Chapter V.THE TREK BEGINS.Karl Engelbrecht gathered himself up after a short pause, but there was no further fight left in him. He turned to go."All right, my fine Englishman," he said, shaking his fist at his conqueror. "I don't know who you are or what you are, but no one does Karl Engelbrecht an injury without paying for it. I shall be even with you, and that before very long. Meanwhile I shall go straight to the magistrate's office, and get that scoundrel arrested for running away from my service."As he spoke he pointed to Poeskop, who was smiling all over his yellow face at his former master's discomfiture."And I'll follow you to the magistrate's office directly," said Mr. Blakeney, "and have you summoned for assaulting this native."Accompanied by the two lads, who were overjoyed, if a little awed, at the result of the contest, Mr. Blakeney went into the hotel to wash his hands and get rid of all traces of the encounter. He himself had scarcely suffered at all. He had a lump on his forehead and a red patch on his cheek-bone, and one of his knuckles was badly cut; beyond these slight injuries he has untouched."My word, uncle," said Guy, as Mr. Blakeney took his coat off and poured out some water, "you did punish that ruffian. I had no idea you were such a fighting man. It was splendid!""Well, boys," returned Mr. Blakeney, "I don't like fighting, and I have always made it a point to avoid a scuffle if it can possibly be done. But sometimes there comes an occasion when a man must take his own part. This was one of them. I couldn't stand by and see that hulking bully knocking Poeskop about. My idea is that every decent Englishman, or English boy, should be able to defend himself when compelled to, and for that reason I believe in every lad being taught to box. My old boxing lessons stood me in good stead just now. I suppose the Boer was at least a couple of stone heavier than myself; but he knew no more about fighting than a baby, and he paid the penalty."He soused his face in cold water, washed his hands, and with the two lads and Poeskop went off to the magistrate's office. The upshot of the affair was that Karl Engelbrecht was proved to be entirely in the wrong. It was shown that he had persistently maltreated Poeskop, and that he had seldom if ever paid him his rightful wages. Other natives in the town, who were under Portuguese rule, but who had served with Engelbrecht, could speak to these facts. In the end the Boer was fined for assaulting the Bushman, and ordered to pay him a further sum of money due for unpaid wages. The Dutchman paid the money with a wry face, and it was clear that he was yet more inflamed with hatred against Poeskop and his English supporters than he had been before.But for the most part the people of Mossamedes, including the governor of the town and other officials, were delighted at the punishment inflicted on the big Boer. He was known and feared as a quarrelsome bully, and now some one had been found to check his blustering career and cut his comb. Mr. Blakeney was advised privately, after these occurrences, to keep his eyes open. Karl Engelbrecht was a man of evil reputation, who would not be likely to stop at trifles in the achievement of revenge, and revenge he was known to have vowed. In the town nothing would be attempted, but in the veldt such a ruffian might very well try to do mischief. However, Mr. Blakeney treated the matter very coolly. He was well able to take care of himself, he said; and having wide experience of the veldt and veldt ways, he felt perfectly competent to set at naught the blusterings of Karl Engelbrecht and his followers. The big Dutchman, having got over the effects of the fight, was having a good time in Mossamedes. For some time past the Portuguese Government had been employing the Trek Boers settled in their territory as mercenaries in their warfare against any tribes that happened to give trouble. The Boers took their payment chiefly in cattle, raided from the defeated tribesfolk; and Engelbrecht, who had been lately leading a commando against some unfortunate natives, had returned with much plunder in oxen and goats. These he had sold for good prices; his pockets were full of money, and he and his freebooting associates were bent on having a high time at the various bars and canteens of the place.It is perhaps necessary to explain here, in a few words, how it came about that Boers were thus to be found in Portuguese territory, so far away from the homes of the South African Dutch stock settled in the Transvaal. Nearly twenty years before, many families of Boers, disgusted with the anarchy and bad government of the Transvaal Republic, and embittered yet more at the English taking over the country, as they had done in 1877, had quitted the Transvaal and trekked north-westward across the desert in search of a new Promised Land, which they believed to exist somewhere in the far interior. These ignorant and misguided folk found in their long wanderings no land of Canaan, flowing, as they had fondly hoped, with milk and honey. Their trek extended over several years; they endured almost unexampled privations and troubles from thirst, fevers, and the attacks of natives; scores of them died; they lost the greater portion of their stock, and abandoned many wagons; some turned back, and only a comparatively small remnant emerged from the perils of this unparalleled trek. After wandering about the western regions of the Kalahari, the Okavango country, and Ovampoland, they crossed the Cunene River and entered Portuguese territory.Here they were well treated. They were allotted farms and encouraged to colonize the country, and many families did actually settle down at Humpata. Since that time--about the beginning of 1881--these Trek Boers and their descendants had accepted their lot in the new country and become Portuguese subjects. They tilled the ground, ranched cattle, sheep, and goats, rode transport (that is, carried goods) to and from Mossamedes and Benguela, hunted elephants for their ivory, and other kinds of game for their skins and flesh. Latterly, as we have seen, they had been assisting the Portuguese in native wars. For this kind of warfare they were excellently well adapted, being good shots and riders, and well versed in every trick and circumstance of veldt fighting. The Portuguese had, in fact, found them highly satisfactory auxiliaries, and the unfortunate natives--too often treated with the grossest unfairness and trickery by all parties--terrible enemies.Among the Trek Boers of Humpata and the neighbouring country were many decent, deserving, and well-conducted people, who were only anxious to make a fair and honest living out of the country. A leaven of them, however, were mere filibusters and adventurers, cruel, cunning, and deceitful, ready to overreach and rob any man, especially if he had a black skin, and always prepared to use their rifles on small provocation. Among these was to be reckoned Karl Engelbrecht, who, even among these lawless spirits, had acquired a sinister reputation. Most of these Dutch settlers were fine, big, upstanding men, strong, bold, hardy, and athletic--as indeed they might well be; for they and their families represented the survival of the fittest, after one of the most trying and adventurous passages on record. Their seven years of wandering had, in truth, weeded out all the weak ones, and left alive only the toughest and hardiest of a tough and hardy race.For the next few days Mr. Blakeney and his party were busied in pushing on their preparations for the trek. They filled the lower part of the wagon with various stores and provisions--meal, coffee, sugar, tinned provisions, jams, vegetables, and other small luxuries. They laid in also dried onions, always useful on an expedition of this kind, where green vegetables are unprocurable, as well as a bag or two of potatoes. They carried also sacks of mealies and Kaffir corn (the latter a kind of millet) with which to feed the horses. They anticipated a good deal of hunting; and you cannot pursue game on horseback, and run down giraffe, eland, and other fleet creatures, unless your nags are well fed and in good condition. This fact Guy had already become aware of during his stay in British Bechuanaland. Their saddlery, ammunition, guns and rifles had come round with them from Cape Town. Juno, their invaluable pointer, was also of the party. Juno seemed to be getting keener and keener as each day passed; she watched anxiously the loading of the wagon, and was evidently only too desirous to have the whole party out in the veldt. A good light tent had been procured, and Mr. Blakeney's kartel fixed up in the wagon. All was now ready for the trek, which they hoped to begin next day.During these preparations they necessarily, moving as they did freely about the small seaport of Mossamedes, passed Karl Engelbrecht and his boon companions in close proximity. After his severe lesson the Boer, who was a coward at bottom, did not dare to attempt any further liberties with the Englishmen or their servants; but he scowled evilly as he passed, and had always some savage remark to make to his friends--delivered carefully in an undertone--as they went by. Mr. Blakeney and the two lads, for their part, took not the slightest notice of the freebooters; even Poeskop, strong in his reliance upon his English protectors, held his head well in the air, and assumed an air of supercilious indifference, which perhaps in his secret heart he felt was not altogether justified. For Poeskop, undoubtedly, knowing his former master and his evil ways so well, still retained within his soul certain secret quakings as he thought of or set eyes upon Karl Engelbrecht."My young baas," he would say to Guy, as they sighted the big, burly ruffian, "he isslim, and he is strong, and he is cruel. And he will try to make us suffer for his black eyes, which he still carries, theschelm!and his bleeding nose.Maghte!but it was good as a sackful of honey[#] to see Karl Engelbrecht floored by Baas Blackenny" (he always mispronounced the word), "and it does me good still to see his battered face."