pointers, and, so soon as the dogs stood to game, dismounting from their
ponies and walking into their shots. In this way they made some pretty
bags of Coqui and red-wing francolin, koorhaan, and guinea-fowl. One or
two adventures befell Guy at this period. One day they had sallied out
to hunt a troop of hartebeest, which ran on a distant part of the farm.
After finding the troop in some prettily-timbered country, well covered
with giraffe-acacia, the three had become separated, Guy galloping mile
after mile in pursuit of a good bull which he had wounded. The
hartebeest, turning out of the troop and quitting the wooded glades in
which the herd had been discovered, took away over the open plains. Guy
was well mounted, and for a long seven miles pushed after the big
red-brown antelope, which swept away in front of him with a free,
machine-like action that, despite its wound--a bullet through the middle
of the body--showed no symptom of tiring. At length the hartebeest
climbed the ridge of a wave in the grass plain, and disappeared. Guy's
pony, good and willing as he was, was now tiring visibly. The lad
doubted whether he could gallop much farther--the pace had been too
great--and the game looked like getting clean away. It was too annoying.
They reached the top of the ridge, and looked over. Nothing living was
to be seen; the plain was untenanted. Apparently the antelope had
vanished into thin air. But Guy's keen eye noted, half a mile or so to
the right, a widish patch of vaal bush. Towards this he now rode. He
approached within thirty yards, and dismounted. Just as he did so, the
wounded antelope rose slowly to its feet from within the shelter of the
bush, and essayed to canter off. Too late! The gallant beast had made
its last effort and taken its final gallop. Guy's rifle went up, and as
the antelope slowly moved away, another bullet from the Mannlicher
pierced its heart. It tumbled suddenly to the veldt, and after a brief
kick or two lay dead.
Guy now set to work to skin his prize and take off the head. It was a
fine bull, carrying excellent horns, and his pride and satisfaction at
having thus secured his first big game trophy were very great. By the
time he had completed his operations, and slung the skin and a quantity
of venison behind the saddle, the hot afternoon was wearing away.
Carrying the hartebeest's head in front of him, resting on the pommel of
the saddle, Guy now rode back for the woodland. It was a long eight
miles, and his nag was by no means fresh after his tremendous exertions.
They reached the acacia groves at last. By this time there remained an
hour to sunset. Through these endless groves and glades, all much
resembling one another, the young Englishman now attempted to thread his
way, with the result that, by the time the sun sank, he found himself
completely lost. Just at this moment there came from far to the
eastward the faint report of a gun, then another. Guy rode that way,
but in half an hour the light had clean vanished, and it became a matter
of difficulty to manoeuvre a path through the gloom of evening amid this
trackless forest. Night fell; there was no moon; and although the stars
glittered brilliantly above, it became apparent to Guy that he was
benighted. He heard no more shots.
After wandering on, leading his now dog-tired pony, the lad came to the
conclusion that he had better camp for the night. He had, luckily, in
the hunting pouch at his belt, a box of matches and a compass, two
things which his uncle had warned him always to carry on expeditions of
this sort. He knew that there was no water within many miles of where
he stood, and that it was useless to think of attempting to find any.
He had, unluckily, finished the last remnant of lime juice and water
that remained in his water-bottle; bitterly did he now regret the fact.
He was terribly thirsty after hunting all day under a burning sun. He
felt that at this moment he would gladly have given half a crown, nay,
half a sovereign, for a quart of clear water. It was useless to think
about it, however, and, philosophically enough, Guy set to work to
prepare for the night. First he cut a quantity of grass and placed it
before his pony, which by this time he had off-saddled and tied to a
bush. On the lee side of this bush he himself meant to sleep, and for
this purpose cut more grass and made a rough bed. Then clearing a
space--for he had no wish to start a veldt fire--he cut and gathered
sticks and odd timber. He had camped by a dead acacia tree, destroyed
by white ants, and soon had before him a cheerful blaze. Now cutting
some collops of venison, he cooked them in the hot embers, and, with a
biscuit that remained over from his lunch, made out a respectable meal.
It was hard work eating without water, and with a thirst such as he now
possessed; but he managed to swallow some food, and felt a trifle
better. The air grew chill, and he now unfastened his coat from his
saddle and put it on; then, piling up more wood on the fire, and making
a pillow of the inner part of his saddle, he fell asleep. He knew that
here, in this waterless and semi-desert part of the veldt, few wild
beasts--leopards, cheetahs, or hyaenas--would be wandering about; and
besides, he was too tired to trouble much if any there were.
