McCann climbed into the wagon and began rummaging about in the hanging pockets.
The first contained towels, soap, a brush and comb, and other toilet articles; but they were not the things McCann wanted to find. Neither did he take two looks at the writing materials in the second, or the old newspapers in the third; but when he came to the fourth he uttered an exclamation, indicative of the greatest satisfaction.
Plunging his hand into it, he drew out a large brown envelope, which he had seen so often that he recognized it at once as the article he was in search of.
He opened it and took out a folded paper, on which was traced, in inks of different colors, a neat and comprehensive map of the country beyond Zurnst.
The red line showed the route Mr. Lawrence had pursued when he was on his last hunting expedition, the blue pointed out the position of the mountains on each side of the track, and the black dots indicated where the best water and camping grounds were to be found.
"This thing has stood in my way longenough," said McCann as he replaced the map and deliberately tore it and the envelope into four pieces. "If he hadn't had this in his possession I could have lost him on the plain and made him turn back before he had left Zurnst a week's journey behind him; but every time I tried to draw him out of his course this map always set him right. He'll not consult it any more, I bet you! He'll miss it, of course, but he'll think he lost it somewhere along the route. I shall see home again in less than two months, and then Mr. Preston will fork over the balance of my twenty-five pounds, or I'll have him up before a magistrate."
Talking in this way to himself, McCann got out of the wagon, and walking up to the nearest fire threw the map into the flames; and then, without waiting to see what became of it, he took possession of his employer's chair and proceeded to eat a hearty breakfast.
It might have interested him somewhat to know that, of the four pieces into which he had torn the map, only three were consumed, the other being caught by the wind just as itwas about to drop into the coals, and carried out into the grove.
It remained there a day or so, moving about from point to point under the influence of every little breeze that struck it, and finally it was blown out upon the plain, from which it returned most unexpectedly to confront McCann with proofs of his guilt.
When Oscar reached the fountain he was surprised to find no traces of the terrible conflict that had taken place there the night before. He knew it was no uncommon thing for a fight like that to terminate only with the death of one of the combatants, and he could not understand how two animals, as strong and active as lions were, could struggle so long and desperately without leaving at least a few drops of blood behind them to testify to the severity of the contest in which they had been engaged. But Oscar could discover none, and in fact he could see nothing to indicate that there had been any game about the fountain during the night, for the hoofs of the horses and oxen had obliterated all the tracks.
The hounds, however, knew that some of thefleet-footed antelopes they had so often followed had been there, for their noses told them so, and, well trained as they were, it was all the stout Kaffir could do to control them.
Having looked about the fountain to his satisfaction, Oscar told the Kaffir to go ahead, and the latter, still holding the hounds in the leash, at once set off in the direction in which the wounded buffalo had disappeared.
There was no spoor to follow at this point that Oscar could see, for the plain was literally covered with hoof-prints, and it did not seem possible that the most expert trailer could distinguish the prints of the buffalo's feet from among so many. But the Kaffir, who seemed to know just what he was about, was never once at fault. He led the way at a rapid pace, passing around the outskirts of several little groves of mimosa trees and thickets of thorn bushes, at which Oscar looked suspiciously, telling himself the while what splendid hiding-places they would make for any angry buffalo or hungry beast of prey which might feel inclined to dispute their further advance, and after he had gone aboutthree miles he suddenly stopped his horse and pointed silently before him.
Oscar looked and saw something lying on the ground a short distance away. He rode up to it, and found that it was the carcass of the buffalo. The head, crowned with the formidable-looking horns, but stripped bare of flesh, some of the larger bones, and a few tufts of hair were all that were left of the terrible beast that had come so near ending his career as a hunter.
The Kaffir dismounted to secure the heads of his spears, which had been broken from the shafts, while the hounds, detecting the recent presence of the fierce carnivora that had feasted there, raised the bristles on the back of their necks and showed their white teeth in the most savage manner.
"Well, Thompson, those little spears of yours did some damage, after all, didn't they?" said Oscar. "Our buffalo fell when he reached this spot, and the lions made a meal of him. I was in hopes they would leave the head alone. It wouldn't have looked bad over one of the doors of themuseum if it were well set up. I don't suppose there is any such thing—— Hallo!"
Oscar threw the sling of his double-barrel over his arm, allowing the weapon to drop down by the side of his horse, and hastily drawing his field-glass from its case, brought it to bear upon a distant object that had attracted his attention.
On the summit of a rocky hill, quite a mile and a half away, was something that might have been taken by an inexperienced hunter for a stump or a clump of bushes, but to Oscar's eyes it looked like an animal. It was an animal, too; and just as Oscar raised his glass to his eyes it moved, presenting its broadside, and giving him a fair view of it.
The young hunter had never seen anything like it before, but he knew in a moment what it was. The long, twisted horns, the thin, spare mane on the neck, the long hair on the chin, throat, and breast, the narrow bands of white descending from the back and passing obliquely down the sides and over the hips, all of which could be plainly seen by the aid of the powerful field-glass, told Oscar that the animalwas a koodoo—one of the largest, bravest, and most pugnacious antelopes in Africa.
The position he occupied, and the attitude he assumed, standing, as he did, on the top of the highest hill he could find, with his head turned toward the hunters, whose presence he had already detected, proved that he was a sentinel. Beyond a doubt there were others of the same species feeding on the other side of the hill, and this old fellow was keeping watch over them. When Oscar lowered his glass the Kaffir grinned and nodded his head, at the same time pointing toward the sentinel with one hand, while with the other he raised his rifle as if he were about to shoot at him.
"That is just what I want to do," said Oscar, who readily caught the meaning of this pantomime. "Lead on and show me how to do it. I know I've got to creep up on him, and I want to get as close to him as I can before I begin."
In obedience to this command the native mounted his horse and rode away, still holding fast to the hounds, which trotted along by his side. He did not go toward the antelope, but moved off in another direction, holding his wayover the treeless plain, upon which the sun was now beating down with the most intense fury. The sentinel koodoo was evidently very much interested in their movements, for Oscar could see that he kept close watch over them.