[#] Honey is often carried by the natives in skin bags.Then he would croon to himself in his croaking voice: "But we shall suffer, we shall suffer; Karl Engelbrecht is planning something; Poeskop knows it, ay, he knows it. Well, Poeskop will look out. He sleep always like themuishond[a kind of weasel], with one eye open."On the last night before the trek Mr. Blakeney was with the two lads in their bedroom, having a chat with them, and helping them to complete their packings. They talked on many subjects, including the treasure hunt which lay before them. Then they bade one another good night, and Mr. Blakeney retired to his own room.Next morning early Guy knocked at his door and aroused him. Guy was always the early bird of the party: earlier even than his uncle, who was always out and about before six."Uncle," he said, "I want you to come and look at something in our room.""All right, Guy," was the reply. "What is it?""Something rather odd, I think," returned Guy, as they went down the passage. They entered the double-bedded room where the cousins slept, and Guy took his uncle across to the wall against which Guy's bed stood."Look at this, uncle," he said, kneeling on his bed and pointing to the wall. "What do you make of it?"The wall was in fact nothing more than a fairly stout partition of varnished wood. Mr. Blakeney knelt beside Guy, and looked closely at the spot where the lad's finger rested. He saw at once that a neat hole had been bored through the partition from the other side, and a hollow left big enough to thrust the point of his little finger into."Well, what do you think it means, Guy?" he asked, screwing up his mouth with an odd expression."I think, uncle, it means," returned Guy, "that that fellow in the next room has been spying on us for some reason or other.""Who has the next room?" queried Mr. Blakeney, manifestly with some anxiety."Why, that Portuguese brute who is always about with Karl Engelbrecht--Minho, his name is.""Whew!" whistled Mr. Blakeney. "I wish I had known this earlier. What time does he leave his room?""Not for another hour yet," broke in Tom; "and he always locks his door and takes his key with him.""Well, Tom," said his father, "you stay behind while Guy and I go out to the wagons and start the trek. Then we'll come back to breakfast, and afterwards ride out together and overtake the wagons by the mid-day outspan. Meanwhile if, by hook or crook, you can get into this fellow Minho's room, and see what this hole means, do so. Be careful, though, and don't get into any unpleasantness with the man. If you can't get in without trouble, leave it alone. I'll see the landlord about it."They returned in an hour and a half's time, and were met by Tom with a smiling face."I've done the Sherlock Holmes business," he said quietly. "Minho went out and locked his door. I tried his window, which like ours opens on to the veranda, and found that the artful beggar had fastened it in such a way that, while the top sash is open, you can't pull up the lower part. It was impossible to climb in through the top without running the risk of breaking the glass. Well, I waited impatiently half an hour, and then Maria--the native woman who cleans the rooms up, and has evidently a second key--went in and did up the room. While she was gone with a bundle of clothes for the wash I nipped in, and had a good look round at the partition on that side. I found that a hole had been neatly bored with an auger, and the cavity filled up with a round piece of wood, which had been painted to look just like a knot in the pinewood. This, with a little coaxing of the finger nail, comes out, and then you have a view into our room, and I have no doubt can hear quite well everything that is said in here. I put the bit of wood back, and slipped out again before old Maria had got back from her errand.""The brute!" ejaculated Mr. Blakeney. "He has evidently been spying on us. And when he bored that hole he must have got into this room and cleared away any traces of his work." He knelt on Guy's bed and examined the aperture carefully again. "He has even taken the trouble to put on some dark paint round this side of the hole," he added, "so that the place looks just like a pine knot from this side. I wonder you spotted it, Guy.""Well, I noticed it from the bed this morning," said Guy, "just before I got up. It was a mere chance. The place looked uneven, and when I examined it I found I could just get the tip of my little finger inside the hole. Then I saw that the place wasn't natural.""Well, the mischief's done now," said Mr. Blakeney. "I have half a mind to tell the landlord--in fact, I think I will straight away."Senhor José Moseles, whom Mr. Blakeney at once interviewed, was no friend of Antonio Minho. He knew the man to be a shady character, and a friend of the filibustering Boer, Engelbrecht. But in Mossamedes such characters were not uncommon, and landlords had to put up with them, if they paid their bills. Minho was just now flush of money, and indeed was usually well supplied with that commodity. But Senhor Moseles would look after him. It was not Mr. Blakeney's plan to arouse the man's suspicions just then. Moseles therefore arranged to take measures concerning the peep-hole a week or two later; which, Minho having left the hotel, he did. The hole was plugged and varnished, and the matter, so far as he was concerned, ended.This little matter attended to, the three Englishmen breakfasted. Then, having put together their small kits, their horses were brought round, and they quitted Mossamedes. Their route lay along the main road running from the seaport to Humpata, and there was no difficulty in finding their way. The road, if road it could be called, was rough and uneven, and the country parched, hilly, and uninteresting. They overtook the wagon at one o'clock, and found it outspanned till the heat of the day was past. At four they trekked, and made fair progress till nine, when they outspanned again. For nearly a week the expedition pushed on steadily eastward, through sterile and mountainous country, until they had reached the Trek Boer settlement at Humpata, by the Portuguese sometimes called San Januario. Here they halted for a couple of days to rest the oxen and take in some further stores, including poultry, meal, and other produce grown by the Boers in this neighbourhood.The Dutch people of this curious little settlement, so remote from the Transvaal, whence they had trekked years before, interested Mr. Blakeney and the boys not a little. They knew the pathetic history of these people: of their long wanderings, and of the terrible sufferings they had sustained before attaining this region. They found them, as a rule, kindly and hospitable folk, if rough and primitive. So soon as the Trek Boers discovered that the newcomers spoke Cape Dutch, and came from Bechuanaland, so near to the Transvaal border, they were only too anxious to render them hospitality, and make inquiries about the country they themselves had quitted years before. The English travellers, on their part, had many little returns to make for such kindnesses as were thus shown them. They had Cape and Transvaal papers to give away; a spare bag of excellent coffee to exchange; and they won the hearts of several families by the gift of tins of Morton's jams, marmalade, and ginger, which to the sweet-toothed Dutch, who seldom met with such rare luxuries, were as manna in the desert."Alle wereld!" said Mevrouw Van der Merwe, a stout, good-natured old Boer dame, living in one of the best houses in the little settlement. "'Tis a pleasure to set eyes on fresh-looking folk again from South Africa, with news of the Transvaal, and the Free State, and the Old Colony. One gets tired of seeing nothing but these little yellow-faced Portuguese, who to my mind are, after all, no better than Griquas and Bastards. I always say to our people here, 'There are English and English, just as there are Boers and Boers. You get good and bad of every race of mankind.' For my part, I have met many good English, and have received many kindnesses from them, just as I have from you, Menheer Blakeney, and your son and nephew. And so they are getting more gold than ever out of the Transvaal?""Yes," answered Mr. Blakeney. "They are getting enormous quantities--something like thirteen millions of pounds sterling during the year.""Is it possible!" ejaculated the vrouw, pushing the tobacco canister over to Mr. Blakeney, and pouring him out another cup of coffee. "Ah, well! I always say that gold will be the ruin of the Dutch in the Transvaal; and Paul Kruger is a great fool to allow so much mining. If I were president I would close down every gold mine, and let the country be used only for farming. The Heer Gott never meant people to dig and claw into the bowels of the earth after gold, like a lot of greedy baboons after ground nuts. But I knew Paul Kruger well in the old days. He was a greedy fellow always; greedy for power, greedy for money. I hear he is rich as a Jew man, and spends £400 a year in coffee money, for which the burghers pay him--entertaining a pack of useless folk that come flattering and fawning about him. But it will be his downfall. I know it, I know it. I always told him so. Love of money, love of power. He had better have stuck to his farming, as his old father did before him."Your Jameson raid," she went on, "is a bad sign. It means that Paul Kruger is successful a second time. But you English can never forgive that or Majuba; and there will be a big row some day, and then Oom Paul will have to go, and we Transvaalers shall lose our country. I know it, and my husband knows it, though every one else here declares that the Boers can always beat the English. But, you see, I remember as a girl Zwart Kopjes and Boomplaats, when your folk beat ours; and I say that you have more men than we, and your turn will come some day.""Well," rejoined Mr. Blakeney, after the old lady had finished her tirade, "your people are very warlike now. I'm sorry the raid happened. It was an idiotic business, and has done a good deal of mischief. I don't like the feeling that is rising between the two races in South Africa. I fear, with you, that it will come to a big fight some day; and when it does, the English will never rest till they have made all South Africa theirs. The Free State Boers say openly now that they will take part with the Transvaal if a struggle comes; and the gold-mining folk at Johannesburg, and Rhodes and the rest of them, are bent on forcing on a war, which I am afraid now will have to come.""Yes," said the old lady. "It's just like a couple of boys who have bad blood between them. They will go on growling and being unpleasant to one another, and then all at once the fight begins and the blood flows. Still even that is better than perpetual miscalling and swearing at one another, for all the world like a pair of tom-cats. Better, I say, have the fight over and have done with it."They spent two very pleasant days at Humpata, and then trekked. Before they left, Mevrouw Van der Merwe sent for Guy and Tom, and presented them with a quantity of dried fruits, peaches, quinces, and apricots. She added some of her precious apricot komfit, by which the Boers set much store. She had taken a great fancy to the two lads; they reminded her, she said, of two of her own sons, whom she had lost of fever at Debra and Vogel Pan on the trek thither. Guy and his cousin were perhaps not greatly flattered at being compared to Boer boys, for whom they cherished, like most English lads, a secret disdain. But the old lady was very kind, and they thanked her heartily for her gifts. They left her sawing through a big koodoo marrow bone with a hand saw. Her husband had lately come in from the veldt, and had brought her a quantity ofbiltong(dried flesh) and this dainty, of which she was inordinately fond."Farewell," she said again, pausing from her task and puffing hard for breath. "And, Tom, mind and tell your father once more to be on the lookout for Karl Engelbrecht. I am sorry they have had blows--though Karl was well served out, and your father was a right stark fellow to give him a thrashing. But Karl is a bitter bad enemy, and he will not forget. Be on the lookout, all of you, and if he comes troubling you"--here she lowered her voice to a tragic whisper--"don't be afraid to shoot! Tell your father that, and say that is my last word--Karl is aschepseland a dangerous foe. Farewell."The various trophies lying about the Boer settlement and in the primitive habitations had greatly fired the ambition of the two cousins, who were now longing to reach the game veldt and begin shooting. At Humpata there had been indications of many kinds of wild animal: horns of buffalo, koodoo, roan antelope, water-buck, eland, and many other antelopes; and the hides of lions, giraffes, hippos, and other heavy game were abundant. Here, too, were tusks of elephant and hippopotamus, and the formidable horns of the black rhinoceros. It was manifest that they were on the outskirts of a wonderful game