plain, and the Zulu went off the moment they stopped.

Both Peter and Dirk began to complain, for they expected help from their black companion; but upon this occasion they had their work to do without aid, Coffee and Chicory having also gone off with their kiris in search of game.

Mr Rogers and his sons started off to see if they could provide anything palatable for supper; but though there was a swampy lagoon about a mile away, they did not catch sight of a single duck, and were returning tired and disappointed when they caught sight of the Zulu signalling to them to come.

“He has found something,” cried Jack eagerly; and they hastened over the rugged intervening space, to find that the father of Coffee and Chicory was evidently a keen hunter, and ready enough in knowing where to look for creatures that would do for food.

With almost unerring instinct he had found out this clump of trees, evidently one where guinea-fowl came to roost; and full of hope that they would now obtain a good addition to the larder, or, in plain English, a few birds to roast for supper, guns were supplied with cartridges, and the little party waited for the coming of the spotted birds.

The pleasurable anticipations of the boys, who had a lively recollection of the toothsome bird with a flavour half-way between roast fowl and pheasant, seemed likely to be damped, for they had been waiting quite half an hour without hearing or seeing anything, when suddenly the Zulu laid his hand upon Jack’s arm, and pointed in a direction opposite to the waggon.

“Well, what are you pointing at?” said Jack. “I can’t see anything. Yes, I can; there they are, father. Look out!”

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!

Half-a-dozen rapid shots, and then, amidst the whizzing of wings and cries of the birds, some of which flew off, while others ran through the short grass at an astounding rate, Coffee, Chicory, and their father ran out beneath the trees; and the result of the firing was brought in—ten fine plump birds for their supper.

This was the first night that they had passed in the open, the previous halts having been made at some farm; so after the supper the blacks were set to gather in more wood, the fire was well made up, and the oxen secured, it being decided to begin at once upon the regular plan that they would have to adopt in the enemy’s country, the enemy being formed of the various wild creatures against whom they were having their campaign.

Years back the spot where they were encamped had been famous for lions, but from what Mr Rogers had heard, none had been seen here now for a considerable time. Still he thought it better to take precautions, the party being divided into three watches, the first of which he took himself, with Chicory for a companion; Jack was to take the second, with the Zulu; and Dick, Coffee, and Dinny were to form the third.

The oxen and horses having been all secured, the fire was piled up, and those who were to rest gladly availed themselves of the opportunity, and in a very short time nothing was to be heard but the fluttering noise made by the burning fire, and the snorting sigh of one or the other of the horses.

In due time Jack was aroused, to sit up and stare at his father.

“What’s matter?” he said sleepily.

“Nothing, only that it is your turn to watch,” said his father.

“Why, I’ve only just lain down,” replied Jack. “It can’t be time yet.”

But a good rub at his eyes seemed to bring a little thoughtfulness as well, and he climbed put of the waggon and descended to the ground.

“I don’t think you will have anything to alarm you, my boy,” said his father. “Wake me up though if there is the slightest sign of danger.”

Jack promised, and, shivering and uncomfortable, he crept up to the fire, which the Zulu renewed; but though he roasted his face and knees, his back felt horribly cold, and he heartily wished himself at home, and in his snug bed. But the Zulu began to look round at the cattle, to satisfy himself that all were safe; and then seating himself with his assegai across his knees close to the fire, he began to tell the young Englishman about the dangers that would have surrounded them if they had encamped here a few years earlier; and, then he lapsed into such vivid accounts of his own hunting adventures and escapes, that the four hours’ watch seemed to have passed like magic, and Jack was ready to finish the next; but recalling the last injunctions he had received from his father, he went to the waggon, roused up Dick, and from under it Dinny and Coffee, and soon after left them to finish the morning watch.

Jack felt as if it would be of no use to try and sleep again; but knowing that their next day’s journey would be very fatiguing, he lay down in his brother’s place, found the blankets very warm and cosy, and then, with the sound of Dinny yawning loudly, he fell fast asleep. He seemed hardly to have closed his eyes, when a shout aroused him, just as he heard his father seize his double rifle, and go to the front of the waggon.

Jack did likewise, with as much speed as his sleepy confusion would allow; and on reaching the opening he found that it was still dark, so that he could not have been long asleep, the fire was burning brilliantly, and every one was on the alert.

“Yes, I seemed to hear it myself in my sleep,” said Mr Rogers, in answer to some words spoken by Dick. “Did it sound near?”

“Sure, sor, it was close by, and I thought the bastes had got one of the bullocks.”

The Zulu was with them now, having sprung from his place beneath the waggon, asking eagerly what was wrong.

“They heard a lion prowling round,” replied Mr Rogers.

“No, no,” said the Zulu. “No lion here.”

“But I heard it quite plainly,” said Dick, who felt angry at being doubted.

“Sure and I did too, so close to me shoulder that I could feel the baste’s breath blow over on to me chake.”

“No, no,” said the Zulu. “Look! see!”

He pointed towards the oxen and horses in turn.

“But it would be impossible to see it in this darkness,” said Mr Rogers.

“Yes, but the oxen,” said the Zulu. “They would not lie quiet if there was a lion.”

“Of course not,” said Mr Rogers, envying the savage his knowledge. “Then what caused the alarm?”

There was no reply; and after satisfying themselves that all was safe, and piling up the rest of the wood upon the fire—for the streaks of the coming dawn could be seen—the tired watchers returned to the waggon, and slept until roused for breakfast, when the secret of the alarm came out, Coffee having been afraid to confess at the time that he knew it was his brother imitating the lion’s cry in his sleep, his proximity to Dick and Dinny making it seem the more real. Feeling sure that he would be punished if he spoke, Coffee had remained silent, and so the matter ended, Dick laughing heartily at the false alarm, though Dinny would not believe that the cry emanated from the boy.

“Jist as if I was such a biby as to belave that story, Masther Jack,” he said. “I tell ye it was the lion himself attacking the bastes, and you’ll see he’ll be about the camp now every night, as regular as clockwork. It’s very good of the masther to try and put one at his aise about the wild bastes; but that there was a lion—I know it was; and if, Masther Jack, dear, I’m missing some night, ye may know that there’s a lion aiting of me; and I hope ye’ll take me bones back and give me a dacent burying somewhere among Christians, and not lave them kicking about out here in a foreign land.”

“But how can you be so stupid, Dinny? Father says it was Chicory, and you know how he imitates the wild beasts.”

“Ah, do ye take me for a baby, Masther Jack?” said the man, reproachfully. “There, let it go. I’m your father’s servant, and he must have his own way; but it’s cruel work this coming out into such savage lands; and there’s one man as will niver see home parts again.”

When once Dinny had got an idea in his, head, to use his own words, “a shillelagh would not knock it out;” so he remained perfectly certain that the camp had been attacked by a lion; and he went about prophesying that the coming night would produce two.