Oscar knew that he had undertaken something that would test his skill as a hunter to the utmost. There is not an animal that roams the African plains that is harder to bring to bag than the koodoo. It makes little difference to him whether he fights or runs. He does one about as well as he does the other, and it is not an easy task to beat him at either.
When pursued on horseback he will make for the rockiest and most uneven ground he knows of, and it is seldom that he allows the hunter to be brought within fair shooting distance of him. If hard pressed he will dive into a thicket of thorn bushes where a horseman cannot follow him, and if brought to bay by the dogs he will kill them as fast as they come to him, should they chance to be scattered in the chase so that they cannot all attack him at once.
His immense strength (he stands more thanfour feet in height at the shoulders, and is heavily built), his great courage and determination, his sharp horns, which he uses with as much skill as a fencing-master exhibits in handling his foils, make him the most formidable of the antelope tribe. The most successful as well as the most sportsmanlike way of hunting them is by stalking; and in this way Oscar hoped to be able to secure that sentinel koodoo.
Big Thompson led his employer straight ahead until they had placed a range of high hills between themselves and the koodoo, under cover of which he hoped to bring Oscar within short stalking distance of the game. Having marked well the hill on which the sentinel had been seen, he kept on until he thought he had reached a point opposite to it, and then he reined in his horse and looked at the boy. Oscar, who understood what he meant, handed him his reins and dismounted.
"Now, Thompson," said he, "keep your ears open, and when you hear me shoot, turn the dogs loose and come on at your best pace."
A short run over a rocky piece of ground brought Oscar to the foot of one of the hills that composed the range of which we have spoken. There he stopped to take note of the direction of the wind, and to put to practical use one of the hunters' devices of which he had heard while he was on the plains.
He pulled up several handfuls of weeds and grass, and tied them around the crown of his hat in such a way that, when placed on the ground and viewed at the distance of fifteen or twenty steps, his head-piece looked like a luxuriant tuft of herbage that had been stepped on by something or somebody.
"I don't think that sentinel will suspect anything when he sees that," thought Oscar as he placed the hat on his head, picked up his rifle, and made his way toward the top of the hill on his hands and knees. "If it will work in America with so shy an animal as the pronghorn, as I have been assured it will, I do not see why it will not be equally successful here in Africa with a koodoo."
When Oscar reached the top of the hill he found that he was not mistaken in the opinionhe had formed when he first caught sight of the sentinel buck. The old fellow still kept his position and stood gazing steadily in the direction in which he had seen Oscar and his after-rider disappear, and near the base of the hill that served him for a lookout station were the rest of the herd—a dozen of them in all—feeding in perfect security, knowing that their sharp-eyed and keen-scented guard would give them due notice of the approach of danger. Oscar could see them all without the aid of his field-glass, although they were fully half a mile away.
If the ground had been level the bare thought of stalking the koodoo under that broiling sun would have been enough to discourage Oscar; but fortunately it was cut up into deep gullies and ravines and covered with hummocks and boulders, which afforded him every opportunity for concealment. He was to leeward of the herd, too, and that was another thing that was in his favor.
"I wouldn't take fifty dollars for my chance of bagging that buck," thought Oscar as he crawled slowly through the grass, keeping hiseyes fastened upon the sentinel. "He is looking the wrong way."
Before this thought had fairly been formed in the young hunter's mind the buck faced about and turned his head in Oscar's direction. He seemed to be looking straight at the young hunter, and to suspect something also, for now and then he raised one of his fore feet and stamped it spitefully on the ground.
No one but the most enthusiastic hunter would be willing to pass through what Oscar did that day just for the sake of procuring a rare specimen of natural history. He was half an hour in getting over the brow of the first hill, and three hours more in coming within fair shooting distance of the koodoos.
For thirty long minutes he lay there in the broiling sun, scarcely daring to move a muscle, for the buck, whose suspicions had been aroused by the sudden disappearance of the hunters, was constantly moving about in a circle, as if he wanted to keep his head turned toward all points of the compass at once.
Oscar began to grow thirsty and dizzy. His rifle-barrel felt as though it had just come out of the fire, and his hands began to burn as if they were blistered.
Stalking game in Africa was very differentfrom stalking game in the foot-hills when the snow was a foot deep on the ground, and more than once Oscar was on the point of giving up in despair; but knowing that one cannot be a successful hunter until he has learned to wait, and to wait patiently, and that if he ever succeeded in shooting a koodoo it would be by going through an ordeal just like the present, he endured the broiling with as much fortitude as he could; and when at last the sentinel turned his head away from him, and kept it turned away for a moment longer than usual, he wormed his way rapidly over the hill and threw himself, panting and almost exhausted, under the shade of a friendly boulder.
"My goodness!" exclaimed Oscar, pulling off his hat and fanning his flushed face vigorously; "this is more than I bargained for. My brains, if I have any, were never intended to stand such a baking. I'd give something now for a good drink from the brook that ran through the valley in which Big Thompson and I camped while we were among the foot-hills."
Oscar lay under the shade of the boulder for a quarter of an hour, and then, fearing that the koodoos might wander away out of sight, or become alarmed at something and run off, he picked up his rifle—which seemed to have increased wonderfully in weight since he first shouldered it that morning—and continued his weary stalk.
When he reached the top of the next hill he found the sentinel as alert and uneasy as ever, but his erratic movements did not embarrass Oscar now as they did a little while before, for he managed to place a big rock between himself and the buck, and under cover of it he made more rapid progress.
Still the sun was hot and the stalking difficult, and when, at last, the young hunter arrived within easy range of the game and laid his rifle carefully over the top of the boulder behind which he had crept for concealment, he was so nearly overcome with heat and weariness that he trembled all over, and it was a long time before he could hold his heavy weapon steady.
"I'll make sure work of you, my vigilantfriend," said Oscar to himself as he cocked both barrels of his rifle and drew a fine sight on the sentinel's shoulder. "If I can have the satisfaction of setting you up I shall be in some measure repaid for this day's experience, which is about the toughest I have had yet."
The rifle cracked, the bullet flew true to its aim, and the sentinel koodoo fell dead in his tracks. Without waiting to see the effect of his shot—for he was sure he had made a good one—Oscar turned his rifle toward the other members of the herd, which had huddled together just as our prong-horns do when they become alarmed and cannot make up their minds where to look for the danger that threatens them. Taking a quick aim at the largest buck, he fired his second barrel at it, and made another good shot—at least he thought so at first, for when the smoke cleared away he saw the buck struggling on the ground.