country. As the lads approached each day nearer to this land of wonder and of bliss, their spirits became more and more high, their suppressed excitement more uncontrollable. For three weeks Poeskop guided the expedition steadily towards the north-east. Then, one evening, as they sat round the camp fire, he came up to the group."Baas," he said, pointing to the grim range of mountains which towered in front of them in massy outline, dim beneath the starlit sky, "to-morrow we shall pass the berg. Beyond is the game country, and the young baases will then have shooting to their hearts' content."Already the lads had shot some few head of game, reedbuck and impala and springbuck. They had heard the roar of lions and seen the spoor of buffalo. Their hearts leapt within them at Poeskop's news. That night their dreams were chiefly of glorious adventures, in which elephants, giraffes, buffaloes, and lions played, with themselves, the leading parts.Chapter VI.THE SHADOWERS AND THE SHADOWED.Antonio Minho, at eleven o'clock on the morning on which the Englishmen had quitted Mossamedes, was to be seen with Karl Engelbrecht in the coolest corner of the billiard-room in a well-known canteen in the town, engaged in earnest conversation. The two men had long glasses of cooling drinks in front of them, and looked thoroughly comfortable. Antonio Minho was a Madeira-born Portuguese, who, some six years before, having found that lovely island somewhat too hot to hold him, had made his way to Benguela and thence to Mossamedes. He was a clever rascal, who spoke English and Spanish as well as his own language, and in a year's time had found no difficulty in acquiring a fair knowledge of Boer Dutch. He had many transactions with the Trek Boers, and, having opened a general store, managed to extract from these farmers and hunters of the wilderness a good deal of profit. Karl Engelbrecht was one of his best customers, and the two had done much business together, the bulk of it of an exceedingly doubtful character. Each man had found the other useful to him, and a strong alliance, offensive and defensive, had been struck up between them."Well, Karl," said Minho, as he took a pull at his gin tonic and lit a cigar, "I have more news for you.""What is it, my friend?" asked the Boer, in his thick guttural voice."Well, it's this," continued the Portuguese, contemplating the burning end of his cigar. "For several days, as you know, I have made it my business to discover what this Englishman and his two cubs are after. I have, as I told you, opened up communication through my bedroom wall, and by this means have overheard a good deal, as Blakeney has been in the habit of chatting with the boys before they went to bed each evening. Thanks to the two dear cubs, whose thirst for information is inexhaustible, I have managed to discover that they are on the track of some wonderful gold discovery. Poeskop, your Bushman friend, is, I gather, the man who is to lead them into some part of the interior where gold is to be found abundantly.""Poeskop, my friend, is to do this, is he?" repeated Engelbrecht, with a grim, hoarse laugh. "Poeskop owes me for a good many rubs. Perhaps I may find means to make him repay me. Well, what further? You know I am not much of a believer in gold and gold mines.""I have discovered something besides," pursued Minho. "Do you remember a man named Hardcastle, an English mining engineer, who was in this country a year or so back?""Yes, I do," returned the Boer. "He took on that scoundrel Poeskop after he ran away from me. What of him?""He's dead," said the Portuguese, "and one of these two boys is his son. They have from this dead Hardcastle some kind of a clue to a gold field or a gold treasure of some sort, and Poeskop is the man who is to guide them to it. Now, you scoff at gold, and in the ordinary way I should be prepared to scoff too. I have seen and heard of too many frosts in the way of mineral discovery, even in the six years I have been out here. But look at this case! This man, Blakeney, whatever we may think of him"--a snort and an opprobrious expression from Karl Engelbrecht here interrupted the Portuguese's remarks--"whatever we may think of him," he went on, "and I know your opinion is not a flattering one, is no fool. Blakeney, I say, has come out on no other errand than to hunt up this treasure. Hardcastle was, I gather, himself hot upon the scent of the gold, and he was not a man likely to run about on a fool's errand. I knew him, and he was a shrewd fellow. Poeskop seems to be the backbone or mainspring of the whole thing. As far as I can make out, he, and he only, is the man who knows where the gold is.""Then," broke in Engelbrecht, "all we have to do is to kidnap Poeskop, squeeze his secret out of him--a matter easy enough away out on the veldt--and rake in the plunder. There will be no difficulty in surprising the camp at any time, and the rest is easy enough.""Steady, my friend," said Minho. "You go too fast. This Englishman, as far as I can make out, is a good veldt man, and not likely to be hustled out of his secret in this easy way. And Poeskop, as you yourself know very well, is as cunning a little piece of vermin as ever crawled on two legs. He'll not be easily squeezed or caught either. I've had my eye on Poeskop for a long time, thinking to make use of him; and I should have done so already if that man Hardcastle had not turned up, and you, I may add, had not been so unwise as to quarrel with a clever servant. Why, Poeskop is worth all the rest of your 'boys' put together.""Well, if my plan doesn't suit you, what do you propose?" asked the Boer gruffly. Engelbrecht, as the result of much experience, had acquired a good deal of respect for the crafty and resourceful mind of his Portuguese ally; he recognized that the affair they were now engaged on was something out of the ordinary run of things, and he was prepared to listen to his advice."My plan," said Minho, a smile of oily cunning illuminating his fat, yellow face, "is a somewhat different one. I think it would be very unwise to attempt to seize Poeskop before he has shown where the treasure is. If, as I hope and firmly believe, there is gold where they are making for, let us wait. Let us shadow them in their wanderings, and when they have laid hands upon the treasure, we shall find some means of making them part with it, even if"--and he smiled grimly at the thought that rose before him--"we have to use some of your strong measures to make them do so."Karl Engelbrecht's right hand dived into his jacket pocket, from which he took a handful of Boer tobacco and filled his pipe. A hideous grin expanded over his broad face and illumined very unpleasantly his pale blue eyes."Ja!" he said, contemplatively. "That is a good idea of yours, Antonio. We will shadow them, and see them to their treasure ground. Then--well, we shall see what we shall see." The evil grin grew yet broader, and the Boer burst into a shout of laughter. "Ah!" he said, "I have two long accounts to settle; one with thatschepselPoeskop, the other with this Englishman. I shall not rest content, day or night, till I am even, and more than even, with them. But," he continued in a graver tone, "are you sure, Antonio, that these men are on the track of gold? What if the whole thing is a fool's errand, and the Bushman is deceiving them?""Trust to me, Karl, in this affair," returned the Portuguese; "I know what I am about, and I have heard enough to convince me that this thing is genuine. I want a change. I have been too long in Mossamedes, and I will come with you myself. We can take a wagon with a light load of trading stuff, and do some business. I have a lot of Hamburg gin, which I must work off somewhere. But we shall have to be very careful, so that the Englishmen have no suspicion that we are on their spoor.""Ja," added Engelbrecht, emptying his glass. "We will keep at least two days' trek behind them. I will have a man or two out in front of us, keeping an eye on them. My Hottentot, Stuurman, is a capital fellow for a business like this. I will pack him off on a horse to-day with some provisions. He can follow the party up, and let us know their movements. At present they are taking the Humpata road--that much I have ascertained. We will get our things together, and start in a day and a half's time. That will be time enough.""Right you are, Karl," added Minho. "I will be ready in twenty-four hours' time. Send your wagon round to my place, and I'll load up two or three thousand pounds weight of trading stuff. We must leave room for our kartels. Now, let us have one more drink, and be off." The two ruffians drank to the success of their precious conspiracy, and separated.The English trekkers had negotiated, after considerable difficulty, the great mountain range that lay in front of them. There was some kind of a track, but it lay through wild ravines littered with boulders and overgrown with thorn bush and low timber, and it took them a long day and a half of severe labour before they had accomplished the passage and emerged upon the open country beyond.The whole camp--oxen, horses, and men--enjoyed a long rest that afternoon, and after a good night's sleep all were refreshed and cheerful upon the following morning. They were up as the sun rose, and after ablutions in a bucket of water, Mr. Blakeney and the two lads sat down to an excellent breakfast of klipspringer chops and fry--Tom had shot one of these little mountain buck on the previous day--with keen appetites. Good coffee and a tin of marmalade rounded off an ample meal. Each of them had a little squat wagon chair, such as the Boers carry on their travels. The frames were made of the tough wood of thekameeldoorn(giraffe-acacia), and the seats consisted of thongs of raw hide. These folded up, and were stowed under the wagon while they trekked. A small folding table did duty for all three of them."Now, lads," said Mr. Blakeney, as, having filled and lit his pipe, he stood up and looked over the country in front of them, "Poeskop says that we shall find plenty of game out here. I believe we shall. It looks all over like a game veldt. We may see giraffe, buffalo, eland, blue wildebeest, roan antelope, zebra, lion, leopard, and wart-hog at any time. It's beautiful veldt. It reminds me of part of Khama's Country and Mashonaland. I only hope the game will be as plentiful as it used to be there twenty years ago, when I was a lad a year or two older than you are now, Guy."And, indeed, the scene was very fair. They stood on the lower slopes of the mountain range through which Poeskop had shown them a path. For some miles in front open forest of giraffe-acacia lay before them. Beyond this stretched a vast plain of grass, here and there dotted with a clump or two of trees or a patch of bush. Through the centre of this great yellow plain ran a dark-green ribbon of thorn bush, indicating the bed of a stream. Far away in the dim distance rested, blue on the horizon, another chain of mountains."It's perfectly splendid," exclaimed Tom enthusiastically. "Father, I'll get your stalking-glass."The boy climbed up into the wagon and took down from a hook at the side a leather case, from which he drew one of Ross's telescopes. Seating himself on the ground, he adjusted the focus and gazed over the plain."There's game out there on the flat!" he cried. "I can see clumps here and there. What do you make them out to be, father?"His father took the glass, and indulged in a prolonged survey."I take most of those clumps to be blue wildebeest and quacha," he said presently. "When I say 