At dawn he awoke, cold and stiff; the fire was out; his pony was
munching the remains of the grass that lay near him. Guy rose, somewhat
refreshed, but with a terribly dry mouth and tongue. Saddling up, he
now prepared to seek his way home. By the position of the sun and the
aid of his compass, he could now steer some sort of way through this
perplexing forest, and he steadily pushed on. Two hours later, having
cleared the timber country and emerged once more upon the open plains,
he came upon the spoor of horses, which convinced him that he was going
in the right direction. After another hour of cantering and walking, he
struck a wagon track, and knew that he could now find his way to the
homestead. Very shortly he heard the reports of two guns, then a third.
He guessed that these were fired by his uncle or cousin, now no doubt in
search of him. Cantering that way, he soon caught sight of three
mounted men, and in five minutes was shaking hands with his relatives.
They had with them a native servant, and were riding out to look for
him.
"My word, Guy," said his uncle heartily, "I am glad to have come across
you so soon. This is a dickens of a country to get lost in--the veldt
is so waterless, except during the rains; and I was getting seriously
anxious about you. We wandered about firing shots yesterday afternoon,
and then made for home to bring out more water, and hunt you up to-day,
in case you had completely lost yourself. Didn't you hear our shots
yesterday?"
"Yes," answered Guy, "I heard two just before sundown last evening; but
they were far away to the east, and I couldn't make anything of them,
though I wandered that way after dark. Then I camped, made a fire, and
slept, and here I am."
"Excellent, my boy," said his uncle; "but you must be terribly dry.
Here, April," turning to the native; "unfasten that water-bottle and
give Baas Guy a drink. Drink up, lad; it's cold tea, and will do you
good."
Guy drank and drank, and presently returned the bottle.
"Never tasted anything so good in my life," he said, wiping his lips.
"It's nectar. I begin to understand what thirst really is. In England
we can have no idea of it, in a country where you can't go a mile
without coming on water of some kind or other."
"You're quite right," added Mr. Blakeney. "They don't half appreciate
the blessings of life at home. You want to rough it out here a bit to
understand what English comfort and English luxury really mean. Why, we
had a man staying with us a year back, looking at stock, who got lost in
the veldt out here for three days, two of which he passed without a drop
of water. Ultimately we tracked him to a native kraal on the Molopo,
thirty miles away. In this kind of country--in fact all through
Bechuanaland, on the Kalahari side--you've got to watch it, or you may
easily get lost, and perhaps die of thirst and starvation. Now, let's
be off home for breakfast. We have an hour and a half's ride still
before us."
Meanwhile, Tom Blakeney had been examining his cousin's hunting trophy.
"By Jove, Guy," he exclaimed, "you've got a first-rate head! That's a
real good old bull hartebeest; you seldom see finer horns."
"Yes, Tom," rejoined his cousin, "I thought it was a good head; and if I
had had to go without water another twenty-four hours, I should have
brought it back with me. It's my first hunting trophy, and I shall
always be proud of it."
"You'll do, Guy!" exclaimed his uncle, as they rode homewards. "I like
to see a fellow keen; and I'm sure you will shoot many a head of big
game before you've finished. Some day we'll go into the real hunting
veldt, where you can prove your mettle against more formidable beasts."
A week or two later, Tom and Guy were shooting redwing partridges and
koorhaan in a pretty piece of country some miles from the homestead.
They had quitted the banks of a periodical stream, where they had bagged
half a dozen brace of redwings and a steinbuck, and were now in search
of black and white koorhaan and Coqui partridges on a wide piece of
grassy plain which ran up to a distant line of kopjes. Juno, the
pointer, stood; and Tom, slipping quietly from his saddle, walked
cautiously forward, his gun at the ready. Still the staunch dog stood,
pointing stiffly at something in front of her. Tom advanced yet
farther, and then, without a cry and very noiselessly, there rose from
the long grass a single bird, with long greenish legs and a big head.
It was an easy shot, and Tom fired and brought it down.
"A dikkop," he cried, as he ran forward and picked up the bird. Guy
came up and inspected the game, which was of a species he had not yet
seen in Bechuanaland.
"Why, it's the same as our Norfolk plover, or thick-knee," he said.
"Father shot one years ago in Suffolk, and had it stuffed. I can tell
it by its big staring eyes."