A minute later, however, he succeeded in regaining his feet and ran after the rest of the herd, which were stepping out at their bestpace for the nearest grove, clearing all the obstacles that lay in their path with the most surprising agility. Having put fresh cartridges into his rifle, Oscar lay down under the boulder to await the coming of Big Thompson with the dogs. Impatient as he was to make a close examination of his prize, he could not go to him just then.
The excitement of the hunt being over, he became sensible of the fact that he had done a good deal of hard work, and that he was very tired and tormented with a raging thirst. Having always been so situated that he could seek the shelter of his tent during the heat of the day, he had never before realized how intensely hot the afternoon sun was at meridian. Even the artificial breeze he raised with his hat, which he had stripped of its covering of weeds and grass, did not afford him any relief, for it felt like the blast of a furnace.
When the hounds came up Oscar led them across the intervening gully and put them upon the trail of the koodoos. They took up the scent at once, and followed it at a rate of speed that seemed to argue well for theultimate capture of the wounded member of the herd. In a few minutes they were out of sight in the grove, and just then Big Thompson galloped up, leading Oscar's horse.
"I've got one of them, sure; there he is, and I want you to take him in front of you on your horse, and go with me in pursuit of the one I have wounded," said Oscar as he sprang upon Little Gray's back. "I must have both of them, for I am resolved that I'll never again hunt koodoos, or anything else, in the middle of the day."
Although Oscar had often read about koodoos and heard them described more times than he could remember, he was by no means prepared to see what he did see when he rode up to his prize. The buck looked more like a small ox than an antelope, and Oscar saw at a glance that his work was not yet finished. It was plain that the Kaffir's horse could not carry him, even if they had muscle enough between them to put him on the animal's back.
"I must either skin him right here, in this hot sun, or else set my wits at work and thinkup some way to get him to the wagon without dragging him on the ground," said Oscar in deep perplexity. "Thompson, you stay here and keep the vultures off, and I will go and see what has become of the other one. When I come back I shall have to go to camp."
So saying, Oscar put Little Gray to the top of his speed and rode toward the grove, in which both koodoos and hounds had disappeared but a few minutes before. As he drew near to it he became aware that there was something going on in there. He heard the bleating of the koodoos, mingled with a chorus of barks, growls, and whines, the like of which he had never heard two dogs utter before. If his whole pack had been in there baying the koodoos they could not have created a greater uproar.
"They've got him!" said Oscar gleefully as he threw himself from his horse and pulled the reins over his head, so that the animal would step on them and check himself if he attempted to stray away during his master's absence. "If I don't make haste they'll tear him all to pieces. What was that? I declare,he has given one of them a prod with his horns!"
Just then a piercing howl of pain came from the gloomy depths of the grove, bearing testimony to the fact that one of the hounds had been severely wounded. With it came other sounds that ought to have made Oscar very cautious, but in his excitement he did not hear them. The only thought in his mind was that there was a desperate fight going on in the thorn bushes, a short distance away, between the wounded antelope and the hounds, and that, if he did not put in an appearance and bring it to a speedy close, the koodoo would kill both his dogs, or else the dogs would kill the koodoo and tear his skin, so that one of his prizes, for which he had worked so hard, would be useless as a specimen.
Holding his rifle in one hand and parting the bushes before his face with the other, Oscar worked his way into the grove, making as little noise as possible, for fear that the koodoo would make off if he became aware that the dogs he was so gallantly fighting wereabout to receive assistance. Louder grew the noise of the conflict as the young hunter drew nearer to the combatants, and now he noticed that he could hear the baying of but one dog, and that the koodoo, having ceased his bleating, was giving utterance to very strange sounds. They resembled——
"Great Scott!" ejaculated Oscar.
For a moment his heart stood still and his hand trembled, like a leaf shaken by the wind. Just then he reached the edge of the thicket, and saw, in a little open space before him, the battle-ground and all the animals that had taken part in the struggle.
There were seven of them—three that would never do battle again, and four that were still alive and full of fight. The dead ones were Rover, who was so badly torn that he might have been taken for almost anything except a Scotch deer-hound, the koodoo, and an immense spotted hyena, which was impaled upon its powerful horns. In falling the buck had pinned his antagonist to the ground in such a way that he could not release himself, and the two had died there together.
The survivors of the fight were three other hyenas, which were ravenously devouring the antelope, and Ralph, who, unharmed and angry, bounded lightly about them, nimbly eluding the savage dashes they made at him, and protesting with all his might against such a desecration of his master's property. It was a most unexpected sight, and Oscar was so surprised and startled by it that, for a moment, he did not know whether to stand his ground or take to his heels.
"I am afraid I shall never win much of a reputation as an African hunter," was the first thought that passed through Oscar Preston's mind after he had recovered from his astonishment and alarm. "The longer I stay here the less I seem to know about things. I heard those hyenas laughing very plainly—as plainly as I did last night, when they found poor Major's body—and yet I was foolish enough to think that the noise was made by the koodoo."
The bushes were so thick and Oscar's approach had been accompanied by so little noise that the hyenas had neither seen nor heard him. They did not see or hear him now as he cocked both barrels of his rifle and raised it to his shoulder, for each one of them was too fully engrossed with a desire to obtain his full share of the antelope and to keep offthe hound, which showed a disposition to bite any hind leg that was for a moment exposed to his attacks.
Covering the head of the largest hyena with the sight, Oscar sent a bullet crashing through his brain, whereupon the others incontinently took to their heels, and were out of sight before the young hunter could get a chance to put in the second barrel.
Have you ever noticed how great a commotion so small an animal as a squirrel can make among the dead leaves when he has been brought down from his lofty perch by a bullet through the head? If so you can have a very faint idea of the rumpus that hyena kicked up in that thicket of thorn bushes. He was all over the ground in two seconds' time, and the way he threw the dirt, leaves, and twigs about made Oscar wonder. His head hung down as though he had lost all control over it, but his legs seemed to retain all their strength, and when he landed fairly on his feet, as he did two or three times during his convulsive struggles, he bounded into the air as if he were made of india-rubber.
