free, he would at that instant have struck the Dutchman in the face,
great as was the disparity in size and age between them. But he was
helpless; and he saw, answering his own fiery look, such an expression
of malevolence and hate spread over the Boer's countenance, that he
judged it the wiser course to resume a less pugnacious demeanour. After
all, pugnacity, when you are tied hand and foot, avails nothing.
"What do you want with me?" he went on, in a tone of assumed
indifference, addressing himself to the Portuguese.
"We propose to take you with us on a short journey," returned Minho.
"We shall tell you more of our plans later on. Meanwhile, you had
better submit yourself quietly, and don't make a fuss, or it may be
worse for you. There are more painful things even than sjamboks," he
added, with a significant leer; "rifles and knives, for instance."
"Now, then," said Engelbrecht, in his thick guttural voice, "pick him
up, you two."
The two strong natives, who were standing ready to obey their master's
orders, stepped forward, picked up Guy, and set him on his feet. Then,
saddling and bridling his pony, they unfastened the raw-hide riem that
bound his feet, hoisted him to the saddle, and set off. All carried
rifles; the Boer marched at the pony's head, holding its bridle. Guy's
hands were firmly tied, and there was not the faintest chance of escape.
Half a mile farther up the valley they came to Karl Engelbrecht's camp.
Here a wagon was outspanned, and there were more natives. The word was
now given at once to trek. Guy was placed on the wagon, and his feet
carefully bound again, and in half an hour they set forth, steering a
course through the hills which would take them north-west, in a
direction almost diametrically opposite to that in which the English
party was progressing. They trekked rapidly, and the oxen were pushed
to their utmost speed.
Quitting the hills presently, they entered upon thin forest country, and
thereafter their course was set, manifestly, for a chain of mountains
which lay upon the horizon some fifteen miles distant. This range was
reached before evening set in. Entering a deep and secluded gorge,
Engelbrecht's party ensconced themselves in a strong defensive position,
commanding a narrow pass, the entrance to which they blocked temporarily
by rolling down boulders and rocks from the hillside. Here, with plenty
of wood and water about them, and holding what they evidently looked
upon as an impregnable position, the shadowers believed themselves in
absolute security, and prepared to take the next step in the operations
upon which their energies and schemes were fixed.
Engelbrecht and Minho had, in the course of their pursuit, followed
pretty closely all the movements of the party in front of them. The
Boer had with him clever and resourceful native servants. These he
employed as spies, sending them forth scouting in front of him. These
men, accustomed from their youth up to read accurately every sign and
indication of veldt life, had traced with minute care every phase of the
wanderings of the English trekkers. They had reported the various
happenings--had observed the number of elephants slain in the big hunt,
and had satisfied themselves and their master that the English leader
and his party were all, white and black, good hunters and excellent
shots. They were known to be very well armed, and it was obvious that
any open attack upon them would mean severe fighting, in which the
assailants, in all probability, would be beaten off or most seriously
mauled. Besides, it was not the policy of the two allied ruffians to
make any kind of attack before the gold treasure should have been
discovered.
Upon the day before Guy had ridden out after the ostrich, Engelbrecht
had made a forward trek, and placed his camp much closer to the English
party than he had hitherto ventured. Minho was against this move, but
the Boer was now growing somewhat reckless, and his persistency had
carried the day. Guy's rifle had been heard that afternoon, spies were
watching his movements from the hills, and his entrance to the valley
and the place where he had camped for the night were carefully noted.
The spies hastened back to the Boer's outspan, and reported all they had
seen.
Then ensued a discussion between Engelbrecht and the Portuguese as to
what course to pursue. Antonio Minho was in favour of letting the young
man return to his own camp unmolested. But Engelbrecht's patience, as
we have seen, was becoming somewhat exhausted. He was a man of action,
and a plan had suddenly come into his mind which he at once unfolded.