Chapter Seven.How the Boys found it was not Easy to Shoot.The oxen were in-spanned and the horses saddled, on as glorious a morning as ever shone over the great African continent. The breakfast things had been stowed away, a glance given round to see that nothing had been left behind; the driver’s and foreloper’s whips cracked; and with loud shouts of, “Trek, boys, trek!” the great waggon slowly went on its course, every one forgetting the troubles of the disturbed night, in the glorious sunshine and dew-glittering herbage.Coffee and Chicory ran and bounded and spun their kiris in the air, catching them again, and then running on beside the cantering horses of their young masters, while their father ran beside Mr Rogers’ big bay. Above all, the dogs showed their delight by barking, yelping, and making insane charges here and there, Rough’un’s great delight being to run his head into one or other of the holes made by the burrowing animals of the plains, and then worrying and snapping at nothing until he was called away.As the waggon lumbered on, father and sons wandered off to left or right, exploring, examining the trees and strange plants, and sometimes bringing down some bright-plumaged bird, which was carefully laid in a tin case carried for the purpose by the Zulu, ready to be skinned and dressed to keep as a specimen on their return.That they were approaching the game country was now hourly becoming plainer, for from time to time little knots of bok could be seen upon the hills; but when Dick or Jack eagerly drew the attention of the Zulu to the fact, he laughed, and said it was nothing, bidding them to wait.“We must have some venison for dinner to-day, boys,” said Mr Rogers, cantering up; “so one of you had better try your rifle. Who’s it to be?”“Let it be Jack, father,” said Dick, quietly; “my hands are not steady yet.”“Very good,” said Mr Rogers; while the Zulu listened attentively, trying to comprehend every word. “Now then, Jack, how shall you go to work? There is a little herd of half-a-dozen springbok there, on that hill, nearly a mile away.”“Get close and shoot them,” replied Jack, stoutly.“Say, if you can, my boy,” replied Mr Rogers, smiling. “Now look here, Jack, this is the way the Boers shoot springbok, and I don’t think you will find a better plan. Have a few cartridges handy, so that you can load quickly, and then gallop easily towards the herd, which will begin playing about, till they grow too alarmed to let you get nearer, and then they’ll bound off. This is your time: gallop up as close as you can, and when you see they are about to go, leap from your horse and fire—reload, and fire again. If you are very quick you may get three shots at the herd before they are out of range.”“But suppose I miss, father?” said Jack.“Don’t suppose anything of the kind, my boy,” said Mr Rogers, smiling; “but go and do it. Time enough to consider failure when you have failed.”Jack nodded, opened the breech of his gun, placed half-a-dozen cartridges ready, leaped down to tighten the girths of his saddle, the cob standing perfectly still. Then mounting once more, he waved his hand, touched his horse’s sides with his heels, and away it went like the wind.As he started, Chicory, who seemed to have adopted him as his leader, made a bound at the saddle, caught hold of the pommel, and ran by his side with marvellous speed.The springbok seemed to pay not the slightest heed to their approach, and Jack was beginning to feel excited with the chase, and to calculate how far they should be able to get before having to dismount, when all at once there was a sudden check; he went flying over his horse’s head, his double barrel escaped from his hand, and he found himself lying on the hard sandy earth, confused and puzzled, with Chicory trying to pull him up; and Stockings standing close by, snorting and shivering with fear.Jack got up, and limped to where his rifle lay, feeling stupid, and wondering how it was that he had been thrown; and he had but regained his piece, and was ruefully examining it, when his father and Dick came galloping up.“Much hurt, my boy?” cried Mr Rogers, eagerly.“Only my leg and arm a little,” said Jack, rubbing first one and then the other; “but I did think I could ride better than that, father.”“Ride, my boy? Why, no one could have helped that. Don’t you know how it was?”“I know Stockings threw me,” replied Jack.“Threw you? Nonsense, boy! He set his fore feet in an ant-bear hole, and turned a complete somersault. We were afraid that he had rolled upon you.”“Then a good rider couldn’t have helped it, father?”“Helped it? No, my boy.”“Oh, I feel better now,” said Jack, laughing; and, limping up to his horse, he patted its neck and remounted, though not without difficulty. “Where’s the bok, Chicory?”Chicory pointed to where they were, nearly a mile away, and looking exceedingly small, but quite clear in the bright African atmosphere; and without a word he set off again.“Ought he to go, father?” said Dick.“Yes, my boy. He is not much hurt, and it will be a lesson to both him and his horse. I am glad to see that he has so much spirit.”A short chuckle close by made Mr Rogers turn his head, and he saw that the Zulu understood his words, and was smiling approval.“Brave boy! Make big hunter warrior, some day,” said the Zulu.“Boss Dick big brave hunter too,” cried Coffee indignantly, as he went and laid a hand upon the neck of Dick’s horse. “Boss Dick go shoot bok?”“Not now, Coffee,” replied Dick, smiling; and then the little group remained watching Jack, who was in full chase of the springbok, which, as he came nearer, began to skip and bound and gambol together, leaping over each other’s backs, but all the time watching the coming enemy.It was an exciting time for Jack, and in it he forgot the pain in his shoulder and the stiffness of his leg. He had the rifle-barrel ready cocked, and his feet out of the stirrups, and at last, when he had galloped up to within a couple of hundred yards, he saw such evident preparations for flight on the part of the little bok, that he leaped down, dropped upon one knee, and fired straight at the flying herd.Before the smoke had risen he had another cartridge in the rifle, and fired again. Once more he threw open the breech and loaded—and fired, though by this time the bok were seven or eight hundred yards away. But in spite of the care in the aim taken, no bok fell struggling to the ground, and Jack rode back slowly to join his father, wondering whether the bore of his rifle was true, for he knew, he said to himself, that he had aimed straight.When he hinted at the possibility of the rifle being in fault, his father smiled, and Dick gave him so comical a look that Jack said no more, but rode on silently by the side of the waggon, till, seeing his disappointment, his father joined him.“Why, you foolish boy,” he exclaimed, “it was not likely that you would hit one of those flying bok. It is a matter of long practice; and even the Boers, who have studied such shooting for years, often miss.”“But you see, father, I did make such a dreadful mess of it,” pleaded Jack. “I came off my horse; and then I shot over and over again, and missed. I can’t help feeling what a muddle I made.”“Well, for my part,” said his father, “I am rather glad that you failed. If you had succeeded, my boy, without effort at the first trial, it would have made you careless. These failures will teach you the necessity for using care, and trying to perfect yourself as a marksman.”“But there’ll be no bok for dinner,” said Jack ruefully.“Never mind,” replied Mr Rogers. “I daresay the boys will bring in something.”He was right, for Coffee and Chicory brought in six great plain partridges, which they had knocked down with their kiris, and these were roasted at the midday meal, and eaten with the appetite found in the desert.As the day wore on, and after the refreshed oxen were once more doing their duty, the effects of the last night’s scare began to show itself, Peter, Dirk, and Dinny declaring that they had seen lions creeping after the waggon in the distance, ready to pounce upon the oxen as soon as it was dark.Dirk reported this to Mr Rogers, who gave them all a good, talking to about their cowardice.“Why, look at these Zulu boys,” he cried; “they don’t show any fear, while you grown men are almost as bad as children.”“Sure, sor, an’ the Zulu boys don’t know any better,” said Dinny. “They’re little better than the bastes themselves.”“Well, there are my own boys,” exclaimed Mr Rogers. “They are not afraid. I wonder at you, Dinny, an Irishman, and to set such a bad example to these blacks.”“And is it afraid?” said Dinny. “Not a bit of it. I’m not a bit afraid at all; but I can’t help thinking of what my poor mother’s feelings would be if she came to know that her only son Dennis had been aiten up by wild bastes. I don’t mind a bit, but I wouldn’t hurt her feelings for the world.”“Then oblige me, Dinny, by holding your tongue, for if I hear any more complaints I shall send you back.”“Sind me back!” ejaculated Dinny, as soon as his master had gone. “Sind me back across the big desert all alone by meself. Why, it would be worse than murther. It’s meself wishes I hadn’t come.”Whatever he may have wished, these sharp words had the effect of silencing Dinny for the time being; but when the Zulu had led them at last, just at sundown, into a dense patch of forest, where the overhanging trees made the gloom quite oppressive, Dinny’s eyes showed white circles round them; and if it had not been for the fact that they found a Boer and his family encamped by the water they had been seeking, the Irishman would have probably turned, and at all risks have fled.People are ready enough to make friends out in the desert, and the Boer gladly offered the use of the fire he had made, and a part of the springbok he had shot, on receiving a share of some of the good things brought by the newcomers. Then, with the great camp-kettle simmering over the fire, and with the boys patiently waiting for their share of the provisions, guns were cleaned and laid ready for use, the men the while busily attending to the oxen and horses, while the Zulu and his boys collected wood into a pile to keep up the fire.“Sure an’ it’s a dreadful melancholy-looking place,” said Dinny with a shudder. And then he listened attentively while the Boer expressed his belief that there were lions in the neighbourhood, though they were not often seen.

The oxen were in-spanned and the horses saddled, on as glorious a morning as ever shone over the great African continent. The breakfast things had been stowed away, a glance given round to see that nothing had been left behind; the driver’s and foreloper’s whips cracked; and with loud shouts of, “Trek, boys, trek!” the great waggon slowly went on its course, every one forgetting the troubles of the disturbed night, in the glorious sunshine and dew-glittering herbage.

Coffee and Chicory ran and bounded and spun their kiris in the air, catching them again, and then running on beside the cantering horses of their young masters, while their father ran beside Mr Rogers’ big bay. Above all, the dogs showed their delight by barking, yelping, and making insane charges here and there, Rough’un’s great delight being to run his head into one or other of the holes made by the burrowing animals of the plains, and then worrying and snapping at nothing until he was called away.

As the waggon lumbered on, father and sons wandered off to left or right, exploring, examining the trees and strange plants, and sometimes bringing down some bright-plumaged bird, which was carefully laid in a tin case carried for the purpose by the Zulu, ready to be skinned and dressed to keep as a specimen on their return.

That they were approaching the game country was now hourly becoming plainer, for from time to time little knots of bok could be seen upon the hills; but when Dick or Jack eagerly drew the attention of the Zulu to the fact, he laughed, and said it was nothing, bidding them to wait.

“We must have some venison for dinner to-day, boys,” said Mr Rogers, cantering up; “so one of you had better try your rifle. Who’s it to be?”

“Let it be Jack, father,” said Dick, quietly; “my hands are not steady yet.”

“Very good,” said Mr Rogers; while the Zulu listened attentively, trying to comprehend every word. “Now then, Jack, how shall you go to work? There is a little herd of half-a-dozen springbok there, on that hill, nearly a mile away.”

“Get close and shoot them,” replied Jack, stoutly.

“Say, if you can, my boy,” replied Mr Rogers, smiling. “Now look here, Jack, this is the way the Boers shoot springbok, and I don’t think you will find a better plan. Have a few cartridges handy, so that you can load quickly, and then gallop easily towards the herd, which will begin playing about, till they grow too alarmed to let you get nearer, and then they’ll bound off. This is your time: gallop up as close as you can, and when you see they are about to go, leap from your horse and fire—reload, and fire again. If you are very quick you may get three shots at the herd before they are out of range.”

“But suppose I miss, father?” said Jack.

“Don’t suppose anything of the kind, my boy,” said Mr Rogers, smiling; “but go and do it. Time enough to consider failure when you have failed.”

Jack nodded, opened the breech of his gun, placed half-a-dozen cartridges ready, leaped down to tighten the girths of his saddle, the cob standing perfectly still. Then mounting once more, he waved his hand, touched his horse’s sides with his heels, and away it went like the wind.