After trying in vain to call off the hound, which ran about, watching for an opportunity to lay hold of the wounded animal, Oscar sent the contents of his second barrel into his body, and that ended the matter. Having reloaded his rifle, the young hunter stepped out of his place of concealment to take a nearer view of the battle-field. The koodoo was worthless as a specimen, but the head was uninjured, and that Oscar resolved should be preserved and taken to Yarmouth with him. It would afford him great pleasure, he thought, to call the attention of those who visited the museum to the long spiral horns, and then to show them the savage beast which the buck that once carried those horns had killed while battling for his life.
The hyenas had doubtless attacked the antelope when he first entered the grove; and when the hounds came up and interfered with them the fierce animals resented their impertinence by killing the first one that came within reach of their claws.
Oscar had become very much attached to his hounds and he felt Rover's loss verykeenly. Although he had never had much opportunity to hunt with them, he had placed great confidence in them, on the strength of Mr. Lawrence's recommendation, and now he felt as if he had lost one of his main props.
He had often thought that when he went back to Eaton, after setting up in the museum all the specimens he had shot in Africa, and settled down under his own vine and fig tree to take a well-earned rest after his arduous labors, it would be very pleasant to have some of the four-footed friends who had shared his perils by his side to enjoy that rest with him. But Major and Rover were dead, and there was only one decent member of his party left. That was Ralph, and his turn might come any day.
Oscar had straightened out the hyena he had shot and took a good look at him. He was the oddest-looking beast the boy ever saw, and he told himself that for once Nature had made a mistake, and joined together a part of two different animals. The shoulders were high and strong, the fore legs long and massive, and the hind legs were small and weak bycomparison; but that they were fully capable of doing their share of work was shown by the manner in which they had assisted those heavy shoulders to bound into the air when Oscar's bullet was sped on its deadly errand.
Having examined his prizes, Oscar called his dog to heel, hurried back to the horse, and rode at full speed toward the place where he had left his after-rider. It is one thing to shoot game in Africa, and another thing to save it after it is shot, and Oscar knew that he must act promptly if he wished to secure the fruits of his day's toil.
"Ralph," said he, when he reined in his horse by the side of the one on which the Kaffir was mounted, "lie down there and watch that buck. Thompson, come with me."
Ralph would have been willing to obey this command if Rover had been there to keep him company; but he did not want to stay there by himself, and when Oscar and Big Thompson rode away he went after them.
Of course that would never do. There must be a guard of some kind left with the buck, or the vultures, which were nowcircling around the hill and settling on the trees in the nearest grove, would gather to the feast before the hunters were two hundred yards away, and by the time they returned there would be another fine specimen ruined. After thinking a moment Oscar dismounted, and making one end of a hitching strap fast around the hound's neck, tied the other to one of the buck's horns.
"There!" said he as he galloped away with his after-rider. "The koodoo is safe from the vultures; but whether or not the hound is entirely safe I don't know. There's no telling how many fierce animals there may be hidden away in that grove, watching our movements. Hurry up, Thompson! We've lots of work to do, and it will be dark before we reach the wagon."
Oscar's next care was to make sure of the trophies he had left in the grove, and that could only be done by carrying them through the thorn bushes and transporting them on the backs of the horses to the top of the hill on which the sentinel buck was lying. It was absolutely necessary that the game should allbe gathered together in one place, so that the Kaffir could keep watch over it while his employer went back to camp, for if any portion of it were left alone for a quarter of an hour, Oscar might not be able to find it again when he wanted it. The thorn bushes in the grove were thick, the koodoo's head and the hyenas were heavy, the horses restive and very much opposed to carrying their burdens after they had been placed on their backs—in short, Oscar and his man were hindered in their operations in so many different ways that it was fully two hours before their spoils had been transferred from the grove to the top of the hill.
During all this time Ralph had kept up such a constant howling that it was a wonder he had not brought an enemy of some sort to him. He was glad to be released, and ran gayly in advance of his master, who galloped off toward the wagon, taking the after-rider's horse with him.
He had no difficulty in finding his way, for when he came out in the morning he had not neglected to face about in his saddle and lookbehind him occasionally, and in this way he had made himself acquainted with all the principal landmarks. Oscar did not stop to give his horses water at the fountain, although they were sadly in need of it (so was he, for the matter of that), but rode at once to the wagon, and found McCann and his Hottentots engaged in earnest conversation. He would have thought nothing of it had it not been for the manner in which they acted when they saw him coming. They separated immediately, walking off in different directions, and that was enough to arouse Oscar's suspicions.
"They are hatching up some mischief," said the young hunter to himself; "and that cowardly McCann is at the bottom of it, whatever it may be, I'll be bound. I wish I had never seen that fellow, for he isn't worth the salt he eats on his meat. Here, Mack!" he shouted. "Put the saddles on the other horses, and take these down to the fountain. Bring back a bucket of water when you come. Ferguson, go out and drive in Hautzman; and, Johnson, you lend a hand here—I want you for the rest of the day."
Oscar seized an axe and hurried into the grove, followed by his fore-loper. Selecting a couple of saplings about fifteen feet in height, he ordered the Hottentot to cut them down and drag them to the fire, after stripping off their branches; and having set all his men at work, he hastened back to the wagon, and began rummaging about for something to eat.
How often, while he was thus engaged, did he think of his mother's clean, cool pantry! He had made it a point to visit that pantry regularly every night when he came from school, tired and hungry, and he was sure to find there a bowl of milk that had just been brought from the spring-house, and a generous slice of brown bread and butter beside it.
But there were no such luxuries to be had here. He found a little cold meat and about half a pint of tea that McCann had left in the pot, and with these and a piece of hardtack he was obliged to be content.
By the time Oscar had eaten his lunch the driver came up with Hautzman—a steady old ox, which showed a great partiality for hardtack and sugar, and had become so gentle from being often regaled with these delicacies that he had learned to answer to his name and to follow his master about like a dog.