It was this. If they captured the English lad, they could hold him as a
hostage, and make any terms they pleased with the gold seekers; nay,
they might even force them to enter into a kind of partnership, by which
the gold, when discovered, should be parcelled out equally between the
two expeditions. This seemed to the Boer, upon the whole, a better and
safer plan than attacking the Englishmen after they should have secured
their treasure. After all, the attack might be repelled. Karl knew
these Englishmen could shoot, and they would, no doubt, fight hard; and
even if they were surprised and shot down in a night attack or
ambuscade, there might be awkward questions to answer thereafter.
Lawless and bloodthirsty though the man was, he knew that, even from
amid the silence and solitudes of the desert, murder will out,
especially the murder of white men. He still cherished bitter animosity
and hatred against these intruders, especially against Mr. Blakeney, the
man who had conquered him in the affair of fists at Mossamedes; but upon
the whole he judged that he would now have a safer chance of gratifying
his revenge, by seizing Guy and using him as an instrument for squeezing
his rivals, than by more violent measures.
During an hour Karl and the Portuguese keenly debated the question,
whether or not they should seize and carry away the lad, now sleeping in
absolute ignorance of their vicinity no more than half a mile away. In
the end the plan seemed good to Minho. The capture was effected; and
now, having carried off Guy Hardcastle to a place which the Boer had in
his mind--a place which could be made impregnable against any
assault--they prepared to take their measures for squeezing Mr.
Blakeney, and bringing him to the terms and demands upon which they had
fixed their minds.
*Chapter XIV.*
*POESKOP TO THE RESCUE.*
Upon the afternoon on which Guy Hardcastle had been so busily engaged
with the ostrich hunt, Mr. Blakeney and Tom had returned about four
o'clock. By six o'clock, when it was getting dark, they were--although
expecting him in camp at any moment--by no means anxious about him. Mr.
Blakeney had heard from Poeskop that Guy had gone out after an ostrich,
and ostrich hunting is always a difficult and oftentimes a long and
tedious business. Night fell, supper was over, and still the lad
tarried. A rifle was now discharged at intervals, and the fires were
replenished, so that the wanderer might be guided to the safe haven of
the camp. Still no Guy. There was nothing more to be done that night.
They imagined that he had wandered farther away than he had intended,
and was camping out somewhere. The veldt was not a waterless one, and
there was therefore little anxiety on that score. Still, as morning
came, Mr. Blakeney was determined to lose no time in going out in
search. Something might have happened. The lad might have been thrown,
or have suffered some other casualty.
After a hurried breakfast, taking with them Poeskop, Mr. Blakeney and
his son rode out, Poeskop carefully following the spoor made by Guy's
pony on the previous day. It took them a long time to puzzle out the
intricacies of the spoor, and trace the devious wanderings of the
ostrich hunt. But they came in time to the place where Guy had killed
the bird. Then they traced him to the valley among the hills where he
had camped. Here they at once discovered other spoor as well as Guy's.
To the Englishmen, accustomed as they were to veldt life, it was
difficult to understand what had actually happened. To Poeskop the
whole story was plain enough. He searched about quietly for a few
minutes, then he told his tale.
"Karl Engelbrecht has been here," he said suddenly.
"Karl Engelbrecht!" repeated Mr. Blakeney. "Surely you are mistaken,
Poeskop?"
"No, baas," reiterated the Bushman; "there is no mistake. Karl has been
here. I know his spoor too well. He and another white man, the man
from Mossamedes, Antonio Minho, have been here."
Mr. Blakeney knew by experience the extraordinary powers of South
African natives, and especially those of Bushman blood, in reading
spoor. But he was staggered.
"How can you know it is the spoor of Antonio Minho?" he asked.
"Baas," replied Poeskop, "I have followed Minho many a time in the soft,
sandy streets of Mossamedes. There is no mistaking his spoor. Once I
have seen a man's footprints, or an ox's, or a horse's, I can tell it
anywhere. To you it may seem difficult; to a Bushman, no!"
"Well," rejoined Mr. Blakeney, "anything else?"
"Ja, baas," pursued the Bushman. "There are, as you see, two others.
They are natives--Karl Engelbrecht's servants."
"This is bad news, Tom," said Mr. Blakeney, with a troubled brow.