'quacha,' Guy," he added, "I don't mean the old Cape Colony, half-striped quagga, which is now quite extinct, but Burchell's zebra, which the Boers and up-country hunters still always insist on calling quacha. As a matter of fact, the old Dutch hunters called the true quagga 'quacha,' and Burchell's zebra 'bonte quacha,' which latter means 'striped quacha.' Quacha, by the way, is an old Hottentot word, taken from the neighing call of the animal, which has been corrupted to our English quagga. Well, now, I think I see some other kinds of game, probably eland, hartebeest, or tsesseby--what the Boers call bastard hartebeest--and, I fancy, ostriches. We'll trek in an hour. The wagon will move along across the plain. Meanwhile we'll saddle our best ponies, and see if we can't find a troop of roan antelope or giraffe as we ride through the forest. We'll go ahead of the wagon. Jan Kokerboom knows the route, straight across the plain for the mountain yonder in the distance. Poeskop can come with us and help spoor. Hi! Poeskop!" he called out.The little Bushman came up."Ja, baas!" he said, his eyes twinkling with pleasure."We shall go in front of the wagon, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney, "and you can come with us. Take the bay pony, Rooibok; he'll carry you very well. And mind, if we findkameel[giraffe] you are not to shoot; at all events, until the young baases have each had a fair chance. I want them to shoot a kameel apiece. When they have done that, you and I can join in. Shall we find kameel, think you?""Ik denk so, baas," answered the Bushman. "I have been out since sun-up in the forest yonder, and I have seen spoor of kameel and rhinoster.""Splendid," said Guy. "Now let's saddle up and be off."They soon had their ponies ready, and, strapping on their bandoliers, fastened their spurs, took down their rifles from the wagon hooks, mounted, and rode down the hill."Now, boys," said Mr. Blakeney, "I want you to remember two things. If we find giraffe--kameel, as the up-country hunters all call them--we must try and drive them out on to the plain in front. Then we can run them down fairly comfortably. You must ride hard at first. Don't be afraid of using sjambok and spur. Try and push the giraffe beyond their speed, and they are yours. Ride right up to the stern of the beasts and put in your shots as you gallop, as near as possible to the root of the tail. Your bullets will penetrate the giraffe's short body, and you'll bring him down. You, Guy, take the biggest one of the troop. Follow him as hard as you can split, and stick to him till you get him. Blinkbonny, your pony, is a real good one, and knows what to do. You, Tom, take the next biggest, which will be, probably, a tall cow, and run her down. Now we'll get on. No talking, except in the merest whisper. Spread out, and keep an eye on Poeskop. You can't mistake giraffe spoor. It's like the huge, elongated footprint of a colossal ox, if you can imagine such a thing."They rode into the forest and, spreading out a few paces apart, followed the lead of the Bushman, who, mounted on an upstanding pony of fourteen hands three inches, looked an odd little figure. On they went in silence for half an hour, Poeskop pointing here and there to spoor as they passed it. A big troop of lovely red pallah swept across their front, the graceful antelopes bounding into the air as they shot past. Numbers of guinea-fowl were to be seen moving hither and thither, busily engaged in digging up the bulbs on which they feed. An hour had passed. They had sighted koodoo, and let them go unscathed, hoping for heavier game. Some tracks of buffalo had been crossed. But they were now hot upon the spoor of a good troop of giraffe. The boys noted with the keenest interest the huge, slipper-like impression left in the red sand. Here some of the troop had browsed round a giraffe-acacia; the scraping of their fore feet, as they had stretched themselves to their fullest capacity to seize some tempting morsel of foliage, was plainly apparent in the tell-tale sand. Poeskop, mounted as he was, described the operation in dumb show, with all the dramatic ability of his race.Suddenly he drew rein and lifted a warning hand. Then pointing through a wide, open glade in the forest, he glared intently. His audience stared hard, and saw nothing stir for a full half-minute. Then something which they had mistaken for the trunk of a tree moved, and they saw instantly that it was a giraffe."Go on," whispered Mr. Blakeney; "ride for the right hand. Push them out in the open." They walked their horses forward, and then, on clearing a patch of timber, an amazing and most wonderful sight was before them. A hundred and fifty yards away, gathered round three or four spreading trees of the giraffe-acacia species, stood a troop of more than twenty tall giraffes. Most of the animals were browsing contentedly at the green leafage; some few stood with necks stretched out at an angle of forty-five degrees, quietly chewing the cud and apparently half asleep. The troop varied much in colour. A huge, old, mahogany-coloured bull, so dark as to appear almost black upon his back and shoulders, towered above the rest. Several fine cows of a rich orange-tawny colour stood next. Then came young cows, a young bull or two, and some stilty, half-grown calves, all varying in colour from orange-tawny and rufous-tan to a pale yellowish buff.All this the hunters took in instantly; then, setting spurs to their ponies, they sprang forward in the chase. There was a strange, confused movement of tall heads and necks among the startled giraffe, and then the troop, having swung round their heads and noted the danger that menaced them, strode off at a curious, gliding shuffle. The hunters cantered, but their canter made but little impression. The shuffling walk of a giraffe is, as a matter of fact, far faster than any one unacquainted with these animals could imagine."Gallop hard, boys," shouted Mr. Blakeney excitedly, "or they will get away from us."Following his example, the two lads now put spurs to their ponies and galloped in right earnest. Even in this open forest the chase was by no means an easy one. Guy, being the best mounted, pressed ahead, and, passing his uncle, rode for the great dark bull, which was lunging along at the head of the troop, evidently trying to sheer right-handed for the deeper parts of the forest. But Guy's blood was now up, and, pressing his good pony yet more, he galloped faster than the flying giants. The troop swung across an open glade, and, as they strode along like tall, dappled spectres, it seemed to Guy that he must surely be gazing upon some long-forgotten pageant of the earth's primeval past. These extraordinary creatures could surely scarce belong to this modern world! The whole thing seemed almost unreal. Still he galloped on, and presently achieved his purpose. The big bull, seeing that he was foiled in his attempt to plunge deeper into the forest, sheered left-handed and increased his pace. The troop began to string out, the calves and younger animals falling behind. Guy was riding, like his uncle and cousin, in his flannel shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. It was a warm morning, and their coats were as usual strapped to their saddle-bows.On they went, through thorn jungle, over fallen timber, dodging tree trunks. Now the big bull tacked round a tree with the deftness of a well-handled yacht. Now a tall cow bent her swan-like neck and ducked marvellously under the spreading branches of an acacia. Guy felt many a scratch and stab as his excited pony plunged through the thorny brakes. In a patch ofhaak-doorn, through which they forced a passage, his left stirrup-leather and stirrup were ripped clean from the saddle. He lost his hat. These were mere nothings in the heat of a chase such as this, and he galloped on. At last they were clearing the forest. Now they were on the grass, with nothing but wide, open plain in front of them. Barring falls, that big bull must surely soon be his. The great giraffe was now running apart from the rest of the troop, going great guns, and manifestly thinking only of the safety of his own skin. The smooth, long, shuffling walk had been long since exchanged for a strange rocking gallop, in which the hind legs were straddled widely, and the long neck swung up and down in a rhythmic motion, which reminded Guy of a gigantic pendulum. Meanwhile the long black tail, screwed oddly up, was executing wild and fantastic flourishes. The chase swept headlong over the pale yellow grass plain. A mile and more had been accomplished since they quitted the timber. The great bull was running well, but Guy noted with a sense of exultation that he was now no more than eighty yards ahead. Another mile slipped by. The bull was tiring; he was now no more than sixty yards ahead. Guy shook up his pony and gave him just one firm touch of the spur. The gallant beast answered by a wonderful and prolonged spurt, which carried his rider to within twenty yards of that great dappled figure, rocking and swaying, like some tall ship on an uneasy sea, in front of them. One more touch of the spur and Guy was within eight paces of the giant's tail. Dropping his reins, he raised his rifle and fired. The heavy Martini bullet struck the giraffe fair, close to the root of the tail, and the great beast staggered to the shot. Still it pressed on. Guy instantly reloaded, and, taking aim as well as the motion of his pony would allow him, fired again. This time his bullet raked the giant's heart. Guy saw that its end had come, and galloped wide to the left. The bull faltered in his stride, staggered, strode on again, again staggered, and then with a crash that literally shook the earth fell to rise no more. The mighty limbs kicked twice or thrice, once the long neck was raised, then a shiver passed over the dappled frame, and the beast was dead.Guy leapt from his reeking pony and, wild with excitement, turned to wave his rifle to the rest of the party. A quarter of a mile away on the left he saw Tom and his father riding close up to the rear of the main troop, which now contained about twelve giraffes. In a matter of a hundred yards Tom was right up behind a big cow. He fired, and the cow, turning away from her fellows, stood. Tom jumped off and finished her. Meanwhile Mr. Blakeney, having seen Tom bring his chase to a standstill, was himself galloping hard to make up leeway. He was soon up behind another tall cow, and she too went down. Three giraffes in the space of five minutes! Guy shouted congratulations to his fellow sportsmen, and turned to attend to his prize.It was a magnificent beast, indeed, that lay before him. As Guy examined it, handled it carefully, almost lovingly, he realized the mighty proportions of the creature. His fingers could make no impression on the thick, tense skin of the back and ribs and neck. Almost the mighty beast seemed to be enveloped in a mantle of bronze. Presently Mr. Blakeney, having picked up Tom, rode up."Well done, my lad," he said. "You've got the finest camel of the troop. A tremendous old fellow. Let me tape him. I never saw a bigger."The tape measure was carefully and scientifically applied."Eighteen feet nine, from hoof to tip of false horns! That's a great measurement," said Mr. Blakeney. "You seldom hear of a better. Only once or twice in five years of knocking about in the interior have I heard of giraffe of nineteen feet."
Chapter V.
THE TREK BEGINS.
Karl Engelbrecht gathered himself up after a short pause, but there was no further fight left in him. He turned to go.
