Chapter 2

Chapter III,UP-COUNTRY LIFE.For some weeks Mr. Blakeney allowed Guy to have what may be called a good time. He was anxious that the lad should not be thrust too soon into hard collar-work. There is a good deal of steady routine labour, even upon an up-country farm in South Africa, if the farmer is up-to-date and business-like, and means to take his occupation seriously. There are books to be kept; long and hard days to be spent in the saddle; heavy fencing operations, which need care, thought, and application; journeys to various market centres with troops of fat stock; and a host of other details, not all of which are exactly what may be regarded as pure pleasure or light work. Too many young Englishmen, it is to be feared, look upon stock-farming and cattle-ranching as pleasant out-of-door occupations, entailing merely an ornamental kind of existence. They picture to themselves, before going out to South Africa, a shirt-sleeve and broad-brimmed hat kind of life, in which the stock-farmer has merely to have a good time, while his flocks and herds increase about him. This sort of settler quickly becomes disillusioned, and, having wasted a thousand or two of good money--probably his father's--returns sadly to urban life again, vowing that no one can make money by stock-farming in South Africa.But there are plenty of hard-working and successful pastoral farmers in many parts of South Africa who can testify to the excellent result of application and attention to details, united with care, foresight, energy, and experience.For a long month Mr. Blakeney or his son Tom, sometimes both of them, rode far and wide with Guy Hardcastle over the twenty-four thousand odd acres comprised in Bamborough Farm. They explored boundaries, pointed out to Guy the various beacons marking off their limits, inspected cattle, and assisted at the sinking of a well in a distant part of the estate. This well, and the erection of a windmill pump, were needed for the supply of water to the cattle in what had been so waterless a portion of the ranch that it had been hitherto practically unavailable, excellent as was the grass veldt. A good-sized basin was formed in a piece of limestone formation, where once had existed an ancient native well, now long since dry; and here, when the operations were completed, the cattle were able to slake their thirst in a cool, crystal-clear pool, which at once sent up the value of the six thousand acres on this part of the run by two hundred per cent.They had various bird-shooting excursions, riding out with a couple of pointers, and, so soon as the dogs stood to game, dismounting from their ponies and walking into their shots. In this way they made some pretty bags of Coqui and red-wing francolin, koorhaan, and guinea-fowl. One or two adventures befell Guy at this period. One day they had sallied out to hunt a troop of hartebeest, which ran on a distant part of the farm. After finding the troop in some prettily-timbered country, well covered with giraffe-acacia, the three had become separated, Guy galloping mile after mile in pursuit of a good bull which he had wounded. The hartebeest, turning out of the troop and quitting the wooded glades in which the herd had been discovered, took away over the open plains. Guy was well mounted, and for a long seven miles pushed after the big red-brown antelope, which swept away in front of him with a free, machine-like action that, despite its wound--a bullet through the middle of the body--showed no symptom of tiring. At length the hartebeest climbed the ridge of a wave in the grass plain, and disappeared. Guy's pony, good and willing as he was, was now tiring visibly. The lad doubted whether he could gallop much farther--the pace had been too great--and the game looked like getting clean away. It was too annoying. They reached the top of the ridge, and looked over. Nothing living was to be seen; the plain was untenanted. Apparently the antelope had vanished into thin air. But Guy's keen eye noted, half a mile or so to the right, a widish patch of vaal bush. Towards this he now rode. He approached within thirty yards, and dismounted. Just as he did so, the wounded antelope rose slowly to its feet from within the shelter of the bush, and essayed to canter off. Too late! The gallant beast had made its last effort and taken its final gallop. Guy's rifle went up, and as the antelope slowly moved away, another bullet from the Mannlicher pierced its heart. It tumbled suddenly to the veldt, and after a brief kick or two lay dead.Guy now set to work to skin his prize and take off the head. It was a fine bull, carrying excellent horns, and his pride and satisfaction at having thus secured his first big game trophy were very great. By the time he had completed his operations, and slung the skin and a quantity of venison behind the saddle, the hot afternoon was wearing away. Carrying the hartebeest's head in front of him, resting on the pommel of the saddle, Guy now rode back for the woodland. It was a long eight miles, and his nag was by no means fresh after his tremendous exertions. They reached the acacia groves at last. By this time there remained an hour to sunset. Through these endless groves and glades, all much resembling one another, the young Englishman now attempted to thread his way, with the result that, by the time the sun sank, he found himself completely lost. Just at this moment there came from far to the eastward the faint report of a gun, then another. Guy rode that way, but in half an hour the light had clean vanished, and it became a matter of difficulty to manoeuvre a path through the gloom of evening amid this trackless forest. Night fell; there was no moon; and although the stars glittered brilliantly above, it became apparent to Guy that he was benighted. He heard no more shots.After wandering on, leading his now dog-tired pony, the lad came to the conclusion that he had better camp for the night. He had, luckily, in the hunting pouch at his belt, a box of matches and a compass, two things which his uncle had warned him always to carry on expeditions of this sort. He knew that there was no water within many miles of where he stood, and that it was useless to think of attempting to find any. He had, unluckily, finished the last remnant of lime juice and water that remained in his water-bottle; bitterly did he now regret the fact. He was terribly thirsty after hunting all day under a burning sun. He felt that at this moment he would gladly have given half a crown, nay, half a sovereign, for a quart of clear water. It was useless to think about it, however, and, philosophically enough, Guy set to work to prepare for the night. First he cut a quantity of grass and placed it before his pony, which by this time he had off-saddled and tied to a bush. On the lee side of this bush he himself meant to sleep, and for this purpose cut more grass and made a rough bed. Then clearing a space--for he had no wish to start a veldt fire--he cut and gathered sticks and odd timber. He had camped by a dead acacia tree, destroyed by white ants, and soon had before him a cheerful blaze. Now cutting some collops of venison, he cooked them in the hot embers, and, with a biscuit that remained over from his lunch, made out a respectable meal. It was hard work eating without water, and with a thirst such as he now possessed; but he managed to swallow some food, and felt a trifle better. The air grew chill, and he now unfastened his coat from his saddle and put it on; then, piling up more wood on the fire, and making a pillow of the inner part of his saddle, he fell asleep. He knew that here, in this waterless and semi-desert part of the veldt, few wild beasts--leopards, cheetahs, or hyænas--would be wandering about; and besides, he was too tired to trouble much if any there were.At dawn he awoke, cold and stiff; the fire was out; his pony was munching the remains of the grass that lay near him. Guy rose, somewhat refreshed, but with a terribly dry mouth and tongue. Saddling up, he now prepared to seek his way home. By the position of the sun and the aid of his compass, he could now steer some sort of way through this perplexing forest, and he steadily pushed on. Two hours later, having cleared the timber country and emerged once more upon the open plains, he came upon the spoor of horses, which convinced him that he was going in the right direction. After another hour of cantering and walking, he struck a wagon track, and knew that he could now find his way to the homestead. Very shortly he heard the reports of two guns, then a third. He guessed that these were fired by his uncle or cousin, now no doubt in search of him. Cantering that way, he soon caught sight of three mounted men, and in five minutes was shaking hands with his relatives. They had with them a native servant, and were riding out to look for him."My word, Guy," said his uncle heartily, "I am glad to have come across you so soon. This is a dickens of a country to get lost in--the veldt is so waterless, except during the rains; and I was getting seriously anxious about you. We wandered about firing shots yesterday afternoon, and then made for home to bring out more water, and hunt you up to-day, in case you had completely lost yourself. Didn't you hear our shots yesterday?""Yes," answered Guy, "I heard two just before sundown last evening; but they were far away to the east, and I couldn't make anything of them, though I wandered that way after dark. Then I camped, made a fire, and slept, and here I am.""Excellent, my boy," said his uncle; "but you must be terribly dry. Here, April," turning to the native; "unfasten that water-bottle and give Baas Guy a drink. Drink up, lad; it's cold tea, and will do you good."Guy drank and drank, and presently returned the bottle."Never tasted anything so good in my life," he said, wiping his lips. "It's nectar. I begin to understand what thirst really is. In England we can have no idea of it, in a country where you can't go a mile without coming on water of some kind or other.""You're quite right," added Mr. Blakeney. "They don't half appreciate the blessings of life at home. You want to rough it out here a bit to understand what English comfort and English luxury really mean. Why, we had a man staying with us a year back, looking at stock, who got lost in the veldt out here for three days, two of which he passed without a drop of water. Ultimately we tracked him to a native kraal on the Molopo, thirty miles away. In this kind of country--in fact all through Bechuanaland, on the Kalahari side--you've got to watch it, or you may easily get lost, and perhaps die of thirst and starvation. Now, let's be off home for breakfast. We have an hour and a half's ride still before us."Meanwhile, Tom Blakeney had been examining his cousin's hunting trophy. "By Jove, Guy," he exclaimed, "you've got a first-rate head! That's a real good old bull hartebeest; you seldom see finer horns.""Yes, Tom," rejoined his cousin, "I thought it was a good head; and if I had had to go without water another twenty-four hours, I should have brought it back with me. It's my first hunting trophy, and I shall always be proud of it.""You'll do, Guy!" exclaimed his uncle, as they rode homewards. "I like to see a fellow keen; and I'm sure you will shoot many a head of big game before you've finished. Some day we'll go into the real hunting veldt, where you can prove your mettle against more formidable beasts."A week or two later, Tom and Guy were shooting redwing partridges and koorhaan in a pretty piece of country some miles from the homestead. They had quitted the banks of a periodical stream, where they had bagged half a dozen brace of redwings and a steinbuck, and were now in search of black and white koorhaan and Coqui partridges on a wide piece of grassy plain which ran up to a distant line of kopjes. Juno, the pointer, stood; and Tom, slipping quietly from his saddle, walked cautiously forward, his gun at the ready. Still the staunch dog stood, pointing stiffly at something in front of her. Tom advanced yet farther, and then, without a cry and very noiselessly, there rose from the long grass a single bird, with long greenish legs and a big head. It was an easy shot, and Tom fired and brought it down."A dikkop," he cried, as he ran forward and picked up the bird. Guy came up and inspected the game, which was of a species he had not yet seen in Bechuanaland."Why, it's the same as our Norfolk plover, or thick-knee," he said. "Father shot one years ago in Suffolk, and had it stuffed. I can tell it by its big staring