"Now, Ferguson," said Oscar, as he stepped out of the wagon with a coil of rope in one hand and some sugar in the other, "look alive, for this fellow has six miles to travel between this time and dark. Tie a leading rheim around his horns and hold him while I fix the harness."
The harness was a very primitive affair, and did not require a great deal of fixing. It was simply a surcingle, and a breast-band to keep it from slipping back out of its place. To theends of this breast-band were fastened the small ends of the saplings, which the fore-loper brought up by the time the harness was finished.
The larger ends, which were to trail on the ground, were kept from spreading by two braces, which were securely lashed to them about five feet apart.
The intervening space was filled up with a network of ropes which passed from one brace to the other, and when the contrivance was finished Oscar had a drag that would sustain a much heavier weight than he intended to bring home on it.
He knew that Hautzman would be willing to draw it out to the hill on which he had left his specimens, but whether or not he would draw it back after it was loaded was "another and a deeper question." It was quite possible that he might take a notion to run away when he saw the hyenas.
By the time Oscar was ready to start McCann returned from the fountain, bringing with him a bucket of water. Seeing that he looked curiously at the drag, the boy said:
"I caught the idea from the Indians I saw about Julesburg, but I have added a few improvements of my own. I've got a koodoo, a koodoo's head, and two hyenas to bring back on it. I can't stop now to tell you how I got them, for I must be off so that I can get back before dark. Have some tea ready for me—I will bring the steaks when I come—and keep your ears open for signal guns. Go on, Johnson, and make him walk as fast as you can."
Thirsty as he was Oscar drank sparingly of the water McCann had brought from the fountain, after which he filled his canteen, sprang upon one of his fresh horses, and rode off, leading the other.
He overtook the fore-loper in a few minutes, and then they jogged along side by side at a snail's pace.
It takes a good while for a slow-walking ox to go three miles, and consequently much time was consumed on the march.
But it was ended at last, and, contrary to his expectations, old Hautzman behaved with the greatest propriety.
He did not draw back or even hesitate when the fore-loper led him up to the place where the specimens were lying.
He pointed one of his long horns at the dead hyenas, glared at them out of the corner of his eye and bellowed defiantly, but that was all.
After refreshing themselves with a drink of water—which tasted as though it had been over a slow fire all day—Oscar and the Kaffir set to work to load the drag, Johnson holding fast to the leading rheim.
In ten minutes the work was done, and the return march began. It was growing cooler now, and Hautzman, heavily loaded as he was, walked faster than he did coming out.
It was scarcely dark when they came within sight of the grove in which the camp was located, but McCann was evidently frightened, for the sun had not been long out of sight behind the hills before he began firing signal guns.
Oscar answered him occasionally, but that did not seem to satisfy McCann. He was sovery much afraid that his employer might lose his way on the plain, and leave him to pass the night alone among the lions, that he shot off a good many rounds of fixed ammunition that might have been put to a better use. He had tea ready, and Oscar was not long in handing over the steaks.
The boy was tired, for it was a long time since he had spent so many hours in hunting (even while he was shooting in company with Mr. Lawrence he had always rested during the heat of the day); but there was no sleep for him until his specimens had been made ready for mounting.
His men watched all his movements with the greatest interest, and Oscar became so deeply engrossed with his work that he paid scarcely any attention to the roaring of the lions and the laughing of the hyenas.
McCann did, however. When the first muffled roar reverberated among the hills the after-rider retreated to the wagon, took possession of a bed he had made up behind the fore-chest, and that was the last the young hunter saw of him until he stepped over him, aboutfour o'clock in the morning, to put away his skins.
Contrary to his usual custom, Oscar slept late, and, in accordance with the orders he had given the night before, no one disturbed him.
He ate a light breakfast, passed a few hours in writing letters, which he knew he might never have an opportunity to send to those to whom they were addressed, and then wondered what he should do next.
He thought of the buffaloes, but his blood had had time to cool and he was in no hurry to put himself in the way of one of those dangerous animals.
He remembered the ostriches and elands—specimens of which he hoped to secure some day—but the bare thought of stalking the one or riding down the other while the sun was blazing so fiercely over his head was discouraging.
While he sat on the dissel-boom, debating the matter, his attention was attracted by a honey-bird, which, after trying in vain to arouse him by calling to him from aneighboring tree, flew down in front of his face and hovered there, just as a humming-bird does when he is inspecting a honeysuckle.
These little birds were very familiar, and had shown themselves to be so utterly devoid of fear that it was all Oscar could do to bring himself to shoot a couple of them for specimens.
"I say, McCann!" exclaimed Oscar, turning to his after-rider, who was lying at his ease under the wagon, "what sort of honey do you have in this country?"
"Oh, the honey is good enough," was the reply, "but it isn't worth the risk that one has to run to get it. You don't want anything to do with that rascally bird."
"Why not?" asked the boy.
"Because he will lead you into trouble."
"Oh, that's all nonsense!" said Oscar. "Mack, you are about twenty years behind the times. That old superstition was exploded long ago."
"I know a good many experienced hunters who will tell you that the belief that a honey-bird will lead one who is foolish enough tofollow him to a snake or a sleeping lion is not a superstition, but a reality," was McCann's reply. "I am well enough acquainted with them to know that they are treacherous. Years ago I used to work for two transport-riders, brothers, of the name of Baker. One day the younger one took a fool notion into his head that he wanted some honey, and although his brother tried hard to make him stay by the wagon, he wouldn't do it. He followed one of those birds up a gloomy, thickly wooded ravine and never came back. The bird led him to a lion, and the beast killed him. He would doubtless have made a meal of him that night if we had not found the body and taken it away."
"It was little you had to do with taking it away, I'll warrant," said Oscar to himself. "That story may be true, and then again it may be, like a good many others you have told me, manufactured out of the whole cloth. Saddle up a couple of the horses—Little Gray and another."
"You'll be sorry for it," said McCann ashe slowly, almost painfully, arose from the ground.
Up to this time he had been lively enough, but now, when he saw a prospect of work before him, and dangerous work, too, all the symptoms of the fever with which he had been threatened, the day before came back to him again. His step was slow and feeble, and he moved as though he could scarcely keep his feet.
"I don't know whether I can sit in a saddle or not," said he as he crawled out from under the wagon.