"All right, my fine Englishman," he said, shaking his fist at his conqueror. "I don't know who you are or what you are, but no one does Karl Engelbrecht an injury without paying for it. I shall be even with you, and that before very long. Meanwhile I shall go straight to the magistrate's office, and get that scoundrel arrested for running away from my service."
As he spoke he pointed to Poeskop, who was smiling all over his yellow face at his former master's discomfiture.
"And I'll follow you to the magistrate's office directly," said Mr. Blakeney, "and have you summoned for assaulting this native."
Accompanied by the two lads, who were overjoyed, if a little awed, at the result of the contest, Mr. Blakeney went into the hotel to wash his hands and get rid of all traces of the encounter. He himself had scarcely suffered at all. He had a lump on his forehead and a red patch on his cheek-bone, and one of his knuckles was badly cut; beyond these slight injuries he has untouched.
"My word, uncle," said Guy, as Mr. Blakeney took his coat off and poured out some water, "you did punish that ruffian. I had no idea you were such a fighting man. It was splendid!"
"Well, boys," returned Mr. Blakeney, "I don't like fighting, and I have always made it a point to avoid a scuffle if it can possibly be done. But sometimes there comes an occasion when a man must take his own part. This was one of them. I couldn't stand by and see that hulking bully knocking Poeskop about. My idea is that every decent Englishman, or English boy, should be able to defend himself when compelled to, and for that reason I believe in every lad being taught to box. My old boxing lessons stood me in good stead just now. I suppose the Boer was at least a couple of stone heavier than myself; but he knew no more about fighting than a baby, and he paid the penalty."
He soused his face in cold water, washed his hands, and with the two lads and Poeskop went off to the magistrate's office. The upshot of the affair was that Karl Engelbrecht was proved to be entirely in the wrong. It was shown that he had persistently maltreated Poeskop, and that he had seldom if ever paid him his rightful wages. Other natives in the town, who were under Portuguese rule, but who had served with Engelbrecht, could speak to these facts. In the end the Boer was fined for assaulting the Bushman, and ordered to pay him a further sum of money due for unpaid wages. The Dutchman paid the money with a wry face, and it was clear that he was yet more inflamed with hatred against Poeskop and his English supporters than he had been before.
But for the most part the people of Mossamedes, including the governor of the town and other officials, were delighted at the punishment inflicted on the big Boer. He was known and feared as a quarrelsome bully, and now some one had been found to check his blustering career and cut his comb. Mr. Blakeney was advised privately, after these occurrences, to keep his eyes open. Karl Engelbrecht was a man of evil reputation, who would not be likely to stop at trifles in the achievement of revenge, and revenge he was known to have vowed. In the town nothing would be attempted, but in the veldt such a ruffian might very well try to do mischief. However, Mr. Blakeney treated the matter very coolly. He was well able to take care of himself, he said; and having wide experience of the veldt and veldt ways, he felt perfectly competent to set at naught the blusterings of Karl Engelbrecht and his followers. The big Dutchman, having got over the effects of the fight, was having a good time in Mossamedes. For some time past the Portuguese Government had been employing the Trek Boers settled in their territory as mercenaries in their warfare against any tribes that happened to give trouble. The Boers took their payment chiefly in cattle, raided from the defeated tribesfolk; and Engelbrecht, who had been lately leading a commando against some unfortunate natives, had returned with much plunder in oxen and goats. These he had sold for good prices; his pockets were full of money, and he and his freebooting associates were bent on having a high time at the various bars and canteens of the place.
It is perhaps necessary to explain here, in a few words, how it came about that Boers were thus to be found in Portuguese territory, so far away from the homes of the South African Dutch stock settled in the Transvaal. Nearly twenty years before, many families of Boers, disgusted with the anarchy and bad government of the Transvaal Republic, and embittered yet more at the English taking over the country, as they had done in 1877, had quitted the Transvaal and trekked north-westward across the desert in search of a new Promised Land, which they believed to exist somewhere in the far interior. These ignorant and misguided folk found in their long wanderings no land of Canaan, flowing, as they had fondly hoped, with milk and honey. Their trek extended over several years; they endured almost unexampled privations and troubles from thirst, fevers, and the attacks of natives; scores of them died; they lost the greater portion of their stock, and abandoned many wagons; some turned back, and only a comparatively small remnant emerged from the perils of this unparalleled trek. After wandering about the western regions of the Kalahari, the Okavango country, and Ovampoland, they crossed the Cunene River and entered Portuguese territory.
Here they were well treated. They were allotted farms and encouraged to colonize the country, and many families did actually settle down at Humpata. Since that time--about the beginning of 1881--these Trek Boers and their descendants had accepted their lot in the new country and become Portuguese subjects. They tilled the ground, ranched cattle, sheep, and goats, rode transport (that is, carried goods) to and from Mossamedes and Benguela, hunted elephants for their ivory, and other kinds of game for their skins and flesh. Latterly, as we have seen, they had been assisting the Portuguese in native wars. For this kind of warfare they were excellently well adapted, being good shots and riders, and well versed in every trick and circumstance of veldt fighting. The Portuguese had, in fact, found them highly satisfactory auxiliaries, and the unfortunate natives--too often treated with the grossest unfairness and trickery by all parties--terrible enemies.
Among the Trek Boers of Humpata and the neighbouring country were many decent, deserving, and well-conducted people, who were only anxious to make a fair and honest living out of the country. A leaven of them, however, were mere filibusters and adventurers, cruel, cunning, and deceitful, ready to overreach and rob any man, especially if he had a black skin, and always prepared to use their rifles on small provocation. Among these was to be reckoned Karl Engelbrecht, who, even among these lawless spirits, had acquired a sinister reputation. Most of these Dutch settlers were fine, big, upstanding men, strong, bold, hardy, and athletic--as indeed they might well be; for they and their families represented the survival of the fittest, after one of the most trying and adventurous passages on record. Their seven years of wandering had, in truth, weeded out all the weak ones, and left alive only the toughest and hardiest of a tough and hardy race.
For the next few days Mr. Blakeney and his party were busied in pushing on their preparations for the trek. They filled the lower part of the wagon with various stores and provisions--meal, coffee, sugar, tinned provisions, jams, vegetables, and other small luxuries. They laid in also dried onions, always useful on an expedition of this kind, where green vegetables are unprocurable, as well as a bag or two of potatoes. They carried also sacks of mealies and Kaffir corn (the latter a kind of millet) with which to feed the horses. They anticipated a good deal of hunting; and you cannot pursue game on horseback, and run down giraffe, eland, and other fleet creatures, unless your nags are well fed and in good condition. This fact Guy had already become aware of during his stay in British Bechuanaland. Their saddlery, ammunition, guns and rifles had come round with them from Cape Town. Juno, their invaluable pointer, was also of the party. Juno seemed to be getting keener and keener as each day passed; she watched anxiously the loading of the wagon, and was evidently only too desirous to have the whole party out in the veldt. A good light tent had been procured, and Mr. Blakeney's kartel fixed up in the wagon. All was now ready for the trek, which they hoped to begin next day.
During these preparations they necessarily, moving as they did freely about the small seaport of Mossamedes, passed Karl Engelbrecht and his boon companions in close proximity. After his severe lesson the Boer, who was a coward at bottom, did not dare to attempt any further liberties with the Englishmen or their servants; but he scowled evilly as he passed, and had always some savage remark to make to his friends--delivered carefully in an undertone--as they went by. Mr. Blakeney and the two lads, for their part, took not the slightest notice of the freebooters; even Poeskop, strong in his reliance upon his English protectors, held his head well in the air, and assumed an air of supercilious indifference, which perhaps in his secret heart he felt was not altogether justified. For Poeskop, undoubtedly, knowing his former master and his evil ways so well, still retained within his soul certain secret quakings as he thought of or set eyes upon Karl Engelbrecht.
"My young baas," he would say to Guy, as they sighted the big, burly ruffian, "he isslim, and he is strong, and he is cruel. And he will try to make us suffer for his black eyes, which he still carries, theschelm!and his bleeding nose.Maghte!but it was good as a sackful of honey[#] to see Karl Engelbrecht floored by Baas Blackenny" (he always mispronounced the word), "and it does me good still to see his battered face."
[#] Honey is often carried by the natives in skin bags.
Then he would croon to himself in his croaking voice: "But we shall suffer, we shall suffer; Karl Engelbrecht is planning something; Poeskop knows it, ay, he knows it. Well, Poeskop will look out. He sleep always like themuishond[a kind of weasel], with one eye open."
On the last night before the trek Mr. Blakeney was with the two lads in their bedroom, having a chat with them, and helping them to complete their packings. They talked on many subjects, including the treasure hunt which lay before them. Then they bade one another good night, and Mr. Blakeney retired to his own room.
Next morning early Guy knocked at his door and aroused him. Guy was always the early bird of the party: earlier even than his uncle, who was always out and about before six.
"Uncle," he said, "I want you to come and look at something in our room."
"All right, Guy," was the reply. "What is it?"
"Something rather odd, I think," returned Guy, as they went down the passage. They entered the double-bedded room where the cousins slept, and Guy took his uncle across to the wall against which Guy's bed stood.
"Look at this, uncle," he said, kneeling on his bed and pointing to the wall. "What do you make of it?"
The wall was in fact nothing more than a fairly stout partition of varnished wood. Mr. Blakeney knelt beside Guy, and looked closely at the spot where the lad's finger rested. He saw at once that a neat hole had been bored through the partition from the other side, and a hollow left big enough to thrust the point of his little finger into.
"Well, what do you think it means, Guy?" he asked, screwing up his mouth with an odd expression.
"I think, uncle, it means," returned Guy, "that that fellow in the next room has been spying on us for some reason or other."