eyes.""Yes, it's nearly the same bird," rejoined his cousin. "I believe there's some little difference in the species, here we call it by the Dutch name dikkop, or thickhead. They're rattling good eating, and we'll stick it in the bag."Smoothing the bird's feathers, and placing it in the wallet slung behind his saddle, they went on.In another half hour, during which time they got no shot, Juno, the pointer, became curiously restless. She seemed to neglect the sport in front of her, and turned perpetually to sniff the breeze which blew from their left flank. Suddenly, after quartering the ground in that direction, she stopped and barked furiously."What's the old girl up to?" ejaculated Tom. "I'll go and see."As he turned his horse that way, the pointer, hitherto standing with hackles up, manifestly in a state of intense anger, suddenly turned and fled, her tail between her legs. Guy Hardcastle, curious to know what had so alarmed the dog, walked his nag that way. The two cousins rode on together for thirty yards, and then, with a curious hissing sound, there rose, ten paces in front of them, the head and neck of an enormous serpent. The reptile reared itself so suddenly, and its aspect was so menacing, that Guy's pony shied violently and swerved off, nearly unseating its rider as it did so."Look out, Guy!" cried his cousin. "It's a python. Canter away a bit and slip in louper cartridges [buck shot], and then we'll have a go at the brute. He's been following us." They cantered away forty or fifty yards, changing their cartridges as they did so, and then returned to the charge.Meanwhile the python, which had undoubtedly been stalking them, had thought better of it, and, seeing more formidable quarry than it had bargained for, was slipping away. The lads galloped to the spot where they had last seen it; and Tom, pointing to a movement in the long grass in front of them, exclaimed excitedly, "There it goes; come on!"Guy, who was not used to snakes, didn't half like the idea of stalking such a monster; but as his cousin galloped on, he touched his pony with the spur and rode after him. Nearer and nearer they drew towards the rustling grass. Suddenly the movement ceased, and the huge, evil-looking head rose before them. The serpent was undeniably angry, and a big python in a rage is a formidable opponent."Shoot," whispered Tom in a steady voice.Guy needed not incitement. Already his gun was up; they fired together, and as the double report rattled out, the great serpent, stricken in the head and neck, fell writhing into the pale grass. One of the two shots had luckily broken its backbone a foot or so below the head; but the huge serpent was by no means disabled, and now, half impotent though it was, it struggled furiously to reach its adversaries. Beating and flapping the earth in its agony and rage, it writhed itself towards the two horsemen, who now separated and gave it another shot apiece. Then, recharging their guns, they returned, and finished the wounded monster with a couple more charges.Having ascertained that the snake was really dead, they dismounted and approached it; then, stretching out the reptile to its full length, Tom took a tape measure from his pocket and ran over its dimensions."Eighteen feet," he remarked, rising from his task. "The biggest python killed in these parts!""Have you many of these brutes about the place?" asked Guy, turning over the monster with his foot, and comparing the greenish white of its underparts with the brilliant markings of its upper colouring."No, not many," answered Tom. "They're shy, secretive beggars, and one very seldom, indeed, comes across them. I've not heard of one for two or three years.""Thank goodness for that," rejoined Guy. "I must say, if I thought there were many of these creatures in the neighbourhood, I should come bird-shooting precious seldom, especially on foot. Surely they are dangerous? They're not poisonous, I suppose?""No, they're not poisonous, luckily," returned Tom. "But they can constrict. Whether they can kill a man I don't know. I shouldn't like to try the experiment. Father says they can't. Still, they can try; and if they were big enough--like this one, for example--they might give you a very unpleasant time of it. They certainly do kill small buck occasionally. Three years ago a python--rock snakes, the colonists call them--which father had shot was found to contain the bones of a duyker in its stomach; and our native boys killed another, with their knobkerries, which had killed and eaten a steinbuck just before, and was completely gorged and stupid after its meal."They finished their shoot across the flat, adding three brace of koorhaan and Coqui partridges to their bag, and then came back to the dead python. Fastening this to the end of a piece of cord which Tom carried with him, they trailed the serpent behind them and struck for home. Arrived at Bamborough towards four o'clock, they stretched out the great serpent in the front garden, and invited all and sundry to come and view their conquest. It was agreed that so large a python had never before been seen in that part of the country."Yes," said Mr. Blakeney, as he watched Tom and Guy divesting the creature of its beautiful skin, "it's a big snake. Three years ago I got quite a fright with one of these reptiles. I was shooting alone and on foot about two miles from here. Juno was with me, and she seemed very uneasy, just as she was with you to-day. Suddenly, as I turned round--I don't know what made me do it--I saw, sticking out above the grass not ten yards behind me, a python. Just for one second I was in a real fright, I promise you--the thing was so sudden. However, the brute looked very nasty, and I put up my gun and fired at once, smashing its head to pieces. It struggled a bit, and another shot finished it. Now, that snake had followed me right across the flat from the river bed--where, I imagine, it had its holt or hiding-place in some bush or among the rocks--for a distance of more than a mile. It was rather uncanny, wasn't it?""Very uncanny, indeed," answered Guy. "I don't like the brutes at all. Do you think they would go for one?""No; on the whole, I don't think they would," said Mr. Blakeney. "And if they did, although they might frighten you and even hurt you, I don't think they could kill a man. They could kill a child, as they do undoubtedly kill a young calf sometimes; and for that reason I'm not over fond of them--in fact, I destroy them whenever I come across them, if I can. They're slippery brutes, however, and once let them get near rocks or bush and you'll never see them again.""The natives about here, father, don't like them?" queried Tom, as he finished his part of the task, and together he and Guy rolled the stripped body of the serpent from its skin, which they had now completely flayed away from the flesh."No, the Bechuanas don't like them," rejoined Mr. Blakeney. "At the same time they don't care about molesting them. In Zululand the natives will never touch them. They have an idea that the souls of their ancestors return to the bodies of these serpents, and will even allow them to live close to their huts. For my part, I don't like the proximity of such neighbours."Having carefully scraped every fragment of fat or flesh from the skin, the two lads rubbed in arsenical soap, and pegged it out on the shady side of the wall of an outhouse, where in a day or two the cure was complete.In a few more weeks Guy Hardcastle had acquired a very fair knowledge of the far-spreading pastures of Bamborough Farm. He began to pick up, too, some knowledge of stock and stock-farming, for he was a quick lad, who always had his wits about him, and was anxious to gain any sort of information that might be useful to him. He had seen mealies and oats reaped, and assisted in other operations. He had had a very good time, for, mingled with the preliminaries of a pastoral farmer's life, to which his uncle had introduced him, he had had a fair amount of shooting, several pleasant excursions with his cousins to neighbouring farms, and a trip to Mafeking to bring home stores. At the end of January he accompanied his uncle to Johannesburg with a herd of fat cattle, which were disposed of for excellent prices on their arrival there.On this expedition, although they were assisted by native servants, they had to experience some of the roughs and tumbles of veldt life. They lived for the most part in the saddle, sleeping at night in a light mule wagon which accompanied them. The weather was broken and unsettled; the rains, which began in December, still fell heavily at intervals, and they were often drenched to the skin. Even their wagon tent by no means sufficed to protect them from the tropical downpours that periodically fell from the lowering heavens. Nevertheless, to the secret satisfaction of Mr. Blakeney, Guy bore all the discomforts that overtook them with the most cheerful spirit, and arrived at Johannesburg in excellent heart and fettle. He had proved himself a very useful auxiliary, and his uncle was more than well pleased with his behaviour. The return from the gold city was made with much less discomfort, and, unencumbered with a big herd of cattle, they reached home within a fortnight.One evening, a short time after their return, Mr. Blakeney called Guy into his own room, the "den," as he called it, in which he did most of the office work connected with the farm, and kept his papers, books, and accounts, as well as his guns, rifles, and ammunition. Guy was just then engaged in a game of chess with his aunt, who was a skilful player, and was teaching him something of the rudiments of the art."Well, aunt," he said, as he rose with a cheery laugh, "I'm defeated again, I see. You have mate in another move, haven't you?""I'm afraid it is so, Guy," replied Mrs. Blakeney. "Never mind; you are getting along very well. This has been quite a good fight, and in another six months you will be crowing over me, I expect."Guy walked quickly to his uncle's room, where an oil lamp shed a bright glow over everything. Mr. Blakeney was a man of methodical habits. His books and papers were always in their right places; his guns gleamed brightly on their racks; everything was in apple-pie order."Sit down, Guy," said his uncle, pointing to the chair near him; "I want to have a bit of a talk with you. First of all, I want to know something about your views of cattle-farming and South African farming life generally. Is it the kind of life you think will suit you, and can you make up your mind to settle down to it? You have now had a three months' apprenticeship, and have probably formed your own opinions.""Well, Uncle Charles," replied Guy, "my answer is a very short one. I like the life immensely, and mean to stick to it. I can think of nothing that will suit me half so well as to settle down steadily to the same kind of existence that you lead here. I should like it above all things, and I have thought the whole matter very carefully over.""Remember, Guy, my boy," said his uncle kindly, "that hitherto, except for the journey to Johannesburg, which wasn't a very pleasant one, although from a financial point of view it answered excellently, you have seen rather the bright side of things out here. This place, although I say it who perhaps shouldn't, is rather a cut above the average. We have put capital into the thing, my cousin and I--I mean, of course, George Forster, who farms the adjoining land, and is my partner. We do the thing well, and our homesteads are exceptionally good. We have, as you see, some of the refinements as well as the comforts of civilization about us. And hitherto we have had good seasons and great luck. But you have to remember that there come times of drought; various diseases attack stock, locusts destroy the veldt, and the farmer's losses are often very heavy indeed. They say rinderpest is on its way south, and will in time reach us even here. It has got as far as Nyasaland, and will probably work its way right through the continent to the very shores of Cape Colony. You must look at all these things before you decide.""Well, uncle," repeated Guy, "I can only say that I have honestly tried to look at the thing all round. I know--and many thanks to you all for it--that you have shown me the best and brightest side of everything, and that I can't always expect to live in the lap of luxury, as I do here. Please take my word for it. I want to go in for this kind of life. I mean to stick to it seriously and learn the business, and try and make something out of it; and I do hope you will do what