As he started, Chicory, who seemed to have adopted him as his leader, made a bound at the saddle, caught hold of the pommel, and ran by his side with marvellous speed.

The springbok seemed to pay not the slightest heed to their approach, and Jack was beginning to feel excited with the chase, and to calculate how far they should be able to get before having to dismount, when all at once there was a sudden check; he went flying over his horse’s head, his double barrel escaped from his hand, and he found himself lying on the hard sandy earth, confused and puzzled, with Chicory trying to pull him up; and Stockings standing close by, snorting and shivering with fear.

Jack got up, and limped to where his rifle lay, feeling stupid, and wondering how it was that he had been thrown; and he had but regained his piece, and was ruefully examining it, when his father and Dick came galloping up.

“Much hurt, my boy?” cried Mr Rogers, eagerly.

“Only my leg and arm a little,” said Jack, rubbing first one and then the other; “but I did think I could ride better than that, father.”

“Ride, my boy? Why, no one could have helped that. Don’t you know how it was?”

“I know Stockings threw me,” replied Jack.

“Threw you? Nonsense, boy! He set his fore feet in an ant-bear hole, and turned a complete somersault. We were afraid that he had rolled upon you.”

“Then a good rider couldn’t have helped it, father?”

“Helped it? No, my boy.”

“Oh, I feel better now,” said Jack, laughing; and, limping up to his horse, he patted its neck and remounted, though not without difficulty. “Where’s the bok, Chicory?”

Chicory pointed to where they were, nearly a mile away, and looking exceedingly small, but quite clear in the bright African atmosphere; and without a word he set off again.

“Ought he to go, father?” said Dick.

“Yes, my boy. He is not much hurt, and it will be a lesson to both him and his horse. I am glad to see that he has so much spirit.”

A short chuckle close by made Mr Rogers turn his head, and he saw that the Zulu understood his words, and was smiling approval.

“Brave boy! Make big hunter warrior, some day,” said the Zulu.

“Boss Dick big brave hunter too,” cried Coffee indignantly, as he went and laid a hand upon the neck of Dick’s horse. “Boss Dick go shoot bok?”

“Not now, Coffee,” replied Dick, smiling; and then the little group remained watching Jack, who was in full chase of the springbok, which, as he came nearer, began to skip and bound and gambol together, leaping over each other’s backs, but all the time watching the coming enemy.

It was an exciting time for Jack, and in it he forgot the pain in his shoulder and the stiffness of his leg. He had the rifle-barrel ready cocked, and his feet out of the stirrups, and at last, when he had galloped up to within a couple of hundred yards, he saw such evident preparations for flight on the part of the little bok, that he leaped down, dropped upon one knee, and fired straight at the flying herd.

Before the smoke had risen he had another cartridge in the rifle, and fired again. Once more he threw open the breech and loaded—and fired, though by this time the bok were seven or eight hundred yards away. But in spite of the care in the aim taken, no bok fell struggling to the ground, and Jack rode back slowly to join his father, wondering whether the bore of his rifle was true, for he knew, he said to himself, that he had aimed straight.

When he hinted at the possibility of the rifle being in fault, his father smiled, and Dick gave him so comical a look that Jack said no more, but rode on silently by the side of the waggon, till, seeing his disappointment, his father joined him.

“Why, you foolish boy,” he exclaimed, “it was not likely that you would hit one of those flying bok. It is a matter of long practice; and even the Boers, who have studied such shooting for years, often miss.”

“But you see, father, I did make such a dreadful mess of it,” pleaded Jack. “I came off my horse; and then I shot over and over again, and missed. I can’t help feeling what a muddle I made.”

“Well, for my part,” said his father, “I am rather glad that you failed. If you had succeeded, my boy, without effort at the first trial, it would have made you careless. These failures will teach you the necessity for using care, and trying to perfect yourself as a marksman.”

“But there’ll be no bok for dinner,” said Jack ruefully.

“Never mind,” replied Mr Rogers. “I daresay the boys will bring in something.”

He was right, for Coffee and Chicory brought in six great plain partridges, which they had knocked down with their kiris, and these were roasted at the midday meal, and eaten with the appetite found in the desert.

As the day wore on, and after the refreshed oxen were once more doing their duty, the effects of the last night’s scare began to show itself, Peter, Dirk, and Dinny declaring that they had seen lions creeping after the waggon in the distance, ready to pounce upon the oxen as soon as it was dark.

Dirk reported this to Mr Rogers, who gave them all a good, talking to about their cowardice.

“Why, look at these Zulu boys,” he cried; “they don’t show any fear, while you grown men are almost as bad as children.”

“Sure, sor, an’ the Zulu boys don’t know any better,” said Dinny. “They’re little better than the bastes themselves.”

“Well, there are my own boys,” exclaimed Mr Rogers. “They are not afraid. I wonder at you, Dinny, an Irishman, and to set such a bad example to these blacks.”

“And is it afraid?” said Dinny. “Not a bit of it. I’m not a bit afraid at all; but I can’t help thinking of what my poor mother’s feelings would be if she came to know that her only son Dennis had been aiten up by wild bastes. I don’t mind a bit, but I wouldn’t hurt her feelings for the world.”

“Then oblige me, Dinny, by holding your tongue, for if I hear any more complaints I shall send you back.”

“Sind me back!” ejaculated Dinny, as soon as his master had gone. “Sind me back across the big desert all alone by meself. Why, it would be worse than murther. It’s meself wishes I hadn’t come.”

Whatever he may have wished, these sharp words had the effect of silencing Dinny for the time being; but when the Zulu had led them at last, just at sundown, into a dense patch of forest, where the overhanging trees made the gloom quite oppressive, Dinny’s eyes showed white circles round them; and if it had not been for the fact that they found a Boer and his family encamped by the water they had been seeking, the Irishman would have probably turned, and at all risks have fled.

People are ready enough to make friends out in the desert, and the Boer gladly offered the use of the fire he had made, and a part of the springbok he had shot, on receiving a share of some of the good things brought by the newcomers. Then, with the great camp-kettle simmering over the fire, and with the boys patiently waiting for their share of the provisions, guns were cleaned and laid ready for use, the men the while busily attending to the oxen and horses, while the Zulu and his boys collected wood into a pile to keep up the fire.

“Sure an’ it’s a dreadful melancholy-looking place,” said Dinny with a shudder. And then he listened attentively while the Boer expressed his belief that there were lions in the neighbourhood, though they were not often seen.