"Wherever Karl Engelbrecht is there is mischief. Minho is a scoundrel,
and we know that he had some inkling of what we were after. The Boer
has a grudge against us, which he would like to pay off. I don't half
like the look of things." Then, turning to Poeskop, he went on: "Well,
what else?"
"You see, my baases," replied Poeskop, "there has been a bit of a
scuffle here. These men have caught Baas Guy, tied him up, I think, and
put him on his horse, and gone off with him. Now let us follow their
spoor."
They followed the tracks up the valley for half a mile, and then came on
plain evidences of the Boer camp.
"Here's a pretty how-d'ye-do!" said Mr. Blakeney seriously. "What on
earth are these villains doing in this part of the world, Poeskop? We
must follow them up."
The Bushman took up the spoor, and they followed the Boer wagon tracks
without any difficulty. By afternoon they had cleared the forest
region, and were now halted in a small grove of giraffe-acacia trees by
a pan of water, about twelve miles distant from the mountain range in
which Engelbrecht and his party had ensconced themselves.
"Baas," said Poeskop, "you and Baas Tom must wait here. Karl
Engelbrecht has trekked for the berg yonder. He cannot be far in; his
oxen could not have travelled much beyond the _poort_ [pass] which you
see there"--he pointed to a dark ravine giving entrance to the
hills--"in the time. So soon as evening comes, I will ride on, tie up
my horse near the poort yonder, and creep about till I find what has
been done, and where Baas Guy is. What say you? Is not that the best
plan?"
"Yes, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney, "I think that is the best thing that
can be done. You will have an hour or two's good moon to-night; and if
you can't creep about and find out things, I don't know who can."
Poeskop grinned at the compliment.
"Baas, I will find out all right," he said eagerly. "I like Baas
Guy--he is my baas; and I will, somehow or other, bring him away with me
if I can. At all events, I will reach him. We Bushmen, you know, can
creep like the snake on his stomach. I shall becreep Baas Guy to-night.
You will see. Poeskop knows. You stay here. I will come back by
morning. If I can bring Baas Guy, well and good. If not, we try some
other plan."
"Very well," said Mr. Blakeney, "we will wait here. Do the best you can,
but don't run Baas Guy into danger. Get him away if you think you have
a fair chance. Now, how many cartridges have you, if these fellows come
out and we have to use our rifles?"
"I have seventeen," interrupted Tom, hastily running his fingers over
his bandolier.
"And I have fourteen myself," added his father.
Poeskop fingered his greasy old bandolier.
"Nine, baas!" he said, grinning.
"Why, you're as niggardly as a Boer with your cartridges," said Mr.
Blakeney, with a laugh. "I've often told you that you don't carry
enough for emergencies. Here, when we're in a tight place and may want
every bullet we've got, you're short."
"The baas is right," said Poeskop apologetically. "I'll never come so
short again. Never mind. Perhaps I may find some more in Karl
Engelbrecht's camp; who knows?"
"Well, don't play the fool and do anything rash," added his master.
"What we want to do is to rescue Baas Guy, and get away. At our own
camp we have plenty of rifles and cartridges, and, with our other men,
can give a good account of Karl Engelbrecht and all his blackguards."
Guy, meanwhile, had passed the day by no means comfortably. He had been
duly fed, it is true, his hands being untied for the purpose; but while
they trekked he had been fastened up again, and placed on Engelbrecht's
kartel in the forepart of the Boer wagon. There he lay throughout the
long, hot day, wondering what his people were doing after discovering
his absence, and what was to be the upshot of his captivity. At evening,
after they had passed into the kloof and the entrance had been
barricaded, he was taken down from the wagon and placed by the camp
fire, where, his hands being again unbound, he was supplied with meat,
bread, and coffee. Having made a respectable meal, Guy felt somewhat
more cheerful; and the liberty of his hands being allowed him for half
an hour further, he was enabled to stretch himself, chafe his benumbed
wrists, and restore the circulation.
He noticed various circumstances as he looked about him. Karl
Engelbrecht and Minho kept themselves pretty much to themselves, sitting
at their own fire, and engaging in a good deal of earnest conversation.