"Yes, it's nearly the same bird," rejoined his cousin. "I believe
there's some little difference in the species, here we call it by the
Dutch name dikkop, or thickhead. They're rattling good eating, and
we'll stick it in the bag."
Smoothing the bird's feathers, and placing it in the wallet slung behind
his saddle, they went on.
In another half hour, during which time they got no shot, Juno, the
pointer, became curiously restless. She seemed to neglect the sport in
front of her, and turned perpetually to sniff the breeze which blew from
their left flank. Suddenly, after quartering the ground in that
direction, she stopped and barked furiously.
"What's the old girl up to?" ejaculated Tom. "I'll go and see."
As he turned his horse that way, the pointer, hitherto standing with
hackles up, manifestly in a state of intense anger, suddenly turned and
fled, her tail between her legs. Guy Hardcastle, curious to know what
had so alarmed the dog, walked his nag that way. The two cousins rode
on together for thirty yards, and then, with a curious hissing sound,
there rose, ten paces in front of them, the head and neck of an enormous
serpent. The reptile reared itself so suddenly, and its aspect was so
menacing, that Guy's pony shied violently and swerved off, nearly
unseating its rider as it did so.
"Look out, Guy!" cried his cousin. "It's a python. Canter away a bit
and slip in louper cartridges [buck shot], and then we'll have a go at
the brute. He's been following us." They cantered away forty or fifty
yards, changing their cartridges as they did so, and then returned to
the charge.
Meanwhile the python, which had undoubtedly been stalking them, had
thought better of it, and, seeing more formidable quarry than it had
bargained for, was slipping away. The lads galloped to the spot where
they had last seen it; and Tom, pointing to a movement in the long grass
in front of them, exclaimed excitedly, "There it goes; come on!"
Guy, who was not used to snakes, didn't half like the idea of stalking
such a monster; but as his cousin galloped on, he touched his pony with
the spur and rode after him. Nearer and nearer they drew towards the
rustling grass. Suddenly the movement ceased, and the huge,
evil-looking head rose before them. The serpent was undeniably angry,
and a big python in a rage is a formidable opponent.
"Shoot," whispered Tom in a steady voice.
Guy needed not incitement. Already his gun was up; they fired together,
and as the double report rattled out, the great serpent, stricken in the
head and neck, fell writhing into the pale grass. One of the two shots
had luckily broken its backbone a foot or so below the head; but the
huge serpent was by no means disabled, and now, half impotent though it
was, it struggled furiously to reach its adversaries. Beating and
flapping the earth in its agony and rage, it writhed itself towards the
two horsemen, who now separated and gave it another shot apiece. Then,
recharging their guns, they returned, and finished the wounded monster
with a couple more charges.
Having ascertained that the snake was really dead, they dismounted and
approached it; then, stretching out the reptile to its full length, Tom
took a tape measure from his pocket and ran over its dimensions.
"Eighteen feet," he remarked, rising from his task. "The biggest python
killed in these parts!"
"Have you many of these brutes about the place?" asked Guy, turning over
the monster with his foot, and comparing the greenish white of its
underparts with the brilliant markings of its upper colouring.
"No, not many," answered Tom. "They're shy, secretive beggars, and one
very seldom, indeed, comes across them. I've not heard of one for two
or three years."
"Thank goodness for that," rejoined Guy. "I must say, if I thought
there were many of these creatures in the neighbourhood, I should come
bird-shooting precious seldom, especially on foot. Surely they are
dangerous? They're not poisonous, I suppose?"
"No, they're not poisonous, luckily," returned Tom. "But they can
constrict. Whether they can kill a man I don't know. I shouldn't like
to try the experiment. Father says they can't. Still, they can try; and
if they were big enough--like this one, for example--they might give you
a very unpleasant time of it. They certainly do kill small buck
occasionally. Three years ago a python--rock snakes, the colonists call
them--which father had shot was found to contain the bones of a duyker
in its stomach; and our native boys killed another, with their
knobkerries, which had killed and eaten a steinbuck just before, and was
completely gorged and stupid after its meal."
They finished their shoot across the flat, adding three brace of
koorhaan and Coqui partridges to their bag, and then came back to the
dead python. Fastening this to the end of a piece of cord which Tom
carried with him, they trailed the serpent behind them and struck for
home. Arrived at Bamborough towards four o'clock, they stretched out
the great serpent in the front garden, and invited all and sundry to
come and view their conquest. It was agreed that so large a python had
never before been seen in that part of the country.