Chapter Eight.How Nature was Stronger than Training.Days and days of steady travel, and the slowly gained miles mounted up till they had journeyed far into the interior. Mr Rogers, yielding to the importunities of his boys, had several times over been ready to come to a halt; but the Zulu still pointed forward, and feeling that there must be much truth in his declarations regarding the game country on ahead, he was allowed to act as guide.It was a long journey, but though they did not have much sport, it was not monotonous, for Mr Rogers was a good naturalist, and eager to collect everything curious in beetle, butterfly, and bird, so that all hands were pretty busy from dawn to dark. Coffee and Chicory, after they had been taught not to pull off the feathers, became very clever at skinning birds, some of which had been denizens of the woods, some of the lagoons and marshes they had passed, and which were shot at daybreak, or else after sunset, from amongst the great beds of reeds. Then if they were ducks, the bodies became occupants of the great pot; if they were not considered eatable they fell to the share of the dogs.That great iron pot, which was always suspended from three poles over every fire that was made, became an institution. The idea was taken from a hint given by a hunting-party, one of the gentlemen forming it telling Mr Rogers that, upon returning weary and exhausted to camp, there was nothing so restorative us good rich soup. Consequently, whenever a buck was shot, great pieces of its flesh were placed in the pot, and allowed to stew till all their goodness was gone, when the blacks considered them a delicacy, the rich soup being the portion of the hunting-party.Game was scarce, but they got a sufficiency of either small bok or birds to supply their wants; and, whether it was the constant change, the fresh air, the rich meat essence which Dick partook of with avidity, or whether it was a combination of the effect of all these, the change in the boy was magical. He could take a long ride now without feeling weary, and wanting in appetite; he was ready to buckle to and help when the waggon was stuck, literally putting his shoulder to the wheel with a will, and in place of hanging back, he was now the first to spy out game, and set off in chase, making Jack quite envious by coming back in triumph with a couple of springbok hanging from his saddle-bows, both having had to succumb to his rifle.But this was not to be borne; and Jack at once took Chicory into his confidence.“I must shoot a springbok, Chick,” he said. “Dick has shot two.”“Boss Jack shoot springbok to-morrow,” said the boy, decisively; and soon after daybreak roused his young master, and pointed out across the plain towards the rising sun.“Bok,” he said laconically; and while Jack was giving a finishing touch or two to his dress, the boy ran off, and began to saddle Stockings, having the little horse ready by the time Jack was prepared to mount.The others were not awake, saving the Zulu and Dick, who had the morning watch; so Jack got off unquestioned, and rode away in the direction pointed out by Chicory, whose dark eyes made out the presence of the little bok long before they could be seen by his young master, who began to think that he had been deceived, and expressed his doubts upon the point.But Chicory smiled, and laid his hand upon Jack’s arm, pointing to where some shadow shapes of animals could be seen through the faint mist hanging over a low clump of hillocks; and with a cry of joy the boy pressed his horse’s sides, and went off at a swinging canter, without discomposing Chicory in the least, for the boy held on to a strap at the pummel of the saddle as before, and there being no ant-bear hole in the way, or, the horse having learned better through his fall, they rapidly neared the little herd, which began the antics peculiar to these animals, till the lad was getting close up, when they began to flee at a tremendous rate.Quick as thought, Jack had sprung from his saddle, and sent a bullet after the herd; then another, and another; but all apparently without result. Then disappointed and vexed, Jack turned to Chicory as if it was his fault. But the boy had climbed an old ant-hill, and was watching the flying herd with his eyes shaded by his hand.“One down—two down,” he cried, sending joy through Jack’s breast; for, on galloping after the herd, it was to find one bok lying dead, and another so badly wounded that it became an easy capture.It was with no little importance then that Jack rode back with his two bok, ready to receive the congratulations of his father, for his manifest improvement in handling his rifle, and in hunting the bok according to the accepted plan.At last their guide, after looking-on with something almost supercilious in his face at this, to him, puny style of hunting, and contentment with such small game as birds, springbok, and the like, announced that the next day they would be entering upon what he termed his hunting country.The travellers had now reached a more rugged tract of land, scored with deep ravines, along which, at some time or another, small rivers must have coursed, while now the narrow stony tracks were found convenient for waggon tracks, though often enough the way was cruelly difficult, and all had to set to and clear a passage for the wheels by bodily removing some of the worst of the stones.There was no hesitation or hanging back at such times, for all had to set to, even Dinny playing a pretty good part, considering that he abhorred manual labour.Quite a change seemed to have come over the General, as Dick aptly dubbed their Zulu guide; for though he gave way in everything connected with the management of the waggon, and was exceedingly respectful to Mr Rogers, no sooner did any hunting matter come to the front, or a question of the best direction to take, than he seemed to take the lead as if in spite of himself.At first Mr Rogers felt annoyed, and ready to put the man down; but in a very short time he saw that the Zulu’s sole thought was for the success of the expedition, and that his actions were the natural results of his former life; for, savage though he was, and servant to this expedition, he had been a prince in his own tribe, and a leader amongst the people.The night was coming on fast, when one day, after a long and weary trek, the heavily-laden waggon was approaching a belt of elevated forest-land, where the General had assured Mr Rogers they would find water.It had been a toilsome day, hot and dusty, and at their midday rest there had been hardly a mouthful of herbage for the tired oxen, while water there was none. The contents of the two casks swinging behind the waggon were jealously guarded for the travellers’ use; but so miserable did the cattle seem that the two boys asked their father to tap one of them for the oxen and horses.“It will be but a taste a-piece,” he said; “but perhaps you are right, boys.”Then the tap being set running, every ox and horse had a refreshing taste, though it was hard work to get the pail away from each thirsty mouth.Then all through that long parching afternoon they had toiled on, with the draught cattle growing more listless, the horses sluggish and restless; and a general feeling of weariness seemed to have seized upon all.The result was shown in the silence with which they progressed. The driver and foreloper ceased to shout and crack their whips; the Zulus trudged slowly on behind the waggon; and out of compassion for their horses, Mr Rogers and his sons walked beside the weary beasts.“You are sure we shall find water at sundown?” said Dick to the General.“Nothing is sure out in the wilds, young master,” said the Zulu gravely. “There should be water there. If there is not, we must trek on through the night, to the first river or spring.”“But will there be water there?”“We shall be in the game country then, and I can soon find where the game goes to drink, and can lead you there.”This was satisfactory, and they trudged on and on, with the land gradually rising, making the pull more heavy for the oxen, whose tongues were lolling out, and whose efforts at last became so painful that Mr Rogers at once accepted his sons’ proposal, which was that the horses should help.A halt was called, and great stones were placed beneath the wheels to make sure that there should be no running backwards on the part of the waggon, and then the tethering ropes were fastened to the horses’ saddles; the Zulus and the boys took their head; the word was given to start; the ropes that had been secured to different parts of the waggon tightened; and though the horses could not pull as if they were properly harnessed, the impulse they gave relieved the weary oxen, and after half an hour’s toilsome drag, the waggon was drawn to the top of the incline, and the travellers had the pleasure of seeing that a tolerably level way lay before them.But there was no sign of water, and Mr Rogers looked serious as he swept the dimly seen country before him with his glass.“Had we not better outspan here?” he said, “and let the oxen rest. We could start again at daybreak.”But the General shook his head.“No, boss,” he replied. “Let us go on. We may find water yet.”Mr Rogers gave way, and in a listless, weary fashion the heavy waggon was dragged on.“Oh, I am so tired,” cried Jack; “and I’d give anything to be able to walk right into a big pond and drink, and soak myself outside. My skin feels as if it was cracking.”“I’m very tired, too,” said Dick; “but not so tired as I thought I should be. Why I must have walked twenty miles to-day. I wonder whether that means that I am growing stronger.”“You need not wonder,” said Mr Rogers, who had heard his words. “You may be sure, my boy. But how dark it is growing! There are the stars.”“What’s the matter with the bullocks?” cried Jack suddenly. “Why, father, they’re gone mad with thirst.”“Water,” cried the General, pointing ahead. “They smell the water.”The sensitiveness was caught up by the horses, which, like the oxen, quickened their pace, craning with outstretched muzzles, their fine instinct telling them that there was water on ahead, towards which they struggled to get.Great care was needed now lest the water should prove to be merely a well or pool, into which the bullocks would rush, muddying the water, and perhaps trampling one another to death in their efforts to reach the refreshing liquid. But strive hard as they would, it proved to be impossible to keep the thirsty creatures back. The waggon had not proceeded so fast since they started; and the speed was growing greater, causing the great lumbering vehicle to rock and sway in a most alarming fashion. If they had encountered a rock, however small, there must have been a crash. But as it happened, they came on very level ground, sloping gently towards the north.Klipmann, the foremost ox, a great black fellow with long horns, had proclaimed the find, and communicated the fact with a deep-mouthed bellow; and the next minute all was excitement and shouting, as the great waggon thundered and groaned along.The first thing to be done was to detach the horses, which was no sooner done than they seemed to take fright, and went off at a gallop into the gloom ahead; then, amidst the yells and shoutings of Peter and Dirk, who danced about as if mad, efforts were made to check the oxen; but the poor beasts were frantic with thirst, and any serious attempt to stop them would have meant goring, trampling down, or being crushed by the wheels of the ponderous waggon.The wild race lasted for a mile, during which every moment threatened to be the waggon’s last. The oxen lowed and trotted on, the waggon creaked, and the loose articles rattled and banged together. Mr Rogers and his sons panted on at the sides, momentarily expecting to see it go over, and Coffee and Chicory, who had been very slow and silent for hours, whooped and yelled and added to the excitement.“It’s all over with our trip, Jack,” panted Dick. “We shall have to pick up the pieces to-morrow and go back.”“Wait a bit, and let’s see. Why, what’s the General going to do?”For all at once the Zulu had darted on ahead after snatching a kiri from Chicory’s hand, seized the foremost bullock, old Klipmann, by the horn, and, at the risk of being impaled or trampled down, he beat the stubborn bullock over the head with the club, and treating the other, its yoke-fellow, the same, he forced them into taking a different course, almost at right angles to that which they were pursuing.“Stop, stop!” roared Mr Rogers. “You will upset the waggon.”But he was too late. The course of the leading oxen being changed, the others swerved round, giving such a tug at the dissel-boom that the waggon’s wreck seemed certain. The whole team taking, as it did, a different course, the waggon was dragged side-wise, and for a few seconds tottered on its two nearside, or left-hand, wheels.It seemed as if it must go over crash—that nothing could save it; and Jack uttered a cry of dismay, and warning to his brother to get out of the way. Then, as if by a miracle, it fell back with a heavy thud on to the other wheels, and bumped and jolted on after the long team of oxen into the obscurity. And then, when ruin seemed to have come completely upon the expedition,wish-wash!splish-splash! the foaming of water—the crunching of wheels over stones and sand—a quick rush—and the waggon was standing, axletree deep, in a swiftly flowing river, down whose shelving bank it had been dragged, and in whose cool waters the oxen and horses were washing their legs, and drinking deeply with delight.

Days and days of steady travel, and the slowly gained miles mounted up till they had journeyed far into the interior. Mr Rogers, yielding to the importunities of his boys, had several times over been ready to come to a halt; but the Zulu still pointed forward, and feeling that there must be much truth in his declarations regarding the game country on ahead, he was allowed to act as guide.

It was a long journey, but though they did not have much sport, it was not monotonous, for Mr Rogers was a good naturalist, and eager to collect everything curious in beetle, butterfly, and bird, so that all hands were pretty busy from dawn to dark. Coffee and Chicory, after they had been taught not to pull off the feathers, became very clever at skinning birds, some of which had been denizens of the woods, some of the lagoons and marshes they had passed, and which were shot at daybreak, or else after sunset, from amongst the great beds of reeds. Then if they were ducks, the bodies became occupants of the great pot; if they were not considered eatable they fell to the share of the dogs.