Once the big Boer got up and stretched himself, and came over to the
fire at which Guy sat. Here were gathered the five natives comprising
Engelbrecht's retinue--a villainous-looking Griqua, who had special
charge of Guy, two Hottentots, and a couple of Bihe natives. The Boer
looked fixedly at the English lad, but said not a word to him. He
addressed a few sentences to his servants; told Thebus, the Griqua, to
fasten up his captive's hands again, and look sharply after him during
the night; and stalked back to his own fire.
Half an hour later he and Minho retired to their kartels, and were soon
sound asleep. The natives sat talking round the fire for another
quarter of an hour; and then, tired with their hard day's trek, and the
labour of barricading the poort, they made their way to Engelbrecht's
wagon, beneath which, having ensconced themselves under their blankets,
they were not long in following their master's example. There remained
by their camp fire, which lay farthest away from the wagon, only Guy and
the Griqua. The latter threw a blanket carelessly over his captive, and
then settling himself comfortably under his kaross, a few feet away,
went to sleep. Thebus was a light sleeper, he had by his side a loaded
rifle, and he knew that the English lad was securely fastened.
Guy awoke very quietly some hours later. The moon had sunk; the
Southern Cross, which he had last seen glittering bolt upright in the
dark, star-sown night sky, now lay well over on its side. What had
roused him? He knew that something had touched him; what exactly, his
senses could not inform him. Then he felt a quiet, almost caressing
touch upon his shoulder, and a voice whispered very softly in his ear,
in Dutch, "Lie still, baas; it is Poeskop!" Guy did as he was told,
and, immediately, he felt hands busy at the rawhide riem that bound his
ankles. Then he became aware that a knife was at work; then his legs
were free. A dark figure wormed itself up, towards his hands, and with
the same silence and expedition his wrists were set free.
"Now," whispered the voice in his ear again, "creep away to the other
side of the fire. Go very gently."
"But Thebus?" whispered Guy.
"Thebus all right; he'll not move again," returned Poeskop. "Come!"
Guy shuddered. He guessed what had happened, but did as he was told,
and began to roll himself very gently over the sand towards the other
side of the fire. Suddenly a dog barked in its sleep. The three
figures--they appeared to be but two, for Poeskop lay crouched close
alongside the Griqua--lay motionless as stones. Then all was silent
again.
"Now," whispered Poeskop, after a pause of three minutes. They crept
away, and after what seemed to Guy to be ages--so great was the
strain--had reached the farther side of the fire. Guy looked across.
Thebus lay as if sleeping, and Poeskop had so arranged Guy's blanket
that it seemed as if he, Guy, were still beneath it. They crept yet
farther, and were beyond the light of the now fading fire. It was a
warm night, and Guy, what with the labour of crawling and the intense
nervous excitement, dripped with perspiration. Still farther they crept
into the darkness, and then Poeskop, taking Guy by the hand, led him
very softly round the camp towards the mouth of the kloof. They reached
the inner end of the poort, now blocked with huge boulders, and began to
climb as softly as they could. The Bushman pulled himself over the
obstacles with the lightness and the noiselessness of a cat. Guy did
his utmost to follow his example, but he was much heavier; and presently
a boulder, becoming dislodged under his weight, fell with some little
noise. Instantly there rose from the stillness of the camp, sixty yards
away, the furious barking of wagon dogs. Men stirred about the wagons.
"Quick!" cried Poeskop, in a hoarse whisper. "We must run!"
They were quickly over the litter of rocks, and running down the gorge
as fast as the semi-darkness would permit. The camp was astir; voices
were heard calling to one another; they could even make out Karl
Engelbrecht's deep tones shouting commands.
"Run, Baas Guy!" urged Poeskop, turning to his follower. "If Karl
catches us we are dead men."
They ran yet faster. They had a good start, and in fifteen minutes had
reached the mouth of the gorge. Here, in a snug corner among some bush,
Poeskop had fastened up his horse. It was a risk. If a lion or a
leopard had come that way, the Bushman's plans might have been easily
overthrown. But the good nag was safe. Unfastening it in an instant,
Poeskop led it out into the open.