"Who has the next room?" queried Mr. Blakeney, manifestly with some anxiety.
"Why, that Portuguese brute who is always about with Karl Engelbrecht--Minho, his name is."
"Whew!" whistled Mr. Blakeney. "I wish I had known this earlier. What time does he leave his room?"
"Not for another hour yet," broke in Tom; "and he always locks his door and takes his key with him."
"Well, Tom," said his father, "you stay behind while Guy and I go out to the wagons and start the trek. Then we'll come back to breakfast, and afterwards ride out together and overtake the wagons by the mid-day outspan. Meanwhile if, by hook or crook, you can get into this fellow Minho's room, and see what this hole means, do so. Be careful, though, and don't get into any unpleasantness with the man. If you can't get in without trouble, leave it alone. I'll see the landlord about it."
They returned in an hour and a half's time, and were met by Tom with a smiling face.
"I've done the Sherlock Holmes business," he said quietly. "Minho went out and locked his door. I tried his window, which like ours opens on to the veranda, and found that the artful beggar had fastened it in such a way that, while the top sash is open, you can't pull up the lower part. It was impossible to climb in through the top without running the risk of breaking the glass. Well, I waited impatiently half an hour, and then Maria--the native woman who cleans the rooms up, and has evidently a second key--went in and did up the room. While she was gone with a bundle of clothes for the wash I nipped in, and had a good look round at the partition on that side. I found that a hole had been neatly bored with an auger, and the cavity filled up with a round piece of wood, which had been painted to look just like a knot in the pinewood. This, with a little coaxing of the finger nail, comes out, and then you have a view into our room, and I have no doubt can hear quite well everything that is said in here. I put the bit of wood back, and slipped out again before old Maria had got back from her errand."
"The brute!" ejaculated Mr. Blakeney. "He has evidently been spying on us. And when he bored that hole he must have got into this room and cleared away any traces of his work." He knelt on Guy's bed and examined the aperture carefully again. "He has even taken the trouble to put on some dark paint round this side of the hole," he added, "so that the place looks just like a pine knot from this side. I wonder you spotted it, Guy."
"Well, I noticed it from the bed this morning," said Guy, "just before I got up. It was a mere chance. The place looked uneven, and when I examined it I found I could just get the tip of my little finger inside the hole. Then I saw that the place wasn't natural."
"Well, the mischief's done now," said Mr. Blakeney. "I have half a mind to tell the landlord--in fact, I think I will straight away."
Senhor José Moseles, whom Mr. Blakeney at once interviewed, was no friend of Antonio Minho. He knew the man to be a shady character, and a friend of the filibustering Boer, Engelbrecht. But in Mossamedes such characters were not uncommon, and landlords had to put up with them, if they paid their bills. Minho was just now flush of money, and indeed was usually well supplied with that commodity. But Senhor Moseles would look after him. It was not Mr. Blakeney's plan to arouse the man's suspicions just then. Moseles therefore arranged to take measures concerning the peep-hole a week or two later; which, Minho having left the hotel, he did. The hole was plugged and varnished, and the matter, so far as he was concerned, ended.
This little matter attended to, the three Englishmen breakfasted. Then, having put together their small kits, their horses were brought round, and they quitted Mossamedes. Their route lay along the main road running from the seaport to Humpata, and there was no difficulty in finding their way. The road, if road it could be called, was rough and uneven, and the country parched, hilly, and uninteresting. They overtook the wagon at one o'clock, and found it outspanned till the heat of the day was past. At four they trekked, and made fair progress till nine, when they outspanned again. For nearly a week the expedition pushed on steadily eastward, through sterile and mountainous country, until they had reached the Trek Boer settlement at Humpata, by the Portuguese sometimes called San Januario. Here they halted for a couple of days to rest the oxen and take in some further stores, including poultry, meal, and other produce grown by the Boers in this neighbourhood.
The Dutch people of this curious little settlement, so remote from the Transvaal, whence they had trekked years before, interested Mr. Blakeney and the boys not a little. They knew the pathetic history of these people: of their long wanderings, and of the terrible sufferings they had sustained before attaining this region. They found them, as a rule, kindly and hospitable folk, if rough and primitive. So soon as the Trek Boers discovered that the newcomers spoke Cape Dutch, and came from Bechuanaland, so near to the Transvaal border, they were only too anxious to render them hospitality, and make inquiries about the country they themselves had quitted years before. The English travellers, on their part, had many little returns to make for such kindnesses as were thus shown them. They had Cape and Transvaal papers to give away; a spare bag of excellent coffee to exchange; and they won the hearts of several families by the gift of tins of Morton's jams, marmalade, and ginger, which to the sweet-toothed Dutch, who seldom met with such rare luxuries, were as manna in the desert.
"Alle wereld!" said Mevrouw Van der Merwe, a stout, good-natured old Boer dame, living in one of the best houses in the little settlement. "'Tis a pleasure to set eyes on fresh-looking folk again from South Africa, with news of the Transvaal, and the Free State, and the Old Colony. One gets tired of seeing nothing but these little yellow-faced Portuguese, who to my mind are, after all, no better than Griquas and Bastards. I always say to our people here, 'There are English and English, just as there are Boers and Boers. You get good and bad of every race of mankind.' For my part, I have met many good English, and have received many kindnesses from them, just as I have from you, Menheer Blakeney, and your son and nephew. And so they are getting more gold than ever out of the Transvaal?"
"Yes," answered Mr. Blakeney. "They are getting enormous quantities--something like thirteen millions of pounds sterling during the year."
"Is it possible!" ejaculated the vrouw, pushing the tobacco canister over to Mr. Blakeney, and pouring him out another cup of coffee. "Ah, well! I always say that gold will be the ruin of the Dutch in the Transvaal; and Paul Kruger is a great fool to allow so much mining. If I were president I would close down every gold mine, and let the country be used only for farming. The Heer Gott never meant people to dig and claw into the bowels of the earth after gold, like a lot of greedy baboons after ground nuts. But I knew Paul Kruger well in the old days. He was a greedy fellow always; greedy for power, greedy for money. I hear he is rich as a Jew man, and spends £400 a year in coffee money, for which the burghers pay him--entertaining a pack of useless folk that come flattering and fawning about him. But it will be his downfall. I know it, I know it. I always told him so. Love of money, love of power. He had better have stuck to his farming, as his old father did before him.
"Your Jameson raid," she went on, "is a bad sign. It means that Paul Kruger is successful a second time. But you English can never forgive that or Majuba; and there will be a big row some day, and then Oom Paul will have to go, and we Transvaalers shall lose our country. I know it, and my husband knows it, though every one else here declares that the Boers can always beat the English. But, you see, I remember as a girl Zwart Kopjes and Boomplaats, when your folk beat ours; and I say that you have more men than we, and your turn will come some day."
"Well," rejoined Mr. Blakeney, after the old lady had finished her tirade, "your people are very warlike now. I'm sorry the raid happened. It was an idiotic business, and has done a good deal of mischief. I don't like the feeling that is rising between the two races in South Africa. I fear, with you, that it will come to a big fight some day; and when it does, the English will never rest till they have made all South Africa theirs. The Free State Boers say openly now that they will take part with the Transvaal if a struggle comes; and the gold-mining folk at Johannesburg, and Rhodes and the rest of them, are bent on forcing on a war, which I am afraid now will have to come."
"Yes," said the old lady. "It's just like a couple of boys who have bad blood between them. They will go on growling and being unpleasant to one another, and then all at once the fight begins and the blood flows. Still even that is better than perpetual miscalling and swearing at one another, for all the world like a pair of tom-cats. Better, I say, have the fight over and have done with it."
They spent two very pleasant days at Humpata, and then trekked. Before they left, Mevrouw Van der Merwe sent for Guy and Tom, and presented them with a quantity of dried fruits, peaches, quinces, and apricots. She added some of her precious apricot komfit, by which the Boers set much store. She had taken a great fancy to the two lads; they reminded her, she said, of two of her own sons, whom she had lost of fever at Debra and Vogel Pan on the trek thither. Guy and his cousin were perhaps not greatly flattered at being compared to Boer boys, for whom they cherished, like most English lads, a secret disdain. But the old lady was very kind, and they thanked her heartily for her gifts. They left her sawing through a big koodoo marrow bone with a hand saw. Her husband had lately come in from the veldt, and had brought her a quantity ofbiltong(dried flesh) and this dainty, of which she was inordinately fond.
"Farewell," she said again, pausing from her task and puffing hard for breath. "And, Tom, mind and tell your father once more to be on the lookout for Karl Engelbrecht. I am sorry they have had blows--though Karl was well served out, and your father was a right stark fellow to give him a thrashing. But Karl is a bitter bad enemy, and he will not forget. Be on the lookout, all of you, and if he comes troubling you"--here she lowered her voice to a tragic whisper--"don't be afraid to shoot! Tell your father that, and say that is my last word--Karl is aschepseland a dangerous foe. Farewell."
The various trophies lying about the Boer settlement and in the primitive habitations had greatly fired the ambition of the two cousins, who were now longing to reach the game veldt and begin shooting. At Humpata there had been indications of many kinds of wild animal: horns of buffalo, koodoo, roan antelope, water-buck, eland, and many other antelopes; and the hides of lions, giraffes, hippos, and other heavy game were abundant. Here, too, were tusks of elephant and hippopotamus, and the formidable horns of the black rhinoceros. It was manifest that they were on the outskirts of a wonderful game country. As the lads approached each day nearer to this land of wonder and of bliss, their spirits became more and more high, their suppressed excitement more uncontrollable. For three weeks Poeskop guided the expedition steadily towards the north-east. Then, one evening, as they sat round the camp fire, he came up to the group.