you once said you might be inclined to do--that is, teach me the business, and let me in time get hold of some land near you. I have quite made up my mind, and that's my decision.""Well, Guy," said his uncle, with a pleased look on his kindly, expressive face, "I'm very glad to hear this. I like you, my boy. I believe you will stick to your business, and not look at it merely as a hobby or a plaything; and I can only say, for my part, that I will do all in my power to help you on. For your father's sake, as well as your own, I shall do this; and I hope in a few years, when you've got experience, you will do very well for yourself. Meanwhile, I've lately had my eye on two farms, hitherto unoccupied, which touch our north-west boundary. They are called Hartebeestfontein and Bushman's Kraal. I can get them cheap. They are the usual six thousand acre farms, and I can buy them from Government for £600 the pair. I shall write to my agent at Vryburg to-morrow to secure these farms, which I shall henceforth take to and stock. I shall hold these at your disposal, either one or both of them; and in two or three years' time, if you like to try and make a start on your own hook, why, we'll put up a decent house for you, open up the water supply--I know on Hartebeestfontein there is a spring, and I believe there are some likelyaars[veins] in the limestone, where more water is pretty certain to be found--and stock the place, so that you can make a fair beginning. But we must go slow for a time, and meanwhile you've got to learn your business. Still, I am bound to say that I believe and hope you'll do very well. You are steady, or I am very much mistaken; you have brains; and I know, I can see, that, like your dear father, you will always go straight, which in this life is a good deal more than half the battle."Chapter IV.THE GOLD SPOOR."There is another matter I want to speak to you about, Guy," continued Mr. Blakeney, "which has been perplexing me a good deal. It is this: When your father wrote me the first of the two last letters he sent me before his death, he sent also a short statement, sealed in a packet and marked 'Important.' This statement concerns a very rich discovery of gold in a far-away part of the interior of South-west Africa, somewhere on the border of the Portuguese territory of Benguela. I have worried over this problem for many weeks past, and the conclusion I have come to is that I ought to tell you about the whole business. The shortest and best plan is, I think, to show you your father's letter. Here it is; I'll read it to you:--"'ABAQUESSA, GOLD COAST,March19, 1896."'MY DEAR CHARLIE,--You will see from the letter I have already written you that I am in a very precarious state of health, and that I doubt greatly if I shall get over these repeated attacks of fever. In case anything happens to me, I must unburden my mind on one other matter, which seems to me, though it may not to you, very important. A year ago, as you know, I was making some mineral explorations for copper in the mountains behind Mossamedes, Portuguese West Africa. There was little copper to be found worth speaking of, and this business came to an end. One day towards the finish of this work, a Bushman in my service, named Poeskop, came to me and said he thought he could show me something better than copper; that he had once found gold, and that he would show me the place where he had found it. Poeskop was a Bushman from the country north-east of Ovampoland, in German territory. He had worked for Germans and others, and had afterwards drifted into the service of one of the Trek Boers who came to the Mossamedes country fifteen or sixteen years before. He had been brutally treated by this Boer, and, running away from him, came to me. I treated him kindly, and he became exceedingly attached to me, and would do anything for me. He speaks Boer Dutch and one or two native languages of his own country, besides a smattering of German. Well, I asked Poeskop what he meant, and where was the gold he spoke of. He took from the bottom of a dirty old pouch he always wore a piece of skin sewn up with sinew. Cutting this open, he took out four small nuggets of gold, manifestly water-worn. He said that where they came from there were plenty more--plenty. He had come across the place years before as a lad, and he had discovered what gold was, and its value, when he was working for some German prospectors in Damaraland. He knew now also the worth of gold money in English, and German, and Portuguese. I asked him how long it would take us to reach the place. He said more than a month. I was then under contract for this work at the Gold Coast, and it was impossible to throw it up, or to spare the time--about three months in all, reckoning the return journey to Mossamedes. I told the man I would return, if possible, the following year (1897), or, if not that year, in 1898, in the month of June, which is their healthy season, and go with him to the place. Meanwhile, would he promise not to say a word to any other person? Poeskop replied that he cared for no other white man but me; that he would wait till I came, and would meet me in Mossamedes in June the next year (1897), and the year after, and the year after that; and that each year he would wait for me a month. "But," I said, "supposing I can't come, and wish to send some one else in my place? I may be ill, or dead, or anything may have happened to me." "Well, my baas," replied Poeskop, his little drooping eyes twinkling in the oddest kind of way, "if you can't come, and send any one in your place, let him show me that funnysteenjewhich you wear on your watch-chain, and I shall know he is your man, and will do what he asks me." Thesteenje, I must tell you, was nothing else than a piece of New Zealand jade, carved rather curiously in the shape of a fish. Well, there's the end of my yarn. I am dead tired, and feeling very ill. The ague is coming on again, as you can see by my handwriting.""Here," interjected Mr. Blakeney, "as you can see, Guy, your poor father's writing has become very shaky. But he has underscored the remaining lines of his letter, and they run thus:--"'My dear Charlie,I consider this discovery is very important. Poeskop, who was in my service five months, is a most shrewd and reliable little chap. I know he is not lying. I know he has found a place very rich in gold. Of this I am absolutely confident. If I'm right, there is a fortune for all of us. If I get through this bout of fever I shall ask you to give up your ranching for six months, and come and join me at Mossamedes in June. If I go under--and something tells me I shall--I beg you to go on my behalf. Take with you a good and reliable mining engineer; and if Guy is with you, take him. If you cannot go this year, go next. I can't finish ... what I meant to say. This fever is too much for me.You and Guy are to go shares if the gold is right.--From yours ever,"'J. S. HARDCASTLE.'"Well now, Guy," added his uncle, "there's the yarn. Look over the letter yourself."Guy read the letter again, with a serious face, from beginning to end."Poor pater!" he said, as he concluded, the tears standing in his eyes; "he was ill indeed when he wrote and underscored these last lines. Oh, that he could have been with us now!""Would that he could have been, Guy!" said his uncle feelingly; "would that he could! Having read that letter, you will understand something of my anxiety. If your father's surmises are correct, there is a fortune for us all. And yet any ordinary business man would say the whole thing is a mere wild-goose chase, a will-of-the-wisp. I am bothered awfully; I hardly know what to say, what to do."Guy Hardcastle sprang to his feet."Uncle Charles!" he exclaimed, "I'm certain this is no wild-goose chase! My father had a great knowledge of men and things, especially where natives and mining were concerned. He wasn't a mad enthusiast; in fact, I always looked upon him as a very long-headed and cautious man. I'm only a boy; but that was my impression. Let us go. I'm certain that our search will be a success!""Well, Guy," rejoined Mr. Blakeney, smiling at the lad's enthusiasm, "I half believe you are right. Your father was no hunter of wild geese; he was, as you thought him, a man of good judgment and much knowledge. Yet there are many difficulties to be surmounted. I don't like leaving this place just now. Still, there's George Forster to look after matters in my absence--as he did two years ago, when I was in England."I might do this," he went on, speaking as if to himself. "Some years ago I trekked across the Kalahari, by way of Lake Ngami, to Damaraland, and traded and brought back a thousand head of cattle. I have sometimes thought of repeating the trip; but it's a tough business, and a long and anxious one. If I go with you, we might kill two birds with one stone: go round by sea, and so save much time; and after we have had a hunt for the treasure, pick up a lot of cattle and bring them overland. Meanwhile I'll have a talk with your aunt, and hear what she thinks about it all."Mrs. Blakeney was a great believer in her brother; and her vote went for the expedition, little as she liked the prospect of parting from her husband for five or six months. Finally Mr. Blakeney's mind was made up: he determined to go, at all events, as far as Mossamedes. If Poeskop were found, well and good: they would go on with the search. If he were not found, they would go south, buy cattle in Damaraland and Ovampoland, and take them across to Bechuanaland by the Trek Boer route,viâLake Ngami. No sooner was the expedition settled upon than Guy begged his uncle to let Tom accompany them. This Mr. Blakeney refused; Tom, he said, must remain at home to look after his mother and sisters. But, as the lads pointed out, Mr. Blakeney's partner and cousin, George Forster, was coming across to live at Bamborough and take up the management of affairs during his absence. For weeks the lads moved heaven and earth to accomplish their purpose. They at length won over Mrs. Blakeney; and after she had joined for a few days in the siege, Mr. Blakeney gave way. It was settled that Tom was to go, and the two cousins were overjoyed. After much consideration, Mr. Blakeney decided not to take a mining engineer, as suggested by his brother-in-law. He himself had spent two years on the Lydenburg goldfields, in the Eastern Transvaal, in his younger days, and had a fair knowledge of gold and gold formations; he had learned assaying also. On the whole, they all deemed it wiser not to impart the secret to any one out of their own family.Towards the middle of May the party went down by rail to Cape Town, and thence by sea to Mossamedes. Ostensibly they were on a cattle-trading expedition; even George Forster was not let into the secret of the gold search. It would be too ridiculous if the quest turned out an unsuccessful one, and the gold vanished into thin air. Moreover, Mr. Blakeney deemed it unwise to make any mention of gold at all; the merest whisper of it might get about, and set others upon the alert. They kept the secret, therefore, severely to themselves. In pursuance of his expressed intention of bringing home some cattle, Mr. Blakeney took with him as wagon-drivers and herds four of his most reliable natives. These were--Jan Kokerboom, a Koranna; Seleti and Mangwalaan, two Bechuanas of the Barolong clan; and September, a Zulu. They were all good herdsmen and horse-masters, fair shots, and, barring various idiosyncrasies and prejudices peculiar to their tribes, steady and reliable men. Jan Kokerboom was a capital cook, a generally handy man, a good rider and shot, and a first-class hunter. After a fairly prosperous voyage of a week, during the early part of which the natives suffered a good deal from sea-sickness, the ship dropped anchor in Little Fish Bay, off Mossamedes, and the party landed. Their hunting ponies, four in all, which they had brought with them from Bamborough, were safely got ashore.Mossamedes is, compared with other Portuguese towns on the African coast, rather a pleasant little place. It is built of white stone, and has a picturesque esplanade, lined with palm trees, running along the frontage to the bay. The country surrounding is not very inviting, that to the east and south being, like the littoral of Damaraland and Namaqualand, almost completely desert.Having passed their baggage at the Custom House with somewhat greater ease than they expected--thanks mainly to a judicious use by Mr. Blakeney of palm oil--they went up the town, and found fairly comfortable quarters