That great iron pot, which was always suspended from three poles over every fire that was made, became an institution. The idea was taken from a hint given by a hunting-party, one of the gentlemen forming it telling Mr Rogers that, upon returning weary and exhausted to camp, there was nothing so restorative us good rich soup. Consequently, whenever a buck was shot, great pieces of its flesh were placed in the pot, and allowed to stew till all their goodness was gone, when the blacks considered them a delicacy, the rich soup being the portion of the hunting-party.

Game was scarce, but they got a sufficiency of either small bok or birds to supply their wants; and, whether it was the constant change, the fresh air, the rich meat essence which Dick partook of with avidity, or whether it was a combination of the effect of all these, the change in the boy was magical. He could take a long ride now without feeling weary, and wanting in appetite; he was ready to buckle to and help when the waggon was stuck, literally putting his shoulder to the wheel with a will, and in place of hanging back, he was now the first to spy out game, and set off in chase, making Jack quite envious by coming back in triumph with a couple of springbok hanging from his saddle-bows, both having had to succumb to his rifle.

But this was not to be borne; and Jack at once took Chicory into his confidence.

“I must shoot a springbok, Chick,” he said. “Dick has shot two.”

“Boss Jack shoot springbok to-morrow,” said the boy, decisively; and soon after daybreak roused his young master, and pointed out across the plain towards the rising sun.

“Bok,” he said laconically; and while Jack was giving a finishing touch or two to his dress, the boy ran off, and began to saddle Stockings, having the little horse ready by the time Jack was prepared to mount.

The others were not awake, saving the Zulu and Dick, who had the morning watch; so Jack got off unquestioned, and rode away in the direction pointed out by Chicory, whose dark eyes made out the presence of the little bok long before they could be seen by his young master, who began to think that he had been deceived, and expressed his doubts upon the point.

But Chicory smiled, and laid his hand upon Jack’s arm, pointing to where some shadow shapes of animals could be seen through the faint mist hanging over a low clump of hillocks; and with a cry of joy the boy pressed his horse’s sides, and went off at a swinging canter, without discomposing Chicory in the least, for the boy held on to a strap at the pummel of the saddle as before, and there being no ant-bear hole in the way, or, the horse having learned better through his fall, they rapidly neared the little herd, which began the antics peculiar to these animals, till the lad was getting close up, when they began to flee at a tremendous rate.

Quick as thought, Jack had sprung from his saddle, and sent a bullet after the herd; then another, and another; but all apparently without result. Then disappointed and vexed, Jack turned to Chicory as if it was his fault. But the boy had climbed an old ant-hill, and was watching the flying herd with his eyes shaded by his hand.

“One down—two down,” he cried, sending joy through Jack’s breast; for, on galloping after the herd, it was to find one bok lying dead, and another so badly wounded that it became an easy capture.

It was with no little importance then that Jack rode back with his two bok, ready to receive the congratulations of his father, for his manifest improvement in handling his rifle, and in hunting the bok according to the accepted plan.

At last their guide, after looking-on with something almost supercilious in his face at this, to him, puny style of hunting, and contentment with such small game as birds, springbok, and the like, announced that the next day they would be entering upon what he termed his hunting country.

The travellers had now reached a more rugged tract of land, scored with deep ravines, along which, at some time or another, small rivers must have coursed, while now the narrow stony tracks were found convenient for waggon tracks, though often enough the way was cruelly difficult, and all had to set to and clear a passage for the wheels by bodily removing some of the worst of the stones.

There was no hesitation or hanging back at such times, for all had to set to, even Dinny playing a pretty good part, considering that he abhorred manual labour.

Quite a change seemed to have come over the General, as Dick aptly dubbed their Zulu guide; for though he gave way in everything connected with the management of the waggon, and was exceedingly respectful to Mr Rogers, no sooner did any hunting matter come to the front, or a question of the best direction to take, than he seemed to take the lead as if in spite of himself.

At first Mr Rogers felt annoyed, and ready to put the man down; but in a very short time he saw that the Zulu’s sole thought was for the success of the expedition, and that his actions were the natural results of his former life; for, savage though he was, and servant to this expedition, he had been a prince in his own tribe, and a leader amongst the people.

The night was coming on fast, when one day, after a long and weary trek, the heavily-laden waggon was approaching a belt of elevated forest-land, where the General had assured Mr Rogers they would find water.

It had been a toilsome day, hot and dusty, and at their midday rest there had been hardly a mouthful of herbage for the tired oxen, while water there was none. The contents of the two casks swinging behind the waggon were jealously guarded for the travellers’ use; but so miserable did the cattle seem that the two boys asked their father to tap one of them for the oxen and horses.

“It will be but a taste a-piece,” he said; “but perhaps you are right, boys.”

Then the tap being set running, every ox and horse had a refreshing taste, though it was hard work to get the pail away from each thirsty mouth.

Then all through that long parching afternoon they had toiled on, with the draught cattle growing more listless, the horses sluggish and restless; and a general feeling of weariness seemed to have seized upon all.

The result was shown in the silence with which they progressed. The driver and foreloper ceased to shout and crack their whips; the Zulus trudged slowly on behind the waggon; and out of compassion for their horses, Mr Rogers and his sons walked beside the weary beasts.

“You are sure we shall find water at sundown?” said Dick to the General.

“Nothing is sure out in the wilds, young master,” said the Zulu gravely. “There should be water there. If there is not, we must trek on through the night, to the first river or spring.”

“But will there be water there?”

“We shall be in the game country then, and I can soon find where the game goes to drink, and can lead you there.”

This was satisfactory, and they trudged on and on, with the land gradually rising, making the pull more heavy for the oxen, whose tongues were lolling out, and whose efforts at last became so painful that Mr Rogers at once accepted his sons’ proposal, which was that the horses should help.

A halt was called, and great stones were placed beneath the wheels to make sure that there should be no running backwards on the part of the waggon, and then the tethering ropes were fastened to the horses’ saddles; the Zulus and the boys took their head; the word was given to start; the ropes that had been secured to different parts of the waggon tightened; and though the horses could not pull as if they were properly harnessed, the impulse they gave relieved the weary oxen, and after half an hour’s toilsome drag, the waggon was drawn to the top of the incline, and the travellers had the pleasure of seeing that a tolerably level way lay before them.

But there was no sign of water, and Mr Rogers looked serious as he swept the dimly seen country before him with his glass.

“Had we not better outspan here?” he said, “and let the oxen rest. We could start again at daybreak.”

But the General shook his head.

“No, boss,” he replied. “Let us go on. We may find water yet.”

Mr Rogers gave way, and in a listless, weary fashion the heavy waggon was dragged on.

“Oh, I am so tired,” cried Jack; “and I’d give anything to be able to walk right into a big pond and drink, and soak myself outside. My skin feels as if it was cracking.”

“I’m very tired, too,” said Dick; “but not so tired as I thought I should be. Why I must have walked twenty miles to-day. I wonder whether that means that I am growing stronger.”

“You need not wonder,” said Mr Rogers, who had heard his words. “You may be sure, my boy. But how dark it is growing! There are the stars.”

“What’s the matter with the bullocks?” cried Jack suddenly. “Why, father, they’re gone mad with thirst.”

“Water,” cried the General, pointing ahead. “They smell the water.”

The sensitiveness was caught up by the horses, which, like the oxen, quickened their pace, craning with outstretched muzzles, their fine instinct telling them that there was water on ahead, towards which they struggled to get.

Great care was needed now lest the water should prove to be merely a well or pool, into which the bullocks would rush, muddying the water, and perhaps trampling one another to death in their efforts to reach the refreshing liquid. But strive hard as they would, it proved to be impossible to keep the thirsty creatures back. The waggon had not proceeded so fast since they started; and the speed was growing greater, causing the great lumbering vehicle to rock and sway in a most alarming fashion. If they had encountered a rock, however small, there must have been a crash. But as it happened, they came on very level ground, sloping gently towards the north.

Klipmann, the foremost ox, a great black fellow with long horns, had proclaimed the find, and communicated the fact with a deep-mouthed bellow; and the next minute all was excitement and shouting, as the great waggon thundered and groaned along.

The first thing to be done was to detach the horses, which was no sooner done than they seemed to take fright, and went off at a gallop into the gloom ahead; then, amidst the yells and shoutings of Peter and Dirk, who danced about as if mad, efforts were made to check the oxen; but the poor beasts were frantic with thirst, and any serious attempt to stop them would have meant goring, trampling down, or being crushed by the wheels of the ponderous waggon.

The wild race lasted for a mile, during which every moment threatened to be the waggon’s last. The oxen lowed and trotted on, the waggon creaked, and the loose articles rattled and banged together. Mr Rogers and his sons panted on at the sides, momentarily expecting to see it go over, and Coffee and Chicory, who had been very slow and silent for hours, whooped and yelled and added to the excitement.

“It’s all over with our trip, Jack,” panted Dick. “We shall have to pick up the pieces to-morrow and go back.”

“Wait a bit, and let’s see. Why, what’s the General going to do?”

For all at once the Zulu had darted on ahead after snatching a kiri from Chicory’s hand, seized the foremost bullock, old Klipmann, by the horn, and, at the risk of being impaled or trampled down, he beat the stubborn bullock over the head with the club, and treating the other, its yoke-fellow, the same, he forced them into taking a different course, almost at right angles to that which they were pursuing.

“Stop, stop!” roared Mr Rogers. “You will upset the waggon.”

