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 that _schepsel_ Poeskop, 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 the
_kameeldoorn_ (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 find _kameel_ [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 of _haak-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 VII.*
*ADVENTURES IN THE VELDT.*
They were now busily employed for the rest of that morning and some way
into the afternoon in skinning and cutting up their game. The flesh of
an old bull giraffe is not good eating, and they were content to take
portions of the hide, the feet--which make excellent trophies--the tail,
and the skin of the head. From the other two they took further
trophies, and a large quantity of flesh. The wagons came up with them
presently, and the meat was loaded up. Then they trekked on for the
river, where they camped for the evening. After the oxen had grazed,
they were brought in at sundown, and fastened to their yokes for the
night. Big fires were lighted, and the two parties, masters and
servants, enjoyed a banquet of giraffe venison. The flesh of a fresh
young cow-giraffe is excellent, somewhat like good veal, with a
game-like flavour of its own. But the _bonnes-bouches_ of the evening
meal were the marrow-bones of these gigantic quadrupeds, roasted in the
hot ashes. These were then sawn in half, and the marrow scooped out
with long spoons of wood improvised for the occasion.
"Why, father," exclaimed Tom, as he finished his second helping of the
savoury stuff, "this beats boiled beef marrow-bone out of the field. I
never tasted anything so delicious."
"No, I don't suppose you ever have," said Mr. Blakeney. "Giraffe
marrow-bone is the king of veldt fare. There's nothing to equal it.
But we must cry enough. It's rich food, and I've known men in the low
country bring on a fresh attack of fever simply from over-indulging
themselves in too much of this good thing."
They sat after supper near the blazing fire--the boys writing up their
diaries by its cheerful light, Mr. Blakeney smoking his pipe and
skinning a beautiful crimson-breasted shrike which he had shot that
afternoon in some thorn bush along the river. He and the boys had
already begun a collection of birds, which they meant to take home with
them.
There was no moon, but through the dark, velvety pall of the night-sky
myriads of stars pricked forth in an array of marvellous brilliancy.
Down the river there came the curious wailing titter of a jackal, then
another. Not long after, a low moaning roar was heard from the same
quarter. This was answered by another roar nearer the camp.
"Lions!" exclaimed Mr. Blakeney. "Seleti, put more wood on the fires.
Do you, Mangwalaan, light another there, beyond the leading span of
oxen. We shall have to look out."
The Bechuana boys piled up the firewood, and soon had yet another blaze
going.
Just then Poeskop came up to his masters.
"I say, Poeskop," said Guy, who had finished his diary of the day's
doings, "is it true that the jackal is the lion's provider, and goes
ahead for him and smells out his food, and lets his master know of it?"
The Bushman squatted down near the fire, and smiled a broad smile that
wrinkled up his whole face and nearly concealed his eyes.
"Nay, my baas," he said, "I don't think that. But the lion knows from
the jackal's cry when he winds food, and comes after him."
Now, from the winding river, not more than a quarter of a mile away,
there rose the loud roar of a single lion, then another, and then yet
another across the river. Then the three roared in unison, creating a
volume of sound that was not only strangely majestic and awe-inspiring,
but seemed to make the whole air vibrate and tremble.
"Ah!" said Poeskop quietly, "they won't hurt us to-night. When they
roar like that, lions have full stomachs, and are not hungry. It is
only when they purr and growl, or, still worse, when they are silent,
that you must look out for them."
"They've got our wind, Poeskop," added Mr. Blakeney, "and they're
telling one another of the fact."
"Ja, baas," said the Bushman. "They smell meat and oxen; but they won't
touch us to-night--at least, I don't think so. There's the old manikin,
the father lion--that was the first roar; then his wife; and then a
young, nearly full-grown lion, their son."
"How on earth do you know that, Poeskop?" exclaimed Tom.