at the principal hotel. Here they remained for a week without being able to find any trace of the native known as Poeskop. At the hotel, the proprietor remembered Mr. Hardcastle, who had stayed with him. He remembered also his Bushman servant Poeskop, but neither he nor any of his people had seen him lately in the town. While they were thus waiting, Mr. Blakeney was by no means idle. He spoke with various Trek Boers who were in the place; bought an excellent tent-wagon for £80; four fairly good horses, wiry, but in low condition--a useful addition to their stud; and a span of serviceable oxen. These would in any case be necessary to them, even if Poeskop failed to put in an appearance. The native servants were then dispatched to the commonage outside the town, where a camp was formed, and the horses and cattle were turned out for grazing. The wagon was thoroughly cleaned out, repaired, and painted, and various cooking utensils necessary for the trek were purchased.On the evening of the seventh day of their stay in Mossamedes the little party of English were sitting, half an hour before dinner, near the landing-place. Mr. Blakeney spent much time there; for he had an idea that if the Bushman, Poeskop, came to Mossamedes at all, he would make his way to the shore, and be on the lookout for his old master."Pater," said Tom, kicking his heels against the low wall on which he sat, "I begin to think the man Poeskop is a solar myth, and I am revolving in my mind a theory by which he can be explained away."The lad had a roguish smile on his face, at which his father in turn could not help laughing."Well, fire away!" replied Mr. Blakeney. "What's your theory?""Well, I'll shortly explain," went on Tom. "I consider you and Guy have brought me out here under false pretences. The whole thing is a Barney. I've been thinking it all out for days past. Poeskop is clearly a non-existent person; and here is my theory of his non-existence!"At this instant, from behind a great pile of stores which lay stacked on the landing-place, there appeared, just in front of them, the short figure of a native. He was a queer, dwarfish-looking little man, with high cheek-bones, a narrow chin, and yellowish skin. His eyes slanted upwards like a Chinaman's; curious, dark, bloodshot eyes they were, with a singular droop of the lids and innumerable wrinkles at the corners. This odd figure was dressed in an old store suit of faded moleskin, a ragged shirt, and a very battered, broad-brimmed hat. A pair of velschoens covered the man's feet. Before Tom, who stared open-mouthed at the apparition, could proceed with his theory, the little man's sharp eyes had run rapidly over the group before him. He looked, as it were expectantly, into the countenance of each. His eyes lingered longest on the face of Guy, and then fell instantly to the middle of the boy's waist. Stretching out his right forefinger, he pointed, with a gesture of strange energy and earnestness, at the watch-chain which Guy wore: it was his father's, and the green jade ornament depended from it.Mr. Blakeney had watched the man keenly."Poeskop?" he said quietly."Ja; Poeskop," returned the native instantly, looking furtively about him. "Vaar is de baas--Baas Hartcassel?"Mr. Blakeney could not refrain from his little triumph over Tom, who sat utterly confounded."Tom, my boy!" he said, with a hearty laugh, "your solar myth is instantly exploded. Here is the essential man, Poeskop himself!"And indeed it was Poeskop. Speaking in Dutch, Mr. Blakeney explained to the strange little figure before them what had happened. The Bushman followed the story closely, nodding his head, and throwing in a "Ja, ja!" now and again, as it were rounding off the various points. When Mr. Blakeney ceased, he spoke."Ja," he said, "I am Poeskop. I came here to meet my Baas Hartcassel, and I am sad because of the news I hear. Never mind; if I cannot be his 'boy' longer, I will be his son's 'boy.' And I will tell you all I know, and take you to the place where--" [here he glanced suspiciously round him, with eyes that searched keenly beneath their droop] "--where my baas wanted me to take him. I see that the young baas is truly the son of my old baas: he has the same blue eyes, and the same look, and the same coloured hair, and though he is young he walks just as walked his father. I saw him yesterday, and watched him; and again to-day I watched him; and now I have seen thesteenje--the little stone of the fish--and I am sure. Well, I am glad indeed. I will be the young baas's 'boy,' and wait upon him and hunt for him, as I did for his father. Is it not so?" he asked, looking inquiringly first at Mr. Blakeney, then at Guy."Yes," said Guy quickly, his colour heightened with the interest and excitement of the discovery; "it is so. You shall be my 'boy,' and I will be your baas, and try to be a good baas to you, as my father was. What wages did he give you?""He gave me one pound a month and myskorf[food], baas," replied Poeskop, "and sometimes some old clothes when I wanted them.""Well, I'll do the same," returned Guy cheerfully; "and I am sure we shall be good friends."Poeskop smiled a huge smile at this speech, showing a set of splendid teeth, which for the moment strongly illuminated his quaint and decidedly ugly visage."That is very good, my young baas," he said, his face still beaming with pleasure; "and I shall show you what I promised to show to your father"--he glanced round again, as if fearing to be overheard--"the Gold Kloof. It is there!" He stretched a forefinger into the air, pointing north-eastward. "And you will find plenty gold, enough for you all; and you will make Poeskop rich too, and buy him cattle, and set him up as a farmer."It was now arranged that the Bushman should at once join the outfit. They walked with him to the wagon outside the town, and introduced him to the other servants. Had he a gun? asked Mr. Blakeney. Yes; he had a gun, concealed not far away. He would get it that night, and put it in the wagon. It was a Martini carbine, given to him by Baas Hardcastle, and in good condition; but he wanted ammunition. This Mr. Blakeney promised to procure for him; and they left the little man at his supper as happy as a king.Next morning Poeskop turned up at the hotel in good time, as Mr. Blakeney had told him to do. It was after breakfast; and they were talking in front of the place, the three Englishmen asking the little Bushman all sorts of questions as to their route, the kind of country they would pass through, the prospects of game (which Poeskop told them were first-rate), and so forth."Poeskop," presently queried Mr. Blakeney, "how long will it take us, trekking steadily and with good oxen (which I have got), to reach the kloof?""About six weeks, baas," replied the Bushman. "It is far, and the way is hard.""I had thought of getting another wagon," continued Mr. Blakeney. "It will be rather a squeeze for myself and the two young masters here to get into one at night. What say you, Poeskop? Can we manage with two easily?""Baas," replied the Bushman, "I would not take two wagons, if you can help it. It is a hard trek, and we have to cross a piece ofdoorst-land[thirst-land], which takes more than a week to get through: two days' and two nights' trek, then water, but not much; then two days and a night without water; then a water-pit; and then three days' and three nights' thirst. It will be hard to get across this with one wagon; much harder with two. If I were the baas, I would take the one wagon only and some spare oxen. We may lose some beasts on the trek from lions, or thirst, or hard work; and it will be safer.""I'm glad you told me of this, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney. "You are quite right; we will take one wagon only. I can buy a small tent in the town; that will do for the young baases to sleep in, and I can have mykartel[bed-frame] to myself in the wagon. In the daytime the tent can be lashed along the buck-rail."They discussed many other points connected with the trek, concerning all of which the little Bushman gave them copious information. Suddenly, as he glanced down the sandy street, his countenance changed; he trembled; fear unmistakably seized him."Baas," he said, in a hoarse voice, "there comes Karl Engelbrecht; I am afraid!""Who is Karl Engelbrecht?" asked Guy; "and why are you afraid?""He is the Trek Boer in whose service I used to be," returned the Bushman. "He beat me often with his sjambok, and treated me cruelly; and so I ran away. But I fear him still. He is a bad man--schelm!""You need have no fear, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney; "I will look after you. Put on a bold face, and stick to me; I'll see that your friend Engelbrecht plays no tricks upon you. Remember that you are in my service, and that we are in Portuguese and not Boer country."They watched the two tall figures, on which Poeskop's eyes were fastened, coming up the street. The Bushman whispered that Karl Engelbrecht was the bigger of the two--the man on the right. The Boers--for they were manifestly both Dutchmen--were now close to the hotel. Karl Engelbrecht, of whom Poeskop stood in so much terror, was a typical Boer of Boers--a big, heavy, slouching fellow, six feet in height, powerfully made, very strong, but slack and loose-limbed. He wore the usual Boer clothing--short jacket and loose trousers of moleskin, a flannel shirt, velschoens (field-shoes) of untanned hide, and a big slouch-hat, ornamented with a single short black-and-white ostrich plume. His long hay-coloured hair ran over his ears and partly covered his neck, and he wore a huge untrimmed beard and moustache of the same dull hue. His hard, pale blue eyes were set deep above broad, sunburnt, fleshy cheeks. It was an unpleasant face; something in the lowering brows, the hard, furtive eyes, gave the beholder instantly an unpleasant impression; and about the man's whole demeanour there was an undefinable yet unmistakable air of menace and brutality. The Dutchman accompanying him was of a much milder and less aggressive type--a big, dark-bearded, slouching fellow, of dull and heavy countenance, with nothing much to differentiate him from scores of his fellows of the Transvaal, Orange Free State, and Cape Colony.As Karl Engelbrecht strode up to the hotel, his eyes suddenly fell upon Poeskop. He started, frowned evilly, glowered at the three white men standing near, and then, taking a step or two forward, seized the Bushman by the collar of his jacket."So, my fine fellow, I have caught you, have I?" he said, in a deep guttural and manifestly angry voice. As he spoke, he cuffed the unfortunate Bushman heavily on the head with his huge hand.Mr. Blakeney was a strong and determined man, and in no mood to stand by and see his servant knocked about. His blood rose instantly at the insolent aggression of this bully."Let the man alone!" he said angrily in Dutch, snatching Poeskop away so suddenly and with such force that he freed him from the Boer's grip. "He is my servant!"Karl Engelbrecht turned instantly upon the Englishman. His face was inflamed with passion, and he struck a heavy blow with his right fist, which, if it had not been parried, would have caught Mr. Blakeney fair in the face. But the latter had been a good boxer in his young days, and had no difficulty in stopping the hit. He was an active man, hard as nails, and in the prime of life, and he was in no mood to take a blow from any man. He retorted by a swift left-hander, which crashed into the middle of the Boer's broad, fleshy face like a kick from a horse. The blood instantly gushed from Engelbrecht's nose. With an oath in Dutch the giant rushed upon his assailant, swinging at him some dangerous right-handers; but Mr. Blakeney, although angry enough, was much too good a general to be overcome in this way. He fought very coolly, parried the round-arm blows, and every now and again planted on the Dutchman's face heavy and telling strokes that quickly told their tale. Pausing to get breath, to spit the blood from his mouth, and to wipe his streaming nose with the back of his hand, the Dutchman once more rushed in to the attack. This time he fought desperately, and Mr. Blakeney had some ado to repel the rush. Changing his tactics, he delivered two or three heavy body-blows, under which the Dutchman winced visibly; the third of these took the Boer's wind, and doubled him up. As his head went forward, the Englishman let drive one vicious upper cut which took Engelbrecht on the point of the jaw and stretched him instantly on the sand. The fight was over.