But he was too late. The course of the leading oxen being changed, the others swerved round, giving such a tug at the dissel-boom that the waggon’s wreck seemed certain. The whole team taking, as it did, a different course, the waggon was dragged side-wise, and for a few seconds tottered on its two nearside, or left-hand, wheels.

It seemed as if it must go over crash—that nothing could save it; and Jack uttered a cry of dismay, and warning to his brother to get out of the way. Then, as if by a miracle, it fell back with a heavy thud on to the other wheels, and bumped and jolted on after the long team of oxen into the obscurity. And then, when ruin seemed to have come completely upon the expedition,wish-wash!splish-splash! the foaming of water—the crunching of wheels over stones and sand—a quick rush—and the waggon was standing, axletree deep, in a swiftly flowing river, down whose shelving bank it had been dragged, and in whose cool waters the oxen and horses were washing their legs, and drinking deeply with delight.

Chapter Nine.An Awful Ford to Cross.It was a wonderful relief, and following the example of the animals, every one waded into the cool stream above the oxen, and drank deeply of the delicious water.“Oh, I say, father,” cried Jack, “I never thought water was so good before. Thisisa river.”And really Jack had an idea that he had tumbled upon a stream whose waters were wine-like in their flavour; and but for a few words of warning he would have gone on drinking more deeply still.“Thank goodness!” cried Mr Rogers, as soon as he could gain his breath. “But what an escape! The waggon nearly went over. Where is that scoundrel of a Zulu? Oh there you are,” he cried excitedly. “How dared you touch the oxen, sir! Your mad folly nearly spoiled our journey.”The General looked back at Mr Rogers, drawing himself up in savage pride, and his eyes seemed to flash in the darkness; but he did not speak, only turned away with a dignified look of displeasure.“I know why he did it, father,” cried Dick, excitedly. “Look, don’t you see? The ground slopes down here to the water. Up there it’s all rock, and the team would have gone over a precipice. See, it’s twenty feet deep.”“Of course! To be sure!” cried Mr Rogers eagerly. “His keen sight showed him the danger. I beg your pardon, my man,” he cried, “I did not know the reason, and ought not to have acted and spoken so rashly.”He held out his hand to the stern scowling Zulu, as he spoke; but for a moment the savage hot blood that had been roused by his leader’s injustice refused to be tamed down, and he remained with his arms folded; but glancing at Dick’s eager countenance, and recalling how it was due to him that the real truth of his actions was made known, the General let his better feelings prevail, and snatching Mr Rogers’ hand in his, he held it for a moment to his broad breast, and then let it fall.“Why you saved the waggon,” said Mr Rogers, after walking to the edge of the sudden descent where the rock went down sheer to the water, which bubbled and foamed against its side.“Yes; all gone over together,” said the General quietly. “Now all go across.”“But is it wise—is it safe—to attempt to cross to-night?” said Mr Rogers.“Will see,” replied the General; and going down into the water, he walked straight out past the heads of the oxen, literally disappearing into the darkness as he waded on.“Isn’t he very brave to do that, father?” asked Jack, who had watched the Zulu go from where they stood by the hind part of the waggon, whose back wheels were on the dry sand.“Coffee no ’fraid to go,” said that young gentleman.“Chicory go too after father,” said his brother; and the two boys dashed into the rushing water past the oxen, and then disappeared.“What madness!” said Mr Rogers. “Why the stream runs swiftly enough for them to be swept away.”Both Jack and Dick gazed eagerly out over the swift river; but the black figures of the young Zulus seemed to disappear in the darkness, and for some few minutes there was an excited pang while they listened to the bubbling of the water against the fore wheels of the waggon, or the plashing made by the oxen as they lazily moved their legs, apparently enjoying the pleasant coolness of the water after their toilsome march.“I ought not to have allowed them to go,” said Mr Rogers suddenly. “Here, Dinny, bring me the bay. I’ll mount, and try and ride over to their help.”“Bring the what, sor?” said Dinny.“The bay,” cried Mr Rogers. “Quick, man! quick!”“An’ how’ll I be getting at him, sor?” said Dinny. “Sure he’s standing out there in the wather catching cowld, and I couldn’t reach him widout getting very wet.”“Why you did wade in to drink,” cried Jack, indignantly.And with a rush and a splash he ran into the water, to where he could dimly make out the form of the big bay; and catching it by the halter, he drew it after him, the rest of the thirst-quenched horses comingplash!plash! out of the water, and following the bay like so many sheep.Mr Rogers was about to mount, when the General’s voice was heard hailing Peter and Dirk; and directly after their hearts were set at rest about Coffee and Chicory, who could be heard laughing in the darkness.“All shallow water,” cried the General. “Trek, Peter; trek, Dirk. Good place all across.”Mr Rogers hesitated as to the advisability of crossing in the darkness; but the oxen were already in, the waggon was also nearly in the river, and if allowed to stay for a few hours it would probably sink deeply in the sand. So, leaving his men to pursue their own course, he also waded in, while Dirk cracked his whip, Peter mounted on to the box and followed suit, and Klipmann, the black bullock, headed on into the stream. The shadowy-looking team could be dimly seen to straighten out; there was a heavy pull at the waggon, and another, and another, before its fore wheels were extricated from the sand in which they were sinking fast, showing the wisdom of at once proceeding; and then,plash!plash! and with the water rushing against them, the party began to cross.“My! how strong the current is,” cried Jack.“Take hold of the waggon, my boy,” said Mr Rogers.But as the water did not come up to his waist, Jack did not mind. And so the heavy load was dragged slowly through the stream.“I say, Jack,” said Dick, suddenly, just as they started, “there are crocodiles in these rivers, ain’t there?”“Oh, murther!” ejaculated Dinny, who had gone into the water very unwillingly, and had wanted to ride, but Mr Rogers had refused to have the waggon loaded any more, preferring himself to walk.Then there was a rush and a splash, that passed unnoticed in the bustle of crossing; and at the end of ten minutes, by the General’s guidance the team was led to a gentle slope, which they easily mounted, and dragged the dripping waggon forth on to a level grassy plain.The horses had followed, to stand about snorting and stamping, fresh and bright with their bathe; and it was now determined, dark as it was, to trek on for a couple of miles to a rich grassy spot that the General said was ahead, and would be a good place for outspanning and camp, when a dismal yell was heard from the farther shore.“What’s that?” exclaimed Mr Rogers.But no one answered.“Some one must be in the river,” cried Dick, excitedly. “Where’s Coffee?”“Here Coffee,” cried the Zulu boy, who had quite accepted his name.“Then who is it?” said Jack, looking round in the darkness. “Here’s Chicory.”“Why, it’s Dinny,” cried Dick. “Ahoy! Dinny!”“Ahoy! Help now, Masther Dick, sor,” came from some distance off.“The poor fellow is being swept down the river,” exclaimed Mr Rogers, leaping on the bay to ford or swim down to the drowning man. “Dinny! Shout, man! Where are you?” he cried.“Sure, I’m here. How’ll I get over at all?” came back.“What! Are you ashore?” cried Mr Rogers.“Yis, sor.”“Then wade across, man. It isn’t deep.”“Sure, sor, and I daren’t.”“Dare not!” cried Jack. “Why we did.”“Yis, sor; but a great baste of a thing laid howlt o’ me, and I had to go back.”“Are there any crocodiles here?” said Mr Rogers, to the Zulu.“No, boss; no crocodile. All in Limpopo river.”“I thought so. Here, Dinny.”“Yis, sor.”“Come across directly, man! There’s nothing to be afraid of!”“Sure, sor, I’m not afraid a bit!” yelled Dinny.“Then come over.”“If I did, sor, the crockydiles would be aiting me, and thin what would you do?”“Let me fetch him, father,” cried Jack. “I’ll wade over.”“No, let me,” said Dick. “I’m not afraid.”“I don’t think a second wetting will do either of you any good,” replied their father. “Here, Dick, take the bay and go across, and make the stupid fellow hold on by your stirrup-leather. Take care to go straight.”“Help. What’ll I do now? Are ye going to lave me?” cried Dinny, in piteous tones.“He really deserves to be left,” said Mr Rogers. “We shall have to cure him of this cowardice. Go on, Dick.”Dick leaped into the saddle, touched the willing bay’s sides, and the horse began to ford the rapid stream, hesitating just a trifle as they reached the middle, where the current pressed most hardly against his flanks; but keeping steadily on till he was safe across.“Ah, Masther Dick, dear!” whined Dinny. “An’ it’s you, thin?”“Yes, it’s me, my brave Irish boy!” said Dick.“An’ ye didn’t bring another of the horses for me, sor?”“No, Dinny, I didn’t,” replied Dick, smiling at the other’s cowardice. “My father said you were to hold on by the stirrup-leather.”“What, and walk acrost?”“To be sure.”“Saints alive! I daren’t do it, Masther Dick, dear. Sure the bottom of the say—I mane the river—there’s paved wid crockydiles; an’ every step I took I could feel them heaving up under me.”“What, as you were going across, Dinny?”“Yis, sor. Not as I minded as long as they kep’ quiet; but whin one hungry baste laid howlt toight o’ me trousers, and scratched me leg wid his ugly teeth, I felt that it was time to be off back, and I jist escaped.”“Hoi, there, Dick! Look sharp!”“Coming!” roared Dick. “Now then, Dinny. There are no crocodivils here.”“Hark at him now!” cried Dinny. “Why the river swarms wid ’em. Did they ate the black boys?”“No, of course not. What nonsense! Come, catch hold, and let’s go.”“Masther Dick, dear, I’ve a mother at home in the owld country, and if anything was to happen to me, she’d never forgive the masther.”“Catch hold, Dinny. I tell you there’s nothing to fear.”“Sure, Masther Dick, dear, an’ I’m not afraid—not the laste bit in the worrld; but I couldn’t go across there to-night. Wouldn’t ye fetch one of the horses, Masther Dick?”“No,” cried Dick impatiently. “I couldn’t do that. Here, I’ll get down and wade, and you can ride.”“Thank ye, Masther Dick, dear. Sure, it’s an honourable gintleman ye’ll make, if ye don’t let the crockydivils get ye before your time. That’s betther,” he said, mounting. “Howlt on very tight to the horse’s mane, Masther Dick; and if ye feel one of the bastes feeling and poking ye about wid his nose before getting a good grip, jist you call out, and I’ll put on the speed to drag ye away.”“I wouldn’t let my feet dabble in the water, Dinny,” said Dick, wickedly. “The crocodiles snap at hands or feet held over in their track.”“What’ll I do, then?” cried Dinny, in alarm.“I’d put my feet in my pockets, if I were you,” said Dick.“Sure, an’ it’s a boy ye are for a joke, Masther Dick,” cried Dinny grimly. “I’ll howlt me legs up very high. Ah! what are ye shouting about? We’re coming.”“Make haste there, Dick. Is anything wrong?”“No, father!” shouted back Dick. “There, get along with you. Give him his head, Dinny, and he’ll go straight across.”“I’d better make him canter, hadn’t I, Masther Dick, dear?”“Canter? Nonsense! Why, the poor thing has enough to do to keep his feet walking.”“Then it isn’t safe at all crossing the river, Masther Dick, dear. And ah, I daren’t go like this, wid me riding the good honest baste and you walking. What’ll the masther say?”“That you are a terrible coward, Dinny,” replied Dick.“Be aisy, Masther Dick. It isn’t being a coward, it’s thinking av my poor mother, and taking care of meself for the poor owld sowl’s sake. Whisht, Masther Dick, dear, jump up behind and hold on by me, and the baste’ll carry us both over.”“It’s rather hard on the horse, Dinny, but I don’t want to get wet, so here goes. Hold tight.”Dick took a leap, “fly the garter” fashion, and came down astride the bay, but startling it so that it began to rear and plunge.“Aisy, Masther Dick, dear, or I’ll be off. Be quiet, ye baste. What’s the matter wid ye? Quiet, now!”“Is anything the matter there?” came from out of the darkness across the river.“No-o-o-o!” roared Dick, drumming the bay’s ribs with his heels. “Trek! go on, old fellow.”“Oh, take care, Masther Dick, dear, whatever ye do,” whined Dinny.“Oh, I’ll take care,” cried Dick, assuming the lead, and leaning forward so as to get the reins. “There, I’ll guide; you hold him tightly with your knees. Go on, bay.”On went the bay steadily enough; and there was no disposition to waver now, even in the sharpest parts of the stream, for the extra weight upon his back made him firmer. But just as they reached the middle of the river a mischievous idea entered Dick’s head, and suddenly with one foot he made a splash, while with the other he pressed Dinny’s leg against the horse’s side.“Murther! Help!” yelled Dinny. “He’s got me at last!” and throwing himself in the opposite direction, Dick only managed to save himself by nipping the horse. As for Dinny, he went head over heels into the running stream, being borne back, however, by the current against Dick’s legs, when, grasping him by the collar, Dick urged the horse on, Dinny supplementing his young master’s hold by a most tenacious grasp, till the horse’s hoofs began to plash in the shallower water, and poor Dinny was dragged out on to dry land.“Why, what have you been about, Dinny?” cried Mr Rogers angrily. “Why didn’t you come over with us?”“Sure, sor, I’m kilt entoirely,” groaned Dinny, rubbing his leg. “Twice over the savage bastes have had hold of me, and if I hadn’t thrown meself on the other side of the bay horse, it’s this minute they’d be aiting of me up.”“Jump up and come along,” cried Mr Rogers. “It’s my belief, Dinny, that you are a great coward. Here, make haste, the waggon’s nearly a mile ahead.”“Oh, masther, it was a narrow escape,” groaned Dinny, who did not attempt to move.“It will be a narrower one, Dinny, if you stay there, for the Zulu tells me that this is a favourite spot for lions to lie in wait for the bok and zebra that come down to drink.”“Oh, masther dear, why didn’t ye say so before?” cried Dinny, jumping up with alacrity. “Sure I’d be the first to tell a man if he was in danger.”Mr Rogers did not reply, but went on with his son, Dinny keeping very close behind, till they overtook the waggon just as it reached the camping-place, where a fire was soon burning, and the oxen contentedly cropping the ample supply of excellent grass.