"Baas," he said, pointing to the grim range of mountains which towered in front of them in massy outline, dim beneath the starlit sky, "to-morrow we shall pass the berg. Beyond is the game country, and the young baases will then have shooting to their hearts' content."
Already the lads had shot some few head of game, reedbuck and impala and springbuck. They had heard the roar of lions and seen the spoor of buffalo. Their hearts leapt within them at Poeskop's news. That night their dreams were chiefly of glorious adventures, in which elephants, giraffes, buffaloes, and lions played, with themselves, the leading parts.
Chapter VI.
THE SHADOWERS AND THE SHADOWED.
Antonio Minho, at eleven o'clock on the morning on which the Englishmen had quitted Mossamedes, was to be seen with Karl Engelbrecht in the coolest corner of the billiard-room in a well-known canteen in the town, engaged in earnest conversation. The two men had long glasses of cooling drinks in front of them, and looked thoroughly comfortable. Antonio Minho was a Madeira-born Portuguese, who, some six years before, having found that lovely island somewhat too hot to hold him, had made his way to Benguela and thence to Mossamedes. He was a clever rascal, who spoke English and Spanish as well as his own language, and in a year's time had found no difficulty in acquiring a fair knowledge of Boer Dutch. He had many transactions with the Trek Boers, and, having opened a general store, managed to extract from these farmers and hunters of the wilderness a good deal of profit. Karl Engelbrecht was one of his best customers, and the two had done much business together, the bulk of it of an exceedingly doubtful character. Each man had found the other useful to him, and a strong alliance, offensive and defensive, had been struck up between them.
"Well, Karl," said Minho, as he took a pull at his gin tonic and lit a cigar, "I have more news for you."
"What is it, my friend?" asked the Boer, in his thick guttural voice.
"Well, it's this," continued the Portuguese, contemplating the burning end of his cigar. "For several days, as you know, I have made it my business to discover what this Englishman and his two cubs are after. I have, as I told you, opened up communication through my bedroom wall, and by this means have overheard a good deal, as Blakeney has been in the habit of chatting with the boys before they went to bed each evening. Thanks to the two dear cubs, whose thirst for information is inexhaustible, I have managed to discover that they are on the track of some wonderful gold discovery. Poeskop, your Bushman friend, is, I gather, the man who is to lead them into some part of the interior where gold is to be found abundantly."
"Poeskop, my friend, is to do this, is he?" repeated Engelbrecht, with a grim, hoarse laugh. "Poeskop owes me for a good many rubs. Perhaps I may find means to make him repay me. Well, what further? You know I am not much of a believer in gold and gold mines."
"I have discovered something besides," pursued Minho. "Do you remember a man named Hardcastle, an English mining engineer, who was in this country a year or so back?"
"Yes, I do," returned the Boer. "He took on that scoundrel Poeskop after he ran away from me. What of him?"
"He's dead," said the Portuguese, "and one of these two boys is his son. They have from this dead Hardcastle some kind of a clue to a gold field or a gold treasure of some sort, and Poeskop is the man who is to guide them to it. Now, you scoff at gold, and in the ordinary way I should be prepared to scoff too. I have seen and heard of too many frosts in the way of mineral discovery, even in the six years I have been out here. But look at this case! This man, Blakeney, whatever we may think of him"--a snort and an opprobrious expression from Karl Engelbrecht here interrupted the Portuguese's remarks--"whatever we may think of him," he went on, "and I know your opinion is not a flattering one, is no fool. Blakeney, I say, has come out on no other errand than to hunt up this treasure. Hardcastle was, I gather, himself hot upon the scent of the gold, and he was not a man likely to run about on a fool's errand. I knew him, and he was a shrewd fellow. Poeskop seems to be the backbone or mainspring of the whole thing. As far as I can make out, he, and he only, is the man who knows where the gold is."
"Then," broke in Engelbrecht, "all we have to do is to kidnap Poeskop, squeeze his secret out of him--a matter easy enough away out on the veldt--and rake in the plunder. There will be no difficulty in surprising the camp at any time, and the rest is easy enough."
"Steady, my friend," said Minho. "You go too fast. This Englishman, as far as I can make out, is a good veldt man, and not likely to be hustled out of his secret in this easy way. And Poeskop, as you yourself know very well, is as cunning a little piece of vermin as ever crawled on two legs. He'll not be easily squeezed or caught either. I've had my eye on Poeskop for a long time, thinking to make use of him; and I should have done so already if that man Hardcastle had not turned up, and you, I may add, had not been so unwise as to quarrel with a clever servant. Why, Poeskop is worth all the rest of your 'boys' put together."
"Well, if my plan doesn't suit you, what do you propose?" asked the Boer gruffly. Engelbrecht, as the result of much experience, had acquired a good deal of respect for the crafty and resourceful mind of his Portuguese ally; he recognized that the affair they were now engaged on was something out of the ordinary run of things, and he was prepared to listen to his advice.
"My plan," said Minho, a smile of oily cunning illuminating his fat, yellow face, "is a somewhat different one. I think it would be very unwise to attempt to seize Poeskop before he has shown where the treasure is. If, as I hope and firmly believe, there is gold where they are making for, let us wait. Let us shadow them in their wanderings, and when they have laid hands upon the treasure, we shall find some means of making them part with it, even if"--and he smiled grimly at the thought that rose before him--"we have to use some of your strong measures to make them do so."
Karl Engelbrecht's right hand dived into his jacket pocket, from which he took a handful of Boer tobacco and filled his pipe. A hideous grin expanded over his broad face and illumined very unpleasantly his pale blue eyes.
"Ja!" he said, contemplatively. "That is a good idea of yours, Antonio. We will shadow them, and see them to their treasure ground. Then--well, we shall see what we shall see." The evil grin grew yet broader, and the Boer burst into a shout of laughter. "Ah!" he said, "I have two long accounts to settle; one with thatschepselPoeskop, the other with this Englishman. I shall not rest content, day or night, till I am even, and more than even, with them. But," he continued in a graver tone, "are you sure, Antonio, that these men are on the track of gold? What if the whole thing is a fool's errand, and the Bushman is deceiving them?"
"Trust to me, Karl, in this affair," returned the Portuguese; "I know what I am about, and I have heard enough to convince me that this thing is genuine. I want a change. I have been too long in Mossamedes, and I will come with you myself. We can take a wagon with a light load of trading stuff, and do some business. I have a lot of Hamburg gin, which I must work off somewhere. But we shall have to be very careful, so that the Englishmen have no suspicion that we are on their spoor."
"Ja," added Engelbrecht, emptying his glass. "We will keep at least two days' trek behind them. I will have a man or two out in front of us, keeping an eye on them. My Hottentot, Stuurman, is a capital fellow for a business like this. I will pack him off on a horse to-day with some provisions. He can follow the party up, and let us know their movements. At present they are taking the Humpata road--that much I have ascertained. We will get our things together, and start in a day and a half's time. That will be time enough."
"Right you are, Karl," added Minho. "I will be ready in twenty-four hours' time. Send your wagon round to my place, and I'll load up two or three thousand pounds weight of trading stuff. We must leave room for our kartels. Now, let us have one more drink, and be off." The two ruffians drank to the success of their precious conspiracy, and separated.
The English trekkers had negotiated, after considerable difficulty, the great mountain range that lay in front of them. There was some kind of a track, but it lay through wild ravines littered with boulders and overgrown with thorn bush and low timber, and it took them a long day and a half of severe labour before they had accomplished the passage and emerged upon the open country beyond.
The whole camp--oxen, horses, and men--enjoyed a long rest that afternoon, and after a good night's sleep all were refreshed and cheerful upon the following morning. They were up as the sun rose, and after ablutions in a bucket of water, Mr. Blakeney and the two lads sat down to an excellent breakfast of klipspringer chops and fry--Tom had shot one of these little mountain buck on the previous day--with keen appetites. Good coffee and a tin of marmalade rounded off an ample meal. Each of them had a little squat wagon chair, such as the Boers carry on their travels. The frames were made of the tough wood of thekameeldoorn(giraffe-acacia), and the seats consisted of thongs of raw hide. These folded up, and were stowed under the wagon while they trekked. A small folding table did duty for all three of them.
"Now, lads," said Mr. Blakeney, as, having filled and lit his pipe, he stood up and looked over the country in front of them, "Poeskop says that we shall find plenty of game out here. I believe we shall. It looks all over like a game veldt. We may see giraffe, buffalo, eland, blue wildebeest, roan antelope, zebra, lion, leopard, and wart-hog at any time. It's beautiful veldt. It reminds me of part of Khama's Country and Mashonaland. I only hope the game will be as plentiful as it used to be there twenty years ago, when I was a lad a year or two older than you are now, Guy."
And, indeed, the scene was very fair. They stood on the lower slopes of the mountain range through which Poeskop had shown them a path. For some miles in front open forest of giraffe-acacia lay before them. Beyond this stretched a vast plain of grass, here and there dotted with a clump or two of trees or a patch of bush. Through the centre of this great yellow plain ran a dark-green ribbon of thorn bush, indicating the bed of a stream. Far away in the dim distance rested, blue on the horizon, another chain of mountains.
"It's perfectly splendid," exclaimed Tom enthusiastically. "Father, I'll get your stalking-glass."
The boy climbed up into the wagon and took down from a hook at the side a leather case, from which he drew one of Ross's telescopes. Seating himself on the ground, he adjusted the focus and gazed over the plain.
"There's game out there on the flat!" he cried. "I can see clumps here and there. What do you make them out to be, father?"
His father took the glass, and indulged in a prolonged survey.