"I didn't ask you to try, did I?" said Oscar, who could not make up his mind whether he ought to laugh or get angry. "I shall take Thompson with me."
This was just what McCann wanted, and yet Oscar's words enraged him. He had found, greatly to his surprise, that his employer's success did not depend upon him; that his feigned illness made no sort of difference with Oscar's hunting; that the Kaffir was quite capable of taking his place as after-rider—and all these things galled him.
A conceited person always feels hurt when he awakes to the fact that the world and the people in it can get on about as well without him as they can with him.
By the time the horses had been saddled and watered at the fountain Oscar and his after-rider were ready to mount them. The honey-bird, which had watched their movements with every appearance of interest, showed his delight at the prospect of a hunt as plainly as the dogs did.
The latter frisked about in dangerous proximity to Little Gray's feet, and the bird flitted from tree to tree, keeping a short distance in advance of the horsemen, and coming back now and then to hover before their faces, as if urging them to greater speed.
He led them around the grove, and on arriving at the opposite side took wing and flew across the open plain to a second grove, about a quarter of a mile away. From this grove he led them to another; but instead of keeping them in the outskirts he flew into it and was lost to view.
Oscar fanned himself with his hat, lookedsuspiciously at the thick bushes before him, and took time to reflect.
"I don't much like the looks of such thickets as these, for I have always found something in them," said he to himself. "What shall I find in this one, I wonder? Hunt 'em up, dogs! If there is anything in there drive it out. Come on, Thompson!"
The Kaffir touched the ground almost as soon as his employer did, and kept close at his heels as he worked his way into the thicket in pursuit of the honey-bird.
Oscar had often told himself that the Dutchmen who first settled in Africa must have had a keen sense of the fitness of things when they named these bushes "wait-a-bits." They were as full of thorns as a rosebush. The thorns were two or three inches in length, and the ends were turned down into little hooks that were both sharp and strong. They were continually pulling off his hat or catching in his clothing, and then he was obliged to "wait a bit" before he could extricate himself from their grasp. How the Kaffir managed it, with his bare feet and no clothes at all on worth speaking of, was a mystery; but he got through somehow, and he did not make half as much fuss about it as Oscar did.
There was one thing in their favor,however—these bushes did not extend far into the grove. They grew only in the outskirts of it, and after they had been passed the way was comparatively clear.
This particular thicket was not more than twenty yards wide, but it took them almost half an hour to get through it.
The honey-bird kept them company all the time, hovering over their heads and chirping loudly, as if he were trying, in his bird's way, to encourage them.
Just as they pushed the last bush away, and stepped out into the little open space on the other side of the thicket, four of the dogs appeared.
It was well for at least one of the hunters that they did so, for their keen sense of smell enabled them to detect the presence of something that Oscar did not expect to find there.
"I think we have reached the spot, Thompson," said Oscar, pointing to a tree in which their little guide was hopping about. The bird seemed to be excited now, for his movements were quick and nervous, and he showed no disposition to go any further. "The honeymust be in that tree. You go around that way, and see if you can find a hole in it, and I'll go this way."
The hunters moved off in different directions, but had not made more than half a dozen steps when the dogs became aware that there was something in the bushes that grew around the foot of the tree in question.
The thicket was too small to conceal any very large animal, and Oscar's first thought was that the dogs had winded a snake, probably a poisonous mamba—a species that frequents the timber, and is not often found on the open plain. Its bite is deadly, and the natives affirm that it will chase a man for the purpose of biting him.
"I don't know but McCann was right, after all," said Oscar as he backed away from the thicket. "If there is a snake in there I'll spoil your head for you, my treacherous friend, so that you'll not fool anybody else as you have fooled me, and I'll make war on your kind so long as I stay in Africa. Thompson, look around and see if you can find a stick. Our chances for hitting sosmall an object as a snake with a rifle-ball are rather—— Eh? Do you see him?"
Just then the dogs rushed at the thicket, barking loudly, and the Kaffir, who had been closely examining the bushes, raised his rifle with a quick movement, and fired at something he saw there.
The next moment, with every hair on his body sticking toward his head, his mouth wide open, showing a frightful array of teeth, his eyes flashing with fury, and the blood trickling from a wound in his side, out bounded a magnificent leopard.
The dogs scattered right and left, but one of them was not quick enough in his movements to escape instant death. He was knocked flat by a blow from the paw of the enraged animal, which, after making two or three high short springs, growling savagely all the while, halted and faced about, as if he had made up his mind to run no further.
Laying his chin down between his fore paws, and waving his tail from side to side, as a cat does when she is watching a mouse, the fierce animal fastened his eyes upon Oscar,whom he seemed to have singled out as a victim; but instead of creeping toward him he writhed backward, as if he were measuring off the distance he intended to clear when he made his spring.
Then came the critical moment. The animal drew his cat-like ears flat down against his head, and at the same instant two ready fingers pressed the triggers. The reports sounded like one, and the leopard, arrested in his leap before he had fairly left the ground, rolled over on his side, powerless for mischief.
Oscar's rifle spoke again a few seconds later, and the honey-bird came fluttering down from his perch. His head was spoiled, sure enough, for it was shot from his body.
"He'll never fool any more hunters," said Oscar as he walked up to examine the leopard after reloading both barrels of his rifle. "I say, Thompson, I think you have earned a musket by this day's work. You put two balls into him very cleverly. If this is the way you are going to back me up when I get into trouble I shall be your debtor for tenpounds when we get back to Maritzburg. We don't want any honey, do we? This fellow's mate may be loafing about in some of these thickets, and the best thing we can do is to get out of here."
It was hard work to carry their prize through those thorn bushes. The leopard was not very heavy at the start,—he did not begin to be as large as either of the hyenas Oscar had secured the day before,—but he grew heavy before they got him out to the plain.
When they reached the edge of the grove Oscar was glad to sit down and rest, while the Kaffir went in pursuit of the horses, which had been alarmed by the noise of the fight, and would no doubt have made the best of their way back to the wagon if they had not hobbled themselves by putting their feet through their bridle-reins.