"Yes," said Mr. Blakeney, as he watched Tom and Guy divesting the
creature of its beautiful skin, "it's a big snake. Three years ago I
got quite a fright with one of these reptiles. I was shooting alone and
on foot about two miles from here. Juno was with me, and she seemed
very uneasy, just as she was with you to-day. Suddenly, as I turned
round--I don't know what made me do it--I saw, sticking out above the
grass not ten yards behind me, a python. Just for one second I was in a
real fright, I promise you--the thing was so sudden. However, the brute
looked very nasty, and I put up my gun and fired at once, smashing its
head to pieces. It struggled a bit, and another shot finished it. Now,
that snake had followed me right across the flat from the river
bed--where, I imagine, it had its holt or hiding-place in some bush or
among the rocks--for a distance of more than a mile. It was rather
uncanny, wasn't it?"
"Very uncanny, indeed," answered Guy. "I don't like the brutes at all.
Do you think they would go for one?"
"No; on the whole, I don't think they would," said Mr. Blakeney. "And
if they did, although they might frighten you and even hurt you, I don't
think they could kill a man. They could kill a child, as they do
undoubtedly kill a young calf sometimes; and for that reason I'm not
over fond of them--in fact, I destroy them whenever I come across them,
if I can. They're slippery brutes, however, and once let them get near
rocks or bush and you'll never see them again."
"The natives about here, father, don't like them?" queried Tom, as he
finished his part of the task, and together he and Guy rolled the
stripped body of the serpent from its skin, which they had now
completely flayed away from the flesh.
"No, the Bechuanas don't like them," rejoined Mr. Blakeney. "At the
same time they don't care about molesting them. In Zululand the natives
will never touch them. They have an idea that the souls of their
ancestors return to the bodies of these serpents, and will even allow
them to live close to their huts. For my part, I don't like the
proximity of such neighbours."
Having carefully scraped every fragment of fat or flesh from the skin,
the two lads rubbed in arsenical soap, and pegged it out on the shady
side of the wall of an outhouse, where in a day or two the cure was
complete.
In a few more weeks Guy Hardcastle had acquired a very fair knowledge of
the far-spreading pastures of Bamborough Farm. He began to pick up,
too, some knowledge of stock and stock-farming, for he was a quick lad,
who always had his wits about him, and was anxious to gain any sort of
information that might be useful to him. He had seen mealies and oats
reaped, and assisted in other operations. He had had a very good time,
for, mingled with the preliminaries of a pastoral farmer's life, to
which his uncle had introduced him, he had had a fair amount of
shooting, several pleasant excursions with his cousins to neighbouring
farms, and a trip to Mafeking to bring home stores. At the end of
January he accompanied his uncle to Johannesburg with a herd of fat
cattle, which were disposed of for excellent prices on their arrival
there.
On this expedition, although they were assisted by native servants, they
had to experience some of the roughs and tumbles of veldt life. They
lived for the most part in the saddle, sleeping at night in a light mule
wagon which accompanied them. The weather was broken and unsettled; the
rains, which began in December, still fell heavily at intervals, and
they were often drenched to the skin. Even their wagon tent by no means
sufficed to protect them from the tropical downpours that periodically
fell from the lowering heavens. Nevertheless, to the secret
satisfaction of Mr. Blakeney, Guy bore all the discomforts that overtook
them with the most cheerful spirit, and arrived at Johannesburg in
excellent heart and fettle. He had proved himself a very useful
auxiliary, and his uncle was more than well pleased with his behaviour.
The return from the gold city was made with much less discomfort, and,
unencumbered with a big herd of cattle, they reached home within a
fortnight.
One evening, a short time after their return, Mr. Blakeney called Guy
into his own room, the "den," as he called it, in which he did most of
the office work connected with the farm, and kept his papers, books, and
accounts, as well as his guns, rifles, and ammunition. Guy was just then
engaged in a game of chess with his aunt, who was a skilful player, and
was teaching him something of the rudiments of the art.
"Well, aunt," he said, as he rose with a cheery laugh, "I'm defeated
again, I see. You have mate in another move, haven't you?"
"I'm afraid it is so, Guy," replied Mrs. Blakeney. "Never mind; you are
getting along very well. This has been quite a good fight, and in
another six months you will be crowing over me, I expect."