"Now, Baas Guy," he said, "jump up. I hear them following us. We have
no time to waste."
Guy needed no persuasion. He, too, had heard the voices of their
pursuers; they could now even discern the beat of their footsteps. He
sprang up. Poeskop leaped lightly behind him.
"Ride for the light yonder," he whispered, pointing to a brilliant star
right in front of them, low down towards the horizon. A kick from
Poeskop's bare heels, and away they went, the pony cantering along
sturdily in the semi-darkness, despite the burden of a double load.
"We shall be all right now," said Poeskop. "It will take them half an
hour or more to pull down those boulders and make a passage for a horse;
but we must push on. Karl Engelbrecht and the Portuguee will certainly
ride after us, perhaps also some of their men. They will have blood for
the Griqua--if they can. And here comes daylight; we have no time to
spare."
Guy looked towards the east, which lay nearly in front of them. It was
true. Already the sky was paling. Dawn would be upon them in less than
half an hour.
"Poeskop," he said, without turning in the saddle, "did you kill the
Griqua?"
"Ja, baas, I did," replied the Bushman. "It was his life or mine. As I
crept past him he stirred. I had my hand on his mouth. He struggled,
and there was nothing for it but the knife."
"I'm sorry, very sorry," said Guy seriously. "You ought not to have
done it. I hate the idea of killing a man like that. I wish now you
hadn't come after me!"
"Well, baas, it was, as I say, my life or his. If Engelbrecht had
caught me in his camp trying to rescue you, I was a dead man. And you
yourself--if it suited his plans best, he would have put a bullet
through you as soon as looked at you. Besides, Thebus was my enemy.
Many a time he has sjamboked me, and drawn blood, when I was in Karl
Engelbrecht's service. He treated me as badly as Karl himself did. I
always said I would be even with him, and now I am. Pas op!" he cried,
as the horse stumbled in a meerkat hole.
The poor beast floundered, tried to save itself, but came down on its
head, bringing both riders to the ground. They were up in an instant,
and, getting the pony to its feet again, remounted.
But, alas! it quickly became apparent that the pony had in some way
injured its shoulder in the fall. It went very lame; and the lameness,
as they rode on, increased instead of wearing off. Daylight was now
rapidly overtaking them. The eastern sky was becoming suffused with
wondrous hues of gold and crimson and pale green; long shafts of rosy
pink were scattered upwards towards the zenith.
Poeskop turned and looked behind him.
"Baas," he said, "this is a bad job. They will all be coming after us
soon on their horses, and then, with this lame pony, we are done for,
unless we can lie up somewhere and defend ourselves. I don't like it."
"How far away are we from Mr. Blakeney and Baas Tom?" asked Guy.
"About an hour and a half's ordinary riding," replied the Bushman; "less
than an hour if we could gallop hard. We must get off, and run
alongside."
They slipped off the pony. Poeskop, who had his own carbine slung at
his back, handed Guy a rifle and bandolier.
"Why, these are mine!" exclaimed Guy. "How did you get them?"
"I found them by the Griqua," responded the Bushman, "and so brought
them away with me. Now, baas, hartloup!"
Guy took hold of the pony by the bridle, and they trotted along on
either side at a good pace. For a little while the pony, relieved of
its burden, seemed to move more freely. The improvement was but a
fleeting one, however; the lameness grew worse. It became evident to
the two runners that their pace was rapidly decreasing.
"This will never do," said Guy, looking with dismay at Poeskop. "What's
to be done?"
"The pony is dead beat, baas," rejoined the Bushman. "We must just leave
him to take his chance, and push on. I'll take the water-bottle, and we
must run."
So speaking, and taking the water-bottle, they pressed on. They had now
come some three miles from the mouth of the kloof where Poeskop had
first left the pony. Another nine or ten miles lay between them and the
woodland where Mr. Blakeney and Tom lay waiting the result of Poeskop's
expedition of discovery. Guy was a first-rate runner, and had the pace
of the Bushman. Poeskop, on the other hand, could go at a steady jog
trot during the whole of a long day, and had often compassed fifty miles
in a journey of ten or twelve hours. They were encumbered with their