"I take most of those clumps to be blue wildebeest and quacha," he said presently. "When I say 'quacha,' Guy," he added, "I don't mean the old Cape Colony, half-striped quagga, which is now quite extinct, but Burchell's zebra, which the Boers and up-country hunters still always insist on calling quacha. As a matter of fact, the old Dutch hunters called the true quagga 'quacha,' and Burchell's zebra 'bonte quacha,' which latter means 'striped quacha.' Quacha, by the way, is an old Hottentot word, taken from the neighing call of the animal, which has been corrupted to our English quagga. Well, now, I think I see some other kinds of game, probably eland, hartebeest, or tsesseby--what the Boers call bastard hartebeest--and, I fancy, ostriches. We'll trek in an hour. The wagon will move along across the plain. Meanwhile we'll saddle our best ponies, and see if we can't find a troop of roan antelope or giraffe as we ride through the forest. We'll go ahead of the wagon. Jan Kokerboom knows the route, straight across the plain for the mountain yonder in the distance. Poeskop can come with us and help spoor. Hi! Poeskop!" he called out.
The little Bushman came up.
"Ja, baas!" he said, his eyes twinkling with pleasure.
"We shall go in front of the wagon, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney, "and you can come with us. Take the bay pony, Rooibok; he'll carry you very well. And mind, if we findkameel[giraffe] you are not to shoot; at all events, until the young baases have each had a fair chance. I want them to shoot a kameel apiece. When they have done that, you and I can join in. Shall we find kameel, think you?"
"Ik denk so, baas," answered the Bushman. "I have been out since sun-up in the forest yonder, and I have seen spoor of kameel and rhinoster."
"Splendid," said Guy. "Now let's saddle up and be off."
They soon had their ponies ready, and, strapping on their bandoliers, fastened their spurs, took down their rifles from the wagon hooks, mounted, and rode down the hill.
"Now, boys," said Mr. Blakeney, "I want you to remember two things. If we find giraffe--kameel, as the up-country hunters all call them--we must try and drive them out on to the plain in front. Then we can run them down fairly comfortably. You must ride hard at first. Don't be afraid of using sjambok and spur. Try and push the giraffe beyond their speed, and they are yours. Ride right up to the stern of the beasts and put in your shots as you gallop, as near as possible to the root of the tail. Your bullets will penetrate the giraffe's short body, and you'll bring him down. You, Guy, take the biggest one of the troop. Follow him as hard as you can split, and stick to him till you get him. Blinkbonny, your pony, is a real good one, and knows what to do. You, Tom, take the next biggest, which will be, probably, a tall cow, and run her down. Now we'll get on. No talking, except in the merest whisper. Spread out, and keep an eye on Poeskop. You can't mistake giraffe spoor. It's like the huge, elongated footprint of a colossal ox, if you can imagine such a thing."
They rode into the forest and, spreading out a few paces apart, followed the lead of the Bushman, who, mounted on an upstanding pony of fourteen hands three inches, looked an odd little figure. On they went in silence for half an hour, Poeskop pointing here and there to spoor as they passed it. A big troop of lovely red pallah swept across their front, the graceful antelopes bounding into the air as they shot past. Numbers of guinea-fowl were to be seen moving hither and thither, busily engaged in digging up the bulbs on which they feed. An hour had passed. They had sighted koodoo, and let them go unscathed, hoping for heavier game. Some tracks of buffalo had been crossed. But they were now hot upon the spoor of a good troop of giraffe. The boys noted with the keenest interest the huge, slipper-like impression left in the red sand. Here some of the troop had browsed round a giraffe-acacia; the scraping of their fore feet, as they had stretched themselves to their fullest capacity to seize some tempting morsel of foliage, was plainly apparent in the tell-tale sand. Poeskop, mounted as he was, described the operation in dumb show, with all the dramatic ability of his race.
Suddenly he drew rein and lifted a warning hand. Then pointing through a wide, open glade in the forest, he glared intently. His audience stared hard, and saw nothing stir for a full half-minute. Then something which they had mistaken for the trunk of a tree moved, and they saw instantly that it was a giraffe.
"Go on," whispered Mr. Blakeney; "ride for the right hand. Push them out in the open." They walked their horses forward, and then, on clearing a patch of timber, an amazing and most wonderful sight was before them. A hundred and fifty yards away, gathered round three or four spreading trees of the giraffe-acacia species, stood a troop of more than twenty tall giraffes. Most of the animals were browsing contentedly at the green leafage; some few stood with necks stretched out at an angle of forty-five degrees, quietly chewing the cud and apparently half asleep. The troop varied much in colour. A huge, old, mahogany-coloured bull, so dark as to appear almost black upon his back and shoulders, towered above the rest. Several fine cows of a rich orange-tawny colour stood next. Then came young cows, a young bull or two, and some stilty, half-grown calves, all varying in colour from orange-tawny and rufous-tan to a pale yellowish buff.
All this the hunters took in instantly; then, setting spurs to their ponies, they sprang forward in the chase. There was a strange, confused movement of tall heads and necks among the startled giraffe, and then the troop, having swung round their heads and noted the danger that menaced them, strode off at a curious, gliding shuffle. The hunters cantered, but their canter made but little impression. The shuffling walk of a giraffe is, as a matter of fact, far faster than any one unacquainted with these animals could imagine.
"Gallop hard, boys," shouted Mr. Blakeney excitedly, "or they will get away from us."
Following his example, the two lads now put spurs to their ponies and galloped in right earnest. Even in this open forest the chase was by no means an easy one. Guy, being the best mounted, pressed ahead, and, passing his uncle, rode for the great dark bull, which was lunging along at the head of the troop, evidently trying to sheer right-handed for the deeper parts of the forest. But Guy's blood was now up, and, pressing his good pony yet more, he galloped faster than the flying giants. The troop swung across an open glade, and, as they strode along like tall, dappled spectres, it seemed to Guy that he must surely be gazing upon some long-forgotten pageant of the earth's primeval past. These extraordinary creatures could surely scarce belong to this modern world! The whole thing seemed almost unreal. Still he galloped on, and presently achieved his purpose. The big bull, seeing that he was foiled in his attempt to plunge deeper into the forest, sheered left-handed and increased his pace. The troop began to string out, the calves and younger animals falling behind. Guy was riding, like his uncle and cousin, in his flannel shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. It was a warm morning, and their coats were as usual strapped to their saddle-bows.
On they went, through thorn jungle, over fallen timber, dodging tree trunks. Now the big bull tacked round a tree with the deftness of a well-handled yacht. Now a tall cow bent her swan-like neck and ducked marvellously under the spreading branches of an acacia. Guy felt many a scratch and stab as his excited pony plunged through the thorny brakes. In a patch ofhaak-doorn, through which they forced a passage, his left stirrup-leather and stirrup were ripped clean from the saddle. He lost his hat. These were mere nothings in the heat of a chase such as this, and he galloped on. At last they were clearing the forest. Now they were on the grass, with nothing but wide, open plain in front of them. Barring falls, that big bull must surely soon be his. The great giraffe was now running apart from the rest of the troop, going great guns, and manifestly thinking only of the safety of his own skin. The smooth, long, shuffling walk had been long since exchanged for a strange rocking gallop, in which the hind legs were straddled widely, and the long neck swung up and down in a rhythmic motion, which reminded Guy of a gigantic pendulum. Meanwhile the long black tail, screwed oddly up, was executing wild and fantastic flourishes. The chase swept headlong over the pale yellow grass plain. A mile and more had been accomplished since they quitted the timber. The great bull was running well, but Guy noted with a sense of exultation that he was now no more than eighty yards ahead. Another mile slipped by. The bull was tiring; he was now no more than sixty yards ahead. Guy shook up his pony and gave him just one firm touch of the spur. The gallant beast answered by a wonderful and prolonged spurt, which carried his rider to within twenty yards of that great dappled figure, rocking and swaying, like some tall ship on an uneasy sea, in front of them. One more touch of the spur and Guy was within eight paces of the giant's tail. Dropping his reins, he raised his rifle and fired. The heavy Martini bullet struck the giraffe fair, close to the root of the tail, and the great beast staggered to the shot. Still it pressed on. Guy instantly reloaded, and, taking aim as well as the motion of his pony would allow him, fired again. This time his bullet raked the giant's heart. Guy saw that its end had come, and galloped wide to the left. The bull faltered in his stride, staggered, strode on again, again staggered, and then with a crash that literally shook the earth fell to rise no more. The mighty limbs kicked twice or thrice, once the long neck was raised, then a shiver passed over the dappled frame, and the beast was dead.
Guy leapt from his reeking pony and, wild with excitement, turned to wave his rifle to the rest of the party. A quarter of a mile away on the left he saw Tom and his father riding close up to the rear of the main troop, which now contained about twelve giraffes. In a matter of a hundred yards Tom was right up behind a big cow. He fired, and the cow, turning away from her fellows, stood. Tom jumped off and finished her. Meanwhile Mr. Blakeney, having seen Tom bring his chase to a standstill, was himself galloping hard to make up leeway. He was soon up behind another tall cow, and she too went down. Three giraffes in the space of five minutes! Guy shouted congratulations to his fellow sportsmen, and turned to attend to his prize.
It was a magnificent beast, indeed, that lay before him. As Guy examined it, handled it carefully, almost lovingly, he realized the mighty proportions of the creature. His fingers could make no impression on the thick, tense skin of the back and ribs and neck. Almost the mighty beast seemed to be enveloped in a mantle of bronze. Presently Mr. Blakeney, having picked up Tom, rode up.
"Well done, my lad," he said. "You've got the finest camel of the troop. A tremendous old fellow. Let me tape him. I never saw a bigger."
The tape measure was carefully and scientifically applied.
"Eighteen feet nine, from hoof to tip of false horns! That's a great measurement," said Mr. Blakeney. "You seldom hear of a better. Only once or twice in five years of knocking about in the interior have I heard of giraffe of nineteen feet."