Chapter III,

UP-COUNTRY LIFE.

For some weeks Mr. Blakeney allowed Guy to have what may be called a good time. He was anxious that the lad should not be thrust too soon into hard collar-work. There is a good deal of steady routine labour, even upon an up-country farm in South Africa, if the farmer is up-to-date and business-like, and means to take his occupation seriously. There are books to be kept; long and hard days to be spent in the saddle; heavy fencing operations, which need care, thought, and application; journeys to various market centres with troops of fat stock; and a host of other details, not all of which are exactly what may be regarded as pure pleasure or light work. Too many young Englishmen, it is to be feared, look upon stock-farming and cattle-ranching as pleasant out-of-door occupations, entailing merely an ornamental kind of existence. They picture to themselves, before going out to South Africa, a shirt-sleeve and broad-brimmed hat kind of life, in which the stock-farmer has merely to have a good time, while his flocks and herds increase about him. This sort of settler quickly becomes disillusioned, and, having wasted a thousand or two of good money--probably his father's--returns sadly to urban life again, vowing that no one can make money by stock-farming in South Africa.

But there are plenty of hard-working and successful pastoral farmers in many parts of South Africa who can testify to the excellent result of application and attention to details, united with care, foresight, energy, and experience.

For a long month Mr. Blakeney or his son Tom, sometimes both of them, rode far and wide with Guy Hardcastle over the twenty-four thousand odd acres comprised in Bamborough Farm. They explored boundaries, pointed out to Guy the various beacons marking off their limits, inspected cattle, and assisted at the sinking of a well in a distant part of the estate. This well, and the erection of a windmill pump, were needed for the supply of water to the cattle in what had been so waterless a portion of the ranch that it had been hitherto practically unavailable, excellent as was the grass veldt. A good-sized basin was formed in a piece of limestone formation, where once had existed an ancient native well, now long since dry; and here, when the operations were completed, the cattle were able to slake their thirst in a cool, crystal-clear pool, which at once sent up the value of the six thousand acres on this part of the run by two hundred per cent.

They had various bird-shooting excursions, riding out with a couple of pointers, and, so soon as the dogs stood to game, dismounting from their ponies and walking into their shots. In this way they made some pretty bags of Coqui and red-wing francolin, koorhaan, and guinea-fowl. One or two adventures befell Guy at this period. One day they had sallied out to hunt a troop of hartebeest, which ran on a distant part of the farm. After finding the troop in some prettily-timbered country, well covered with giraffe-acacia, the three had become separated, Guy galloping mile after mile in pursuit of a good bull which he had wounded. The hartebeest, turning out of the troop and quitting the wooded glades in which the herd had been discovered, took away over the open plains. Guy was well mounted, and for a long seven miles pushed after the big red-brown antelope, which swept away in front of him with a free, machine-like action that, despite its wound--a bullet through the middle of the body--showed no symptom of tiring. At length the hartebeest climbed the ridge of a wave in the grass plain, and disappeared. Guy's pony, good and willing as he was, was now tiring visibly. The lad doubted whether he could gallop much farther--the pace had been too great--and the game looked like getting clean away. It was too annoying. They reached the top of the ridge, and looked over. Nothing living was to be seen; the plain was untenanted. Apparently the antelope had vanished into thin air. But Guy's keen eye noted, half a mile or so to the right, a widish patch of vaal bush. Towards this he now rode. He approached within thirty yards, and dismounted. Just as he did so, the wounded antelope rose slowly to its feet from within the shelter of the bush, and essayed to canter off. Too late! The gallant beast had made its last effort and taken its final gallop. Guy's rifle went up, and as the antelope slowly moved away, another bullet from the Mannlicher pierced its heart. It tumbled suddenly to the veldt, and after a brief kick or two lay dead.

Guy now set to work to skin his prize and take off the head. It was a fine bull, carrying excellent horns, and his pride and satisfaction at having thus secured his first big game trophy were very great. By the time he had completed his operations, and slung the skin and a quantity of venison behind the saddle, the hot afternoon was wearing away. Carrying the hartebeest's head in front of him, resting on the pommel of the saddle, Guy now rode back for the woodland. It was a long eight miles, and his nag was by no means fresh after his tremendous exertions. They reached the acacia groves at last. By this time there remained an hour to sunset. Through these endless groves and glades, all much resembling one another, the young Englishman now attempted to thread his way, with the result that, by the time the sun sank, he found himself completely lost. Just at this moment there came from far to the eastward the faint report of a gun, then another. Guy rode that way, but in half an hour the light had clean vanished, and it became a matter of difficulty to manoeuvre a path through the gloom of evening amid this trackless forest. Night fell; there was no moon; and although the stars glittered brilliantly above, it became apparent to Guy that he was benighted. He heard no more shots.

After wandering on, leading his now dog-tired pony, the lad came to the conclusion that he had better camp for the night. He had, luckily, in the hunting pouch at his belt, a box of matches and a compass, two things which his uncle had warned him always to carry on expeditions of this sort. He knew that there was no water within many miles of where he stood, and that it was useless to think of attempting to find any. He had, unluckily, finished the last remnant of lime juice and water that remained in his water-bottle; bitterly did he now regret the fact. He was terribly thirsty after hunting all day under a burning sun. He felt that at this moment he would gladly have given half a crown, nay, half a sovereign, for a quart of clear water. It was useless to think about it, however, and, philosophically enough, Guy set to work to prepare for the night. First he cut a quantity of grass and placed it before his pony, which by this time he had off-saddled and tied to a bush. On the lee side of this bush he himself meant to sleep, and for this purpose cut more grass and made a rough bed. Then clearing a space--for he had no wish to start a veldt fire--he cut and gathered sticks and odd timber. He had camped by a dead acacia tree, destroyed by white ants, and soon had before him a cheerful blaze. Now cutting some collops of venison, he cooked them in the hot embers, and, with a biscuit that remained over from his lunch, made out a respectable meal. It was hard work eating without water, and with a thirst such as he now possessed; but he managed to swallow some food, and felt a trifle better. The air grew chill, and he now unfastened his coat from his saddle and put it on; then, piling up more wood on the fire, and making a pillow of the inner part of his saddle, he fell asleep. He knew that here, in this waterless and semi-desert part of the veldt, few wild beasts--leopards, cheetahs, or hyænas--would be wandering about; and besides, he was too tired to trouble much if any there were.

At dawn he awoke, cold and stiff; the fire was out; his pony was munching the remains of the grass that lay near him. Guy rose, somewhat refreshed, but with a terribly dry mouth and tongue. Saddling up, he now prepared to seek his way home. By the position of the sun and the aid of his compass, he could now steer some sort of way through this perplexing forest, and he steadily pushed on. Two hours later, having cleared the timber country and emerged once more upon the open plains, he came upon the spoor of horses, which convinced him that he was going in the right direction. After another hour of cantering and walking, he struck a wagon track, and knew that he could now find his way to the homestead. Very shortly he heard the reports of two guns, then a third. He guessed that these were fired by his uncle or cousin, now no doubt in search of him. Cantering that way, he soon caught sight of three mounted men, and in five minutes was shaking hands with his relatives. They had with them a native servant, and were riding out to look for him.