It was a wonderful relief, and following the example of the animals, every one waded into the cool stream above the oxen, and drank deeply of the delicious water.

“Oh, I say, father,” cried Jack, “I never thought water was so good before. Thisisa river.”

And really Jack had an idea that he had tumbled upon a stream whose waters were wine-like in their flavour; and but for a few words of warning he would have gone on drinking more deeply still.

“Thank goodness!” cried Mr Rogers, as soon as he could gain his breath. “But what an escape! The waggon nearly went over. Where is that scoundrel of a Zulu? Oh there you are,” he cried excitedly. “How dared you touch the oxen, sir! Your mad folly nearly spoiled our journey.”

The General looked back at Mr Rogers, drawing himself up in savage pride, and his eyes seemed to flash in the darkness; but he did not speak, only turned away with a dignified look of displeasure.

“I know why he did it, father,” cried Dick, excitedly. “Look, don’t you see? The ground slopes down here to the water. Up there it’s all rock, and the team would have gone over a precipice. See, it’s twenty feet deep.”

“Of course! To be sure!” cried Mr Rogers eagerly. “His keen sight showed him the danger. I beg your pardon, my man,” he cried, “I did not know the reason, and ought not to have acted and spoken so rashly.”

He held out his hand to the stern scowling Zulu, as he spoke; but for a moment the savage hot blood that had been roused by his leader’s injustice refused to be tamed down, and he remained with his arms folded; but glancing at Dick’s eager countenance, and recalling how it was due to him that the real truth of his actions was made known, the General let his better feelings prevail, and snatching Mr Rogers’ hand in his, he held it for a moment to his broad breast, and then let it fall.

“Why you saved the waggon,” said Mr Rogers, after walking to the edge of the sudden descent where the rock went down sheer to the water, which bubbled and foamed against its side.

“Yes; all gone over together,” said the General quietly. “Now all go across.”

“But is it wise—is it safe—to attempt to cross to-night?” said Mr Rogers.

“Will see,” replied the General; and going down into the water, he walked straight out past the heads of the oxen, literally disappearing into the darkness as he waded on.

“Isn’t he very brave to do that, father?” asked Jack, who had watched the Zulu go from where they stood by the hind part of the waggon, whose back wheels were on the dry sand.

“Coffee no ’fraid to go,” said that young gentleman.

“Chicory go too after father,” said his brother; and the two boys dashed into the rushing water past the oxen, and then disappeared.

“What madness!” said Mr Rogers. “Why the stream runs swiftly enough for them to be swept away.”

Both Jack and Dick gazed eagerly out over the swift river; but the black figures of the young Zulus seemed to disappear in the darkness, and for some few minutes there was an excited pang while they listened to the bubbling of the water against the fore wheels of the waggon, or the plashing made by the oxen as they lazily moved their legs, apparently enjoying the pleasant coolness of the water after their toilsome march.

“I ought not to have allowed them to go,” said Mr Rogers suddenly. “Here, Dinny, bring me the bay. I’ll mount, and try and ride over to their help.”

“Bring the what, sor?” said Dinny.

“The bay,” cried Mr Rogers. “Quick, man! quick!”

“An’ how’ll I be getting at him, sor?” said Dinny. “Sure he’s standing out there in the wather catching cowld, and I couldn’t reach him widout getting very wet.”

“Why you did wade in to drink,” cried Jack, indignantly.

And with a rush and a splash he ran into the water, to where he could dimly make out the form of the big bay; and catching it by the halter, he drew it after him, the rest of the thirst-quenched horses comingplash!plash! out of the water, and following the bay like so many sheep.

Mr Rogers was about to mount, when the General’s voice was heard hailing Peter and Dirk; and directly after their hearts were set at rest about Coffee and Chicory, who could be heard laughing in the darkness.

“All shallow water,” cried the General. “Trek, Peter; trek, Dirk. Good place all across.”

Mr Rogers hesitated as to the advisability of crossing in the darkness; but the oxen were already in, the waggon was also nearly in the river, and if allowed to stay for a few hours it would probably sink deeply in the sand. So, leaving his men to pursue their own course, he also waded in, while Dirk cracked his whip, Peter mounted on to the box and followed suit, and Klipmann, the black bullock, headed on into the stream. The shadowy-looking team could be dimly seen to straighten out; there was a heavy pull at the waggon, and another, and another, before its fore wheels were extricated from the sand in which they were sinking fast, showing the wisdom of at once proceeding; and then,plash!plash! and with the water rushing against them, the party began to cross.