No amount of coaxing could induce Little Gray to consent to carry the leopard to camp, and the Kaffir's horse objected so strenuously to having anything at all to do with the matter that Oscar was obliged to lash his prize fast to the saddle, while the Kaffir clung to hisnag with both hands to keep him from running away.
When this had been done Oscar mounted Little Gray and turned him toward the wagon; but before he reached it he met with two surprises. The first came about in this way:
While he was riding along, with his gaze fastened thoughtfully on the ground, and wondering how many narrow escapes an African hunter could have before some wild beast succeeded in getting the better of him, his eye chanced to fall upon something that instantly arrested his attention.
In Eaton he had probably walked over such objects a dozen times in a day, and never noticed them at all; but they were so uncommon in the wilds of Africa that the sight of this one interested him at once—so much so that he swung himself from his horse and picked it up.
It proved to be a piece of brown envelope. Inside of it was a strip of white paper, at which he gazed in the greatest amazement. It was part of the map that his friend Mr. Lawrence had drawn for him. Scarcely ableto credit the evidence of his eyes, Oscar put the paper into his pocket and climbed back into his saddle.
"How, in the name of all that's mysterious and bewildering, did that map get scattered about in this way?" he kept saying to himself, and every time he asked the question he took the paper out of his pocket and looked at it again. "It certainly is my map—or all there is left of it. I would know it if I had picked it up in the streets of London; but if Ihadfound it there I could not be more surprised than I am to find it here. I am sure that I put it in the third pocket on the right-hand side of the tent, and how in the world—— I wonder if McCann——"
Oscar took off his hat and dug his fingers into his head to stir up his ideas. That name suggested something to him, and brought back to his memory a good many little incidents that had happened since he left Zurnst—all trivial enough in themselves, but which when taken together made up a weight of evidence against the after-rider (an after-rider only in name) that was overwhelming.
"I ought to have been on the lookout for some such thing as this," thought Oscar, who, beyond a doubt, would have come to an open rupture with McCann if the latter had been near him at that moment. "He has done everything he could to discourage me. He has put the brakes on the wagon when we were going up hill in order to make the oxen part the trek-tow; he has tried to lead me out of my course, and make me lose my way on the plain, so that he could turn me back to Zurnst; he has told the most dreadful stories of the dangers I was running into, and tried over and over again to make me promise that I would secure what specimens I could here, and then go back; and, as a last resort, he has destroyed my map. It must have been McCann, for there is no one else about the wagon who knows the value of that piece of paper."
Oscar felt savage enough during the rest of the ride, and consequently he was just in the right humor to act—and to act resolutely—in an emergency that presently arose.
While he was thinking about McCann, andwondering if there were any way in which he could satisfy himself of the man's guilt before he openly charged him with destroying the map, an exclamation from his after-rider aroused him.
He looked up and found that he was in plain view of the fountain. The oxen were gathered on the bank, and on the opposite side of them were the driver and fore-loper, who were shouting and cracking their whips to turn the cattle away from the fountain.
On the opposite bank of the water-course were four wagons, and a drove of strange oxen were just coming down to the fountain to drink.
"Visitors!" cried Oscar, shaking his bridle-rein and putting his horse into a gallop. "I hope they are English or Scotch; but even if they are Dutchmen, and can't understand a word I say, I shall give them a hearty welcome. I didn't know before that I was so lonely."
In a few moments Oscar met his oxen, which had been turned about with their heads toward the plain, and also his driver, whohurried up to him with a face full of news.
"Hi, baas!" he exclaimed. "Boer man shoot ox."
"What?" shouted Oscar.
"Yaas; shoot dead," replied the Hottentot, who was all excitement. "Shootalldead. No let drink water."
Greatly bewildered, Oscar looked around for McCann, and seeing him following after the herd, galloped around to meet him.
"What's the trouble here?" he asked. "To whom do those wagons belong?"
"The owners are Dutch transport-riders, who are on their way to the Kalahari Desert—Sechelle's country, you know—to trade for feathers and ivory," answered McCann. "They arrived here about half an hour ago."
"What does Ferguson mean by saying that they will not let my oxen drink?" continued Oscar.
"He means that the Boers want all the water for their own cattle, and swear that they will shoot any strange ox or horse that comes near the fountain," replied McCann."Knowing that they are not the kind of people who make idle threats, I thought it best to keep the stock away from the water until you came."
Oscar was almost ready to boil over with rage. He had never heard of such a piece of impudence before in all his life.
Since crossing the Drackenberg Oscar had had but little intercourse with the Boers he had met along his route. Knowing them to be a stupid, pig-headed race, deaf to reason and blind to everything except self-interest, he wanted nothing to do with them if he could help it.
The only way in which they could be touched was through their pockets. He had found that they were quite willing to cheat him in a trade and to drink all the coffee he could afford to offer them, but they never thought of granting him a favor in return. They expected to be liberally paid for everything they did for him.
They believed that every hunter who came to Africa must of necessity be an Englishman, and they were very spiteful toward them, forthey had somehow got it into their heads that England was laying plans to subjugate their country.
"Isn't that pool public property?" demanded Oscar as soon as his indignation would permit him to speak. "What right have they to say that my cattle shall not drink there?"
McCann shrugged his shoulders and waved his hand toward the fountain, as if to say that if his employer chose to use his eyes he would see something that would enable him to answer that question for himself.
Oscar rode out so that he could take a survey of the water-hole, and saw four men standing in line in front of it, holding their rifles in their hands. On the opposite bank stood their drivers and after-riders, all armed, and ready to lend assistance in case Oscar and his men showed a disposition to be belligerent.
Everything seemed to indicate that there was trouble ahead, and Oscar was in just the right frame of mind to meet it.
"I'd be willing to give something handsome if McCann had just half Big Thompson'spluck," thought the young hunter, who wasted not a moment in deciding upon his course. "But I am alone, and how I am going to come out it is hard to tell. Johnson," he shouted, "you and Ferguson run around in front of those oxen and hold them where they are. When I give the word drive them to the fountain, and I will see that the way is clear. Come on, Thompson. I want you to tell them that I have something to say about this business."
"Oh, Mr. Preston!" cried McCann in great alarm, "mind what you are about."
"I will," answered Oscar.