Guy walked quickly to his uncle's room, where an oil lamp shed a bright
glow over everything. Mr. Blakeney was a man of methodical habits. His
books and papers were always in their right places; his guns gleamed
brightly on their racks; everything was in apple-pie order.
"Sit down, Guy," said his uncle, pointing to the chair near him; "I want
to have a bit of a talk with you. First of all, I want to know something
about your views of cattle-farming and South African farming life
generally. Is it the kind of life you think will suit you, and can you
make up your mind to settle down to it? You have now had a three months'
apprenticeship, and have probably formed your own opinions."
"Well, Uncle Charles," replied Guy, "my answer is a very short one. I
like the life immensely, and mean to stick to it. I can think of
nothing that will suit me half so well as to settle down steadily to the
same kind of existence that you lead here. I should like it above all
things, and I have thought the whole matter very carefully over."
"Remember, Guy, my boy," said his uncle kindly, "that hitherto, except
for the journey to Johannesburg, which wasn't a very pleasant one,
although from a financial point of view it answered excellently, you
have seen rather the bright side of things out here. This place,
although I say it who perhaps shouldn't, is rather a cut above the
average. We have put capital into the thing, my cousin and I--I mean,
of course, George Forster, who farms the adjoining land, and is my
partner. We do the thing well, and our homesteads are exceptionally
good. We have, as you see, some of the refinements as well as the
comforts of civilization about us. And hitherto we have had good
seasons and great luck. But you have to remember that there come times
of drought; various diseases attack stock, locusts destroy the veldt,
and the farmer's losses are often very heavy indeed. They say
rinderpest is on its way south, and will in time reach us even here. It
has got as far as Nyasaland, and will probably work its way right
through the continent to the very shores of Cape Colony. You must look
at all these things before you decide."
"Well, uncle," repeated Guy, "I can only say that I have honestly tried
to look at the thing all round. I know--and many thanks to you all for
it--that you have shown me the best and brightest side of everything,
and that I can't always expect to live in the lap of luxury, as I do
here. Please take my word for it. I want to go in for this kind of
life. I mean to stick to it seriously and learn the business, and try
and make something out of it; and I do hope you will do what you once
said you might be inclined to do--that is, teach me the business, and
let me in time get hold of some land near you. I have quite made up my
mind, and that's my decision."
"Well, Guy," said his uncle, with a pleased look on his kindly,
expressive face, "I'm very glad to hear this. I like you, my boy. I
believe you will stick to your business, and not look at it merely as a
hobby or a plaything; and I can only say, for my part, that I will do
all in my power to help you on. For your father's sake, as well as your
own, I shall do this; and I hope in a few years, when you've got
experience, you will do very well for yourself. Meanwhile, I've lately
had my eye on two farms, hitherto unoccupied, which touch our north-west
boundary. They are called Hartebeestfontein and Bushman's Kraal. I can
get them cheap. They are the usual six thousand acre farms, and I can
buy them from Government for L600 the pair. I shall write to my agent
at Vryburg to-morrow to secure these farms, which I shall henceforth
take to and stock. I shall hold these at your disposal, either one or
both of them; and in two or three years' time, if you like to try and
make a start on your own hook, why, we'll put up a decent house for you,
open up the water supply--I know on Hartebeestfontein there is a spring,
and I believe there are some likely _aars_ [veins] in the limestone,
where more water is pretty certain to be found--and stock the place, so
that you can make a fair beginning. But we must go slow for a time, and
meanwhile you've got to learn your business. Still, I am bound to say
that I believe and hope you'll do very well. You are steady, or I am
very much mistaken; you have brains; and I know, I can see, that, like
your dear father, you will always go straight, which in this life is a
good deal more than half the battle."
*Chapter IV.*
*THE GOLD SPOOR.*
"There is another matter I want to speak to you about, Guy," continued
Mr. Blakeney, "which has been perplexing me a good deal. It is this:
When your father wrote me the first of the two last letters he sent me
before his death, he sent also a short statement, sealed in a packet and
marked 'Important.' This statement concerns a very rich discovery of
gold in a far-away part of the interior of South-west Africa, somewhere
on the border of the Portuguese territory of Benguela. I have worried
over this problem for many weeks past, and the conclusion I have come to
is that I ought to tell you about the whole business. The shortest and
best plan is, I think, to show you your father's letter. Here it is;
I'll read it to you:--
"'ABAQUESSA, GOLD COAST,
_March_ 19, 1896.