"My word, Guy," said his uncle heartily, "I am glad to have come across you so soon. This is a dickens of a country to get lost in--the veldt is so waterless, except during the rains; and I was getting seriously anxious about you. We wandered about firing shots yesterday afternoon, and then made for home to bring out more water, and hunt you up to-day, in case you had completely lost yourself. Didn't you hear our shots yesterday?"

"Yes," answered Guy, "I heard two just before sundown last evening; but they were far away to the east, and I couldn't make anything of them, though I wandered that way after dark. Then I camped, made a fire, and slept, and here I am."

"Excellent, my boy," said his uncle; "but you must be terribly dry. Here, April," turning to the native; "unfasten that water-bottle and give Baas Guy a drink. Drink up, lad; it's cold tea, and will do you good."

Guy drank and drank, and presently returned the bottle.

"Never tasted anything so good in my life," he said, wiping his lips. "It's nectar. I begin to understand what thirst really is. In England we can have no idea of it, in a country where you can't go a mile without coming on water of some kind or other."

"You're quite right," added Mr. Blakeney. "They don't half appreciate the blessings of life at home. You want to rough it out here a bit to understand what English comfort and English luxury really mean. Why, we had a man staying with us a year back, looking at stock, who got lost in the veldt out here for three days, two of which he passed without a drop of water. Ultimately we tracked him to a native kraal on the Molopo, thirty miles away. In this kind of country--in fact all through Bechuanaland, on the Kalahari side--you've got to watch it, or you may easily get lost, and perhaps die of thirst and starvation. Now, let's be off home for breakfast. We have an hour and a half's ride still before us."

Meanwhile, Tom Blakeney had been examining his cousin's hunting trophy. "By Jove, Guy," he exclaimed, "you've got a first-rate head! That's a real good old bull hartebeest; you seldom see finer horns."

"Yes, Tom," rejoined his cousin, "I thought it was a good head; and if I had had to go without water another twenty-four hours, I should have brought it back with me. It's my first hunting trophy, and I shall always be proud of it."

"You'll do, Guy!" exclaimed his uncle, as they rode homewards. "I like to see a fellow keen; and I'm sure you will shoot many a head of big game before you've finished. Some day we'll go into the real hunting veldt, where you can prove your mettle against more formidable beasts."

A week or two later, Tom and Guy were shooting redwing partridges and koorhaan in a pretty piece of country some miles from the homestead. They had quitted the banks of a periodical stream, where they had bagged half a dozen brace of redwings and a steinbuck, and were now in search of black and white koorhaan and Coqui partridges on a wide piece of grassy plain which ran up to a distant line of kopjes. Juno, the pointer, stood; and Tom, slipping quietly from his saddle, walked cautiously forward, his gun at the ready. Still the staunch dog stood, pointing stiffly at something in front of her. Tom advanced yet farther, and then, without a cry and very noiselessly, there rose from the long grass a single bird, with long greenish legs and a big head. It was an easy shot, and Tom fired and brought it down.

"A dikkop," he cried, as he ran forward and picked up the bird. Guy came up and inspected the game, which was of a species he had not yet seen in Bechuanaland.

"Why, it's the same as our Norfolk plover, or thick-knee," he said. "Father shot one years ago in Suffolk, and had it stuffed. I can tell it by its big staring eyes."

"Yes, it's nearly the same bird," rejoined his cousin. "I believe there's some little difference in the species, here we call it by the Dutch name dikkop, or thickhead. They're rattling good eating, and we'll stick it in the bag."

Smoothing the bird's feathers, and placing it in the wallet slung behind his saddle, they went on.

In another half hour, during which time they got no shot, Juno, the pointer, became curiously restless. She seemed to neglect the sport in front of her, and turned perpetually to sniff the breeze which blew from their left flank. Suddenly, after quartering the ground in that direction, she stopped and barked furiously.

"What's the old girl up to?" ejaculated Tom. "I'll go and see."

As he turned his horse that way, the pointer, hitherto standing with hackles up, manifestly in a state of intense anger, suddenly turned and fled, her tail between her legs. Guy Hardcastle, curious to know what had so alarmed the dog, walked his nag that way. The two cousins rode on together for thirty yards, and then, with a curious hissing sound, there rose, ten paces in front of them, the head and neck of an enormous serpent. The reptile reared itself so suddenly, and its aspect was so menacing, that Guy's pony shied violently and swerved off, nearly unseating its rider as it did so.

"Look out, Guy!" cried his cousin. "It's a python. Canter away a bit and slip in louper cartridges [buck shot], and then we'll have a go at the brute. He's been following us." They cantered away forty or fifty yards, changing their cartridges as they did so, and then returned to the charge.

Meanwhile the python, which had undoubtedly been stalking them, had thought better of it, and, seeing more formidable quarry than it had bargained for, was slipping away. The lads galloped to the spot where they had last seen it; and Tom, pointing to a movement in the long grass in front of them, exclaimed excitedly, "There it goes; come on!"

Guy, who was not used to snakes, didn't half like the idea of stalking such a monster; but as his cousin galloped on, he touched his pony with the spur and rode after him. Nearer and nearer they drew towards the rustling grass. Suddenly the movement ceased, and the huge, evil-looking head rose before them. The serpent was undeniably angry, and a big python in a rage is a formidable opponent.

"Shoot," whispered Tom in a steady voice.

Guy needed not incitement. Already his gun was up; they fired together, and as the double report rattled out, the great serpent, stricken in the head and neck, fell writhing into the pale grass. One of the two shots had luckily broken its backbone a foot or so below the head; but the huge serpent was by no means disabled, and now, half impotent though it was, it struggled furiously to reach its adversaries. Beating and flapping the earth in its agony and rage, it writhed itself towards the two horsemen, who now separated and gave it another shot apiece. Then, recharging their guns, they returned, and finished the wounded monster with a couple more charges.

Having ascertained that the snake was really dead, they dismounted and approached it; then, stretching out the reptile to its full length, Tom took a tape measure from his pocket and ran over its dimensions.

"Eighteen feet," he remarked, rising from his task. "The biggest python killed in these parts!"

"Have you many of these brutes about the place?" asked Guy, turning over the monster with his foot, and comparing the greenish white of its underparts with the brilliant markings of its upper colouring.

"No, not many," answered Tom. "They're shy, secretive beggars, and one very seldom, indeed, comes across them. I've not heard of one for two or three years."

"Thank goodness for that," rejoined Guy. "I must say, if I thought there were many of these creatures in the neighbourhood, I should come bird-shooting precious seldom, especially on foot. Surely they are dangerous? They're not poisonous, I suppose?"

"No, they're not poisonous, luckily," returned Tom. "But they can constrict. Whether they can kill a man I don't know. I shouldn't like to try the experiment. Father says they can't. Still, they can try; and if they were big enough--like this one, for example--they might give you a very unpleasant time of it. They certainly do kill small buck occasionally. Three years ago a python--rock snakes, the colonists call them--which father had shot was found to contain the bones of a duyker in its stomach; and our native boys killed another, with their knobkerries, which had killed and eaten a steinbuck just before, and was completely gorged and stupid after its meal."

They finished their shoot across the flat, adding three brace of koorhaan and Coqui partridges to their bag, and then came back to the dead python. Fastening this to the end of a piece of cord which Tom carried with him, they trailed the serpent behind them and struck for home. Arrived at Bamborough towards four o'clock, they stretched out the great serpent in the front garden, and invited all and sundry to come and view their conquest. It was agreed that so large a python had never before been seen in that part of the country.

"Yes," said Mr. Blakeney, as he watched Tom and Guy divesting the creature of its beautiful skin, "it's a big snake. Three years ago I got quite a fright with one of these reptiles. I was shooting alone and on foot about two miles from here. Juno was with me, and she seemed very uneasy, just as she was with you to-day. Suddenly, as I turned round--I don't know what made me do it--I saw, sticking out above the grass not ten yards behind me, a python. Just for one second I was in a real fright, I promise you--the thing was so sudden. However, the brute looked very nasty, and I put up my gun and fired at once, smashing its head to pieces. It struggled a bit, and another shot finished it. Now, that snake had followed me right across the flat from the river bed--where, I imagine, it had its holt or hiding-place in some bush or among the rocks--for a distance of more than a mile. It was rather uncanny, wasn't it?"

"Very uncanny, indeed," answered Guy. "I don't like the brutes at all. Do you think they would go for one?"

"No; on the whole, I don't think they would," said Mr. Blakeney. "And if they did, although they might frighten you and even hurt you, I don't think they could kill a man. They could kill a child, as they do undoubtedly kill a young calf sometimes; and for that reason I'm not over fond of them--in fact, I destroy them whenever I come across them, if I can. They're slippery brutes, however, and once let them get near rocks or bush and you'll never see them again."

"The natives about here, father, don't like them?" queried Tom, as he finished his part of the task, and together he and Guy rolled the stripped body of the serpent from its skin, which they had now completely flayed away from the flesh.

"No, the Bechuanas don't like them," rejoined Mr. Blakeney. "At the same time they don't care about molesting them. In Zululand the natives will never touch them. They have an idea that the souls of their ancestors return to the bodies of these serpents, and will even allow them to live close to their huts. For my part, I don't like the proximity of such neighbours."

Having carefully scraped every fragment of fat or flesh from the skin, the two lads rubbed in arsenical soap, and pegged it out on the shady side of the wall of an outhouse, where in a day or two the cure was complete.