"You don't know what a determined lot they can be if they once make up their minds to it," continued McCann. "They would just as soon shoot as eat."
"I don't care how determined they are," was the boy's reply. "And as for shooting, that is a game two can play at. I am not going to stand by and see my stock suffer from thirst when there is plenty of water close at hand, you may depend upon that. Come on, Thompson!"
In spite of the entreaties and remonstrances of McCann, who earnestly, almost tearfully, declared that his employer would surely bring himself into serious trouble if he attempted to combat the Boers' resolution to hold the fountain for the exclusive use of their own stock, Oscar rode away, first satisfying himself that his driver and fore-loper had obeyed his orders to stop the oxen.
When he arrived on the bank above the fountain the Boers drew closer together for mutual protection, and one of them, a gray-headed old patriarch, raised his hand as a signal for him to halt. Instead of obeying Oscar motioned to the Boers to get out of his way, at the same time cocking both barrels of his rifle, which he held in such a way that its threatening muzzle pointed straight at the patriarch's breast.
Not satisfied with this demonstration, which had a visible effect upon the courage of the Boers, Oscar thrust his hand into the breast-pocket of his jacket and brought out a heavy revolver, the hammer of which clicked ominously as he dropped the weapon by his side.
Without saying a word the Boers moved out of his path, and Oscar and Big Thompson, the latter still carrying the leopard across his saddle, drove their horses into the fountain and loosed the bridle-reins so that they could drink.
"Now, Thompson," said Oscar, who, in spite of his anger, was outwardly calm, "ask these Dutch gentlemen what they mean by such work as this."
The interpreter propounded the question in his own way, and received a torrent of reproaches, threats, and abuse in reply. The Boers shouted at the top of their voices, shook their fists at Oscar, who shook his cocked revolver at them in return, and the Hottentots on the bank joined in with yells and furious gestures.
"Well, Thompson," said Oscar when he thought he had waited long enough for an answer, "whenever you can make sense out of this Babel of tongues let me know it."
"The Boer men say that this is their fountain because they water here every time they go on their trading expeditions," was thesubstance of the Kaffir's reply. "They are going to stay here two or three days, and rest their cattle and fill their water-butts, and there is no more in the pool than they want themselves. If the English trader wants water for his oxen he can just inspan and go off and hunt it up, for, he shall have none here."
"What makes them think I am a trader?" inquired the boy. "Did anybody tell them so, or did they only guess at it?"
The reply increased Oscar's surprise and indignation. It was to the effect that the Englishman's white servant had told them so not more than ten minutes ago.
"That's something else I have to thank McCann for," said Oscar. "Now, Thompson, tell them whatIsay," he added, throwing his right leg over the horn of his saddle, so that he sat sideways on his horse, "woman fashion." He seemed to handle his cocked weapons very carelessly, for as often as he changed his position the muzzles were sure to come in line with the heads of some of the Boers, who were prompt to step out of range, "Isay that this fountain does not belong tothem, for it is not located on their land. I have a better right to it than they have, for I came here first. I am going to stay here a week or two; perhaps longer. I am not an Englishman or a trader, and neither am I going off to hunt up another fountain. It is my intention to water my cattle right here, andnow. Tell them to put that in their big pipes and smoke it."
The Kaffir told them, and the reply that came back through him was:
"The Boer men say that they will shoot the first strange ox or horse that puts his nose into the water."
Oscar had ridden away from the fountain, but when these words were translated to him he promptly turned about, and rode back again. He drove his horse in knee-deep, and scowled savagely at the Boers, who were struck motionless and dumb by his conduct. Little Gray put his nose into the fountain several times, and blew the water about, but the Dutchmen did not shoot him.
"Thompson, tell these gentlemen that my oxen are coming here to drink now, and thatif they want to begin shooting when they come up to go ahead," said Oscar. "But warn them, also, that for every shot they fire I shall fire two, and I shall make every one count. If they want to go on with their trading expedition they had better let me and my property entirely alone. Now go and tell the boys to bring up the cattle."
Big Thompson translated his employer's emphatic words, and then turned and rode up the bank, while the Boers drew off on one side to hold a consultation.
Oscar kept his place in the fountain until his oxen arrived, and then he rode up between them and the Boers, passing so close to the latter that his horse fairly crowded them out of his path, and stood guard over them while they drank their fill.
The Boers remonstrated—at least Oscar thought they did, for they kept up a constant shouting all the while—but they made no hostile demonstrations.
When the oxen had quenched their thirst Oscar followed them to the wagon, and saw them put in their yokes and tied up for the night.
"I was really afraid you were going to get into trouble with those Dutchmen," said McCann from his seat on the dissel-boom.
"Oh, you were, were you?" exclaimed Oscar, who stood in front of the fire, with his hat pushed on the back of his head and his hands thrust deep into his pockets. "And you did all you could to help it along, didn't you?"
McCann started, and tried to look surprised, but only succeeded in confirming the suspicions that had already been formed in the mind of his employer.
His face grew red and white by turns, and he could not meet the boy's eye.
"You are not only a coward—a most contemptible coward—but you are a scoundrel as well," continued Oscar. "When I return to the coast I shall post you far and wide. You never shall impose upon anybody else as you have imposed upon me, if I can help it. You dare not go any further into the wilderness with me, you are too big a coward to go back to Zurnst alone, and you are determined to make me go back with you. You told thoseBoers that I am an Englishman and a trader, hoping in that way to excite their hatred and jealousy of me. You tried to lose me on the plain, and to lead me out of my way, so that I could not find water; and when you learned that I was able to travel without any help from you, by referring to a map Mr. Lawrence had given—— Aha!" exclaimed Oscar as McCann's face flushed guiltily, "you thought you would stop me by tearing up my map, didn't you?"
"I don't know what you mean, Mr. Preston," stammered McCann. "Indeed I don't."
"Don't you, though? Look at that!" cried Oscar, pulling from his pocket the pieces of paper he had found on the plain, and holding them close in front of the man's face. "Look atthat!" he repeated as he rubbed the pieces violently up and down over McCann's nose.
This was almost too much for even a coward to stand. McCann jumped to his feet with an angry exclamation, and drew his clenched hand back as if he were about to strike.