“My! how strong the current is,” cried Jack.

“Take hold of the waggon, my boy,” said Mr Rogers.

But as the water did not come up to his waist, Jack did not mind. And so the heavy load was dragged slowly through the stream.

“I say, Jack,” said Dick, suddenly, just as they started, “there are crocodiles in these rivers, ain’t there?”

“Oh, murther!” ejaculated Dinny, who had gone into the water very unwillingly, and had wanted to ride, but Mr Rogers had refused to have the waggon loaded any more, preferring himself to walk.

Then there was a rush and a splash, that passed unnoticed in the bustle of crossing; and at the end of ten minutes, by the General’s guidance the team was led to a gentle slope, which they easily mounted, and dragged the dripping waggon forth on to a level grassy plain.

The horses had followed, to stand about snorting and stamping, fresh and bright with their bathe; and it was now determined, dark as it was, to trek on for a couple of miles to a rich grassy spot that the General said was ahead, and would be a good place for outspanning and camp, when a dismal yell was heard from the farther shore.

“What’s that?” exclaimed Mr Rogers.

But no one answered.

“Some one must be in the river,” cried Dick, excitedly. “Where’s Coffee?”

“Here Coffee,” cried the Zulu boy, who had quite accepted his name.

“Then who is it?” said Jack, looking round in the darkness. “Here’s Chicory.”

“Why, it’s Dinny,” cried Dick. “Ahoy! Dinny!”

“Ahoy! Help now, Masther Dick, sor,” came from some distance off.

“The poor fellow is being swept down the river,” exclaimed Mr Rogers, leaping on the bay to ford or swim down to the drowning man. “Dinny! Shout, man! Where are you?” he cried.

“Sure, I’m here. How’ll I get over at all?” came back.

“What! Are you ashore?” cried Mr Rogers.

“Yis, sor.”

“Then wade across, man. It isn’t deep.”

“Sure, sor, and I daren’t.”

“Dare not!” cried Jack. “Why we did.”

“Yis, sor; but a great baste of a thing laid howlt o’ me, and I had to go back.”

“Are there any crocodiles here?” said Mr Rogers, to the Zulu.

“No, boss; no crocodile. All in Limpopo river.”

“I thought so. Here, Dinny.”

“Yis, sor.”

“Come across directly, man! There’s nothing to be afraid of!”

“Sure, sor, I’m not afraid a bit!” yelled Dinny.

“Then come over.”

“If I did, sor, the crockydiles would be aiting me, and thin what would you do?”

“Let me fetch him, father,” cried Jack. “I’ll wade over.”

“No, let me,” said Dick. “I’m not afraid.”

“I don’t think a second wetting will do either of you any good,” replied their father. “Here, Dick, take the bay and go across, and make the stupid fellow hold on by your stirrup-leather. Take care to go straight.”

“Help. What’ll I do now? Are ye going to lave me?” cried Dinny, in piteous tones.

“He really deserves to be left,” said Mr Rogers. “We shall have to cure him of this cowardice. Go on, Dick.”

Dick leaped into the saddle, touched the willing bay’s sides, and the horse began to ford the rapid stream, hesitating just a trifle as they reached the middle, where the current pressed most hardly against his flanks; but keeping steadily on till he was safe across.

“Ah, Masther Dick, dear!” whined Dinny. “An’ it’s you, thin?”

“Yes, it’s me, my brave Irish boy!” said Dick.

“An’ ye didn’t bring another of the horses for me, sor?”

“No, Dinny, I didn’t,” replied Dick, smiling at the other’s cowardice. “My father said you were to hold on by the stirrup-leather.”

“What, and walk acrost?”

“To be sure.”

“Saints alive! I daren’t do it, Masther Dick, dear. Sure the bottom of the say—I mane the river—there’s paved wid crockydiles; an’ every step I took I could feel them heaving up under me.”

“What, as you were going across, Dinny?”

“Yis, sor. Not as I minded as long as they kep’ quiet; but whin one hungry baste laid howlt toight o’ me trousers, and scratched me leg wid his ugly teeth, I felt that it was time to be off back, and I jist escaped.”

“Hoi, there, Dick! Look sharp!”

“Coming!” roared Dick. “Now then, Dinny. There are no crocodivils here.”

“Hark at him now!” cried Dinny. “Why the river swarms wid ’em. Did they ate the black boys?”

“No, of course not. What nonsense! Come, catch hold, and let’s go.”

“Masther Dick, dear, I’ve a mother at home in the owld country, and if anything was to happen to me, she’d never forgive the masther.”

“Catch hold, Dinny. I tell you there’s nothing to fear.”

“Sure, Masther Dick, dear, an’ I’m not afraid—not the laste bit in the worrld; but I couldn’t go across there to-night. Wouldn’t ye fetch one of the horses, Masther Dick?”

“No,” cried Dick impatiently. “I couldn’t do that. Here, I’ll get down and wade, and you can ride.”

“Thank ye, Masther Dick, dear. Sure, it’s an honourable gintleman ye’ll make, if ye don’t let the crockydivils get ye before your time. That’s betther,” he said, mounting. “Howlt on very tight to the horse’s mane, Masther Dick; and if ye feel one of the bastes feeling and poking ye about wid his nose before getting a good grip, jist you call out, and I’ll put on the speed to drag ye away.”

“I wouldn’t let my feet dabble in the water, Dinny,” said Dick, wickedly. “The crocodiles snap at hands or feet held over in their track.”

“What’ll I do, then?” cried Dinny, in alarm.

“I’d put my feet in my pockets, if I were you,” said Dick.

“Sure, an’ it’s a boy ye are for a joke, Masther Dick,” cried Dinny grimly. “I’ll howlt me legs up very high. Ah! what are ye shouting about? We’re coming.”

“Make haste there, Dick. Is anything wrong?”

“No, father!” shouted back Dick. “There, get along with you. Give him his head, Dinny, and he’ll go straight across.”

“I’d better make him canter, hadn’t I, Masther Dick, dear?”

“Canter? Nonsense! Why, the poor thing has enough to do to keep his feet walking.”

“Then it isn’t safe at all crossing the river, Masther Dick, dear. And ah, I daren’t go like this, wid me riding the good honest baste and you walking. What’ll the masther say?”

“That you are a terrible coward, Dinny,” replied Dick.

“Be aisy, Masther Dick. It isn’t being a coward, it’s thinking av my poor mother, and taking care of meself for the poor owld sowl’s sake. Whisht, Masther Dick, dear, jump up behind and hold on by me, and the baste’ll carry us both over.”

“It’s rather hard on the horse, Dinny, but I don’t want to get wet, so here goes. Hold tight.”

Dick took a leap, “fly the garter” fashion, and came down astride the bay, but startling it so that it began to rear and plunge.

“Aisy, Masther Dick, dear, or I’ll be off. Be quiet, ye baste. What’s the matter wid ye? Quiet, now!”

“Is anything the matter there?” came from out of the darkness across the river.

“No-o-o-o!” roared Dick, drumming the bay’s ribs with his heels. “Trek! go on, old fellow.”

“Oh, take care, Masther Dick, dear, whatever ye do,” whined Dinny.

“Oh, I’ll take care,” cried Dick, assuming the lead, and leaning forward so as to get the reins. “There, I’ll guide; you hold him tightly with your knees. Go on, bay.”

On went the bay steadily enough; and there was no disposition to waver now, even in the sharpest parts of the stream, for the extra weight upon his back made him firmer. But just as they reached the middle of the river a mischievous idea entered Dick’s head, and suddenly with one foot he made a splash, while with the other he pressed Dinny’s leg against the horse’s side.

“Murther! Help!” yelled Dinny. “He’s got me at last!” and throwing himself in the opposite direction, Dick only managed to save himself by nipping the horse. As for Dinny, he went head over heels into the running stream, being borne back, however, by the current against Dick’s legs, when, grasping him by the collar, Dick urged the horse on, Dinny supplementing his young master’s hold by a most tenacious grasp, till the horse’s hoofs began to plash in the shallower water, and poor Dinny was dragged out on to dry land.

“Why, what have you been about, Dinny?” cried Mr Rogers angrily. “Why didn’t you come over with us?”

“Sure, sor, I’m kilt entoirely,” groaned Dinny, rubbing his leg. “Twice over the savage bastes have had hold of me, and if I hadn’t thrown meself on the other side of the bay horse, it’s this minute they’d be aiting of me up.”

“Jump up and come along,” cried Mr Rogers. “It’s my belief, Dinny, that you are a great coward. Here, make haste, the waggon’s nearly a mile ahead.”

“Oh, masther, it was a narrow escape,” groaned Dinny, who did not attempt to move.

“It will be a narrower one, Dinny, if you stay there, for the Zulu tells me that this is a favourite spot for lions to lie in wait for the bok and zebra that come down to drink.”

“Oh, masther dear, why didn’t ye say so before?” cried Dinny, jumping up with alacrity. “Sure I’d be the first to tell a man if he was in danger.”

Mr Rogers did not reply, but went on with his son, Dinny keeping very close behind, till they overtook the waggon just as it reached the camping-place, where a fire was soon burning, and the oxen contentedly cropping the ample supply of excellent grass.

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