In a few more weeks Guy Hardcastle had acquired a very fair knowledge of the far-spreading pastures of Bamborough Farm. He began to pick up, too, some knowledge of stock and stock-farming, for he was a quick lad, who always had his wits about him, and was anxious to gain any sort of information that might be useful to him. He had seen mealies and oats reaped, and assisted in other operations. He had had a very good time, for, mingled with the preliminaries of a pastoral farmer's life, to which his uncle had introduced him, he had had a fair amount of shooting, several pleasant excursions with his cousins to neighbouring farms, and a trip to Mafeking to bring home stores. At the end of January he accompanied his uncle to Johannesburg with a herd of fat cattle, which were disposed of for excellent prices on their arrival there.

On this expedition, although they were assisted by native servants, they had to experience some of the roughs and tumbles of veldt life. They lived for the most part in the saddle, sleeping at night in a light mule wagon which accompanied them. The weather was broken and unsettled; the rains, which began in December, still fell heavily at intervals, and they were often drenched to the skin. Even their wagon tent by no means sufficed to protect them from the tropical downpours that periodically fell from the lowering heavens. Nevertheless, to the secret satisfaction of Mr. Blakeney, Guy bore all the discomforts that overtook them with the most cheerful spirit, and arrived at Johannesburg in excellent heart and fettle. He had proved himself a very useful auxiliary, and his uncle was more than well pleased with his behaviour. The return from the gold city was made with much less discomfort, and, unencumbered with a big herd of cattle, they reached home within a fortnight.

One evening, a short time after their return, Mr. Blakeney called Guy into his own room, the "den," as he called it, in which he did most of the office work connected with the farm, and kept his papers, books, and accounts, as well as his guns, rifles, and ammunition. Guy was just then engaged in a game of chess with his aunt, who was a skilful player, and was teaching him something of the rudiments of the art.

"Well, aunt," he said, as he rose with a cheery laugh, "I'm defeated again, I see. You have mate in another move, haven't you?"

"I'm afraid it is so, Guy," replied Mrs. Blakeney. "Never mind; you are getting along very well. This has been quite a good fight, and in another six months you will be crowing over me, I expect."

Guy walked quickly to his uncle's room, where an oil lamp shed a bright glow over everything. Mr. Blakeney was a man of methodical habits. His books and papers were always in their right places; his guns gleamed brightly on their racks; everything was in apple-pie order.

"Sit down, Guy," said his uncle, pointing to the chair near him; "I want to have a bit of a talk with you. First of all, I want to know something about your views of cattle-farming and South African farming life generally. Is it the kind of life you think will suit you, and can you make up your mind to settle down to it? You have now had a three months' apprenticeship, and have probably formed your own opinions."

"Well, Uncle Charles," replied Guy, "my answer is a very short one. I like the life immensely, and mean to stick to it. I can think of nothing that will suit me half so well as to settle down steadily to the same kind of existence that you lead here. I should like it above all things, and I have thought the whole matter very carefully over."

"Remember, Guy, my boy," said his uncle kindly, "that hitherto, except for the journey to Johannesburg, which wasn't a very pleasant one, although from a financial point of view it answered excellently, you have seen rather the bright side of things out here. This place, although I say it who perhaps shouldn't, is rather a cut above the average. We have put capital into the thing, my cousin and I--I mean, of course, George Forster, who farms the adjoining land, and is my partner. We do the thing well, and our homesteads are exceptionally good. We have, as you see, some of the refinements as well as the comforts of civilization about us. And hitherto we have had good seasons and great luck. But you have to remember that there come times of drought; various diseases attack stock, locusts destroy the veldt, and the farmer's losses are often very heavy indeed. They say rinderpest is on its way south, and will in time reach us even here. It has got as far as Nyasaland, and will probably work its way right through the continent to the very shores of Cape Colony. You must look at all these things before you decide."

"Well, uncle," repeated Guy, "I can only say that I have honestly tried to look at the thing all round. I know--and many thanks to you all for it--that you have shown me the best and brightest side of everything, and that I can't always expect to live in the lap of luxury, as I do here. Please take my word for it. I want to go in for this kind of life. I mean to stick to it seriously and learn the business, and try and make something out of it; and I do hope you will do what you once said you might be inclined to do--that is, teach me the business, and let me in time get hold of some land near you. I have quite made up my mind, and that's my decision."

"Well, Guy," said his uncle, with a pleased look on his kindly, expressive face, "I'm very glad to hear this. I like you, my boy. I believe you will stick to your business, and not look at it merely as a hobby or a plaything; and I can only say, for my part, that I will do all in my power to help you on. For your father's sake, as well as your own, I shall do this; and I hope in a few years, when you've got experience, you will do very well for yourself. Meanwhile, I've lately had my eye on two farms, hitherto unoccupied, which touch our north-west boundary. They are called Hartebeestfontein and Bushman's Kraal. I can get them cheap. They are the usual six thousand acre farms, and I can buy them from Government for £600 the pair. I shall write to my agent at Vryburg to-morrow to secure these farms, which I shall henceforth take to and stock. I shall hold these at your disposal, either one or both of them; and in two or three years' time, if you like to try and make a start on your own hook, why, we'll put up a decent house for you, open up the water supply--I know on Hartebeestfontein there is a spring, and I believe there are some likelyaars[veins] in the limestone, where more water is pretty certain to be found--and stock the place, so that you can make a fair beginning. But we must go slow for a time, and meanwhile you've got to learn your business. Still, I am bound to say that I believe and hope you'll do very well. You are steady, or I am very much mistaken; you have brains; and I know, I can see, that, like your dear father, you will always go straight, which in this life is a good deal more than half the battle."

Chapter IV.

THE GOLD SPOOR.

"There is another matter I want to speak to you about, Guy," continued Mr. Blakeney, "which has been perplexing me a good deal. It is this: When your father wrote me the first of the two last letters he sent me before his death, he sent also a short statement, sealed in a packet and marked 'Important.' This statement concerns a very rich discovery of gold in a far-away part of the interior of South-west Africa, somewhere on the border of the Portuguese territory of Benguela. I have worried over this problem for many weeks past, and the conclusion I have come to is that I ought to tell you about the whole business. The shortest and best plan is, I think, to show you your father's letter. Here it is; I'll read it to you:--

March19, 1896.

"'MY DEAR CHARLIE,--You will see from the letter I have already written you that I am in a very precarious state of health, and that I doubt greatly if I shall get over these repeated attacks of fever. In case anything happens to me, I must unburden my mind on one other matter, which seems to me, though it may not to you, very important. A year ago, as you know, I was making some mineral explorations for copper in the mountains behind Mossamedes, Portuguese West Africa. There was little copper to be found worth speaking of, and this business came to an end. One day towards the finish of this work, a Bushman in my service, named Poeskop, came to me and said he thought he could show me something better than copper; that he had once found gold, and that he would show me the place where he had found it. Poeskop was a Bushman from the country north-east of Ovampoland, in German territory. He had worked for Germans and others, and had afterwards drifted into the service of one of the Trek Boers who came to the Mossamedes country fifteen or sixteen years before. He had been brutally treated by this Boer, and, running away from him, came to me. I treated him kindly, and he became exceedingly attached to me, and would do anything for me. He speaks Boer Dutch and one or two native languages of his own country, besides a smattering of German. Well, I asked Poeskop what he meant, and where was the gold he spoke of. He took from the bottom of a dirty old pouch he always wore a piece of skin sewn up with sinew. Cutting this open, he took out four small nuggets of gold, manifestly water-worn. He said that where they came from there were plenty more--plenty. He had come across the place years before as a lad, and he had discovered what gold was, and its value, when he was working for some German prospectors in Damaraland. He knew now also the worth of gold money in English, and German, and Portuguese. I asked him how long it would take us to reach the place. He said more than a month. I was then under contract for this work at the Gold Coast, and it was impossible to throw it up, or to spare the time--about three months in all, reckoning the return journey to Mossamedes. I told the man I would return, if possible, the following year (1897), or, if not that year, in 1898, in the month of June, which is their healthy season, and go with him to the place. Meanwhile, would he promise not to say a word to any other person? Poeskop replied that he cared for no other white man but me; that he would wait till I came, and would meet me in Mossamedes in June the next year (1897), and the year after, and the year after that; and that each year he would wait for me a month. "But," I said, "supposing I can't come, and wish to send some one else in my place? I may be ill, or dead, or anything may have happened to me." "Well, my baas," replied Poeskop, his little drooping eyes twinkling in the oddest kind of way, "if you can't come, and send any one in your place, let him show me that funnysteenjewhich you wear on your watch-chain, and I shall know he is your man, and will do what he asks me." Thesteenje, I must tell you, was nothing else than a piece of New Zealand jade, carved rather curiously in the shape of a fish. Well, there's the end of my yarn. I am dead tired, and feeling very ill. The ague is coming on again, as you can see by my handwriting."

"Here," interjected Mr. Blakeney, "as you can see, Guy, your poor father's writing has become very shaky. But he has underscored the remaining lines of his letter, and they run thus:--

"'My dear Charlie,I consider this discovery is very important. Poeskop, who was in my service five months, is a most shrewd and reliable little chap. I know he is not lying. I know he has found a place very rich in gold. Of this I am absolutely confident. If I'm right, there is a fortune for all of us. If I get through this bout of fever I shall ask you to give up your ranching for six months, and come and join me at Mossamedes in June. If I go under--and something tells me I shall--I beg you to go on my behalf. Take with you a good and reliable mining engineer; and if Guy is with you, take him. If you cannot go this year, go next. I can't finish ... what I meant to say. This fever is too much for me.You and Guy are to go shares if the gold is right.--From yours ever,

"'J. S. HARDCASTLE.'

"Well now, Guy," added his uncle, "there's the yarn. Look over the letter yourself."

Guy read the letter again, with a serious face, from beginning to end.

"Poor pater!" he said, as he concluded, the tears standing in his eyes; "he was ill indeed when he wrote and underscored these last lines. Oh, that he could have been with us now!"

"Would that he could have been, Guy!" said his uncle feelingly; "would that he could! Having read that letter, you will understand something of my anxiety. If your father's surmises are correct, there is a fortune for us all. And yet any ordinary business man would say the whole thing is a mere wild-goose chase, a will-of-the-wisp. I am bothered awfully; I hardly know what to say, what to do."

Guy Hardcastle sprang to his feet.

"Uncle Charles!" he exclaimed, "I'm certain this is no wild-goose chase! My father had a great knowledge of men and things, especially where natives and mining were concerned. He wasn't a mad enthusiast; in fact, I always looked upon him as a very long-headed and cautious man. I'm only a boy; but that was my impression. Let us go. I'm certain that our search will be a success!"

"Well, Guy," rejoined Mr. Blakeney, smiling at the lad's enthusiasm, "I half believe you are right. Your father was no hunter of wild geese; he was, as you thought him, a man of good judgment and much knowledge. Yet there are many difficulties to be surmounted. I don't like leaving this place just now. Still, there's George Forster to look after matters in my absence--as he did two years ago, when I was in England.

"I might do this," he went on, speaking as if to himself. "Some years ago I trekked across the Kalahari, by way of Lake Ngami, to Damaraland, and traded and brought back a thousand head of cattle. I have sometimes thought of repeating the trip; but it's a tough business, and a long and anxious one. If I go with you, we might kill two birds with one stone: go round by sea, and so save much time; and after we have had a hunt for the treasure, pick up a lot of cattle and bring them overland. Meanwhile I'll have a talk with your aunt, and hear what she thinks about it all."

Mrs. Blakeney was a great believer in her brother; and her vote went for the expedition, little as she liked the prospect of parting from her husband for five or six months. Finally Mr. Blakeney's mind was made up: he determined to go, at all events, as far as Mossamedes. If Poeskop were found, well and good: they would go on with the search. If he were not found, they would go south, buy cattle in Damaraland and Ovampoland, and take them across to Bechuanaland by the Trek Boer route,viâLake Ngami. No sooner was the expedition settled upon than Guy begged his uncle to let Tom accompany them. This Mr. Blakeney refused; Tom, he said, must remain at home to look after his mother and sisters. But, as the lads pointed out, Mr. Blakeney's partner and cousin, George Forster, was coming across to live at Bamborough and take up the management of affairs during his absence. For weeks the lads moved heaven and earth to accomplish their purpose. They at length won over Mrs. Blakeney; and after she had joined for a few days in the siege, Mr. Blakeney gave way. It was settled that Tom was to go, and the two cousins were overjoyed. After much consideration, Mr. Blakeney decided not to take a mining engineer, as suggested by his brother-in-law. He himself had spent two years on the Lydenburg goldfields, in the Eastern Transvaal, in his younger days, and had a fair knowledge of gold and gold formations; he had learned assaying also. On the whole, they all deemed it wiser not to impart the secret to any one out of their own family.

Towards the middle of May the party went down by rail to Cape Town, and thence by sea to Mossamedes. Ostensibly they were on a cattle-trading expedition; even George Forster was not let into the secret of the gold search. It would be too ridiculous if the quest turned out an unsuccessful one, and the gold vanished into thin air. Moreover, Mr. Blakeney deemed it unwise to make any mention of gold at all; the merest whisper of it might get about, and set others upon the alert. They kept the secret, therefore, severely to themselves. In pursuance of his expressed intention of bringing home some cattle, Mr. Blakeney took with him as wagon-drivers and herds four of his most reliable natives. These were--Jan Kokerboom, a Koranna; Seleti and Mangwalaan, two Bechuanas of the Barolong clan; and September, a Zulu. They were all good herdsmen and horse-masters, fair shots, and, barring various idiosyncrasies and prejudices peculiar to their tribes, steady and reliable men. Jan Kokerboom was a capital cook, a generally handy man, a good rider and shot, and a first-class hunter. After a fairly prosperous voyage of a week, during the early part of which the natives suffered a good deal from sea-sickness, the ship dropped anchor in Little Fish Bay, off Mossamedes, and the party landed. Their hunting ponies, four in all, which they had brought with them from Bamborough, were safely got ashore.

Mossamedes is, compared with other Portuguese towns on the African coast, rather a pleasant little place. It is built of white stone, and has a picturesque esplanade, lined with palm trees, running along the frontage to the bay. The country surrounding is not very inviting, that to the east and south being, like the littoral of Damaraland and Namaqualand, almost completely desert.

Having passed their baggage at the Custom House with somewhat greater ease than they expected--thanks mainly to a judicious use by Mr. Blakeney of palm oil--they went up the town, and found fairly comfortable quarters at the principal hotel. Here they remained for a week without being able to find any trace of the native known as Poeskop. At the hotel, the proprietor remembered Mr. Hardcastle, who had stayed with him. He remembered also his Bushman servant Poeskop, but neither he nor any of his people had seen him lately in the town. While they were thus waiting, Mr. Blakeney was by no means idle. He spoke with various Trek Boers who were in the place; bought an excellent tent-wagon for £80; four fairly good horses, wiry, but in low condition--a useful addition to their stud; and a span of serviceable oxen. These would in any case be necessary to them, even if Poeskop failed to put in an appearance. The native servants were then dispatched to the commonage outside the town, where a camp was formed, and the horses and cattle were turned out for grazing. The wagon was thoroughly cleaned out, repaired, and painted, and various cooking utensils necessary for the trek were purchased.

On the evening of the seventh day of their stay in Mossamedes the little party of English were sitting, half an hour before dinner, near the landing-place. Mr. Blakeney spent much time there; for he had an idea that if the Bushman, Poeskop, came to Mossamedes at all, he would make his way to the shore, and be on the lookout for his old master.

"Pater," said Tom, kicking his heels against the low wall on which he sat, "I begin to think the man Poeskop is a solar myth, and I am revolving in my mind a theory by which he can be explained away."

The lad had a roguish smile on his face, at which his father in turn could not help laughing.

"Well, fire away!" replied Mr. Blakeney. "What's your theory?"

"Well, I'll shortly explain," went on Tom. "I consider you and Guy have brought me out here under false pretences. The whole thing is a Barney. I've been thinking it all out for days past. Poeskop is clearly a non-existent person; and here is my theory of his non-existence!"

At this instant, from behind a great pile of stores which lay stacked on the landing-place, there appeared, just in front of them, the short figure of a native. He was a queer, dwarfish-looking little man, with high cheek-bones, a narrow chin, and yellowish skin. His eyes slanted upwards like a Chinaman's; curious, dark, bloodshot eyes they were, with a singular droop of the lids and innumerable wrinkles at the corners. This odd figure was dressed in an old store suit of faded moleskin, a ragged shirt, and a very battered, broad-brimmed hat. A pair of velschoens covered the man's feet. Before Tom, who stared open-mouthed at the apparition, could proceed with his theory, the little man's sharp eyes had run rapidly over the group before him. He looked, as it were expectantly, into the countenance of each. His eyes lingered longest on the face of Guy, and then fell instantly to the middle of the boy's waist. Stretching out his right forefinger, he pointed, with a gesture of strange energy and earnestness, at the watch-chain which Guy wore: it was his father's, and the green jade ornament depended from it.

Mr. Blakeney had watched the man keenly.

"Poeskop?" he said quietly.

"Ja; Poeskop," returned the native instantly, looking furtively about him. "Vaar is de baas--Baas Hartcassel?"

Mr. Blakeney could not refrain from his little triumph over Tom, who sat utterly confounded.

"Tom, my boy!" he said, with a hearty laugh, "your solar myth is instantly exploded. Here is the essential man, Poeskop himself!"

And indeed it was Poeskop. Speaking in Dutch, Mr. Blakeney explained to the strange little figure before them what had happened. The Bushman followed the story closely, nodding his head, and throwing in a "Ja, ja!" now and again, as it were rounding off the various points. When Mr. Blakeney ceased, he spoke.

"Ja," he said, "I am Poeskop. I came here to meet my Baas Hartcassel, and I am sad because of the news I hear. Never mind; if I cannot be his 'boy' longer, I will be his son's 'boy.' And I will tell you all I know, and take you to the place where--" [here he glanced suspiciously round him, with eyes that searched keenly beneath their droop] "--where my baas wanted me to take him. I see that the young baas is truly the son of my old baas: he has the same blue eyes, and the same look, and the same coloured hair, and though he is young he walks just as walked his father. I saw him yesterday, and watched him; and again to-day I watched him; and now I have seen thesteenje--the little stone of the fish--and I am sure. Well, I am glad indeed. I will be the young baas's 'boy,' and wait upon him and hunt for him, as I did for his father. Is it not so?" he asked, looking inquiringly first at Mr. Blakeney, then at Guy.

"Yes," said Guy quickly, his colour heightened with the interest and excitement of the discovery; "it is so. You shall be my 'boy,' and I will be your baas, and try to be a good baas to you, as my father was. What wages did he give you?"

"He gave me one pound a month and myskorf[food], baas," replied Poeskop, "and sometimes some old clothes when I wanted them."

"Well, I'll do the same," returned Guy cheerfully; "and I am sure we shall be good friends."

Poeskop smiled a huge smile at this speech, showing a set of splendid teeth, which for the moment strongly illuminated his quaint and decidedly ugly visage.

"That is very good, my young baas," he said, his face still beaming with pleasure; "and I shall show you what I promised to show to your father"--he glanced round again, as if fearing to be overheard--"the Gold Kloof. It is there!" He stretched a forefinger into the air, pointing north-eastward. "And you will find plenty gold, enough for you all; and you will make Poeskop rich too, and buy him cattle, and set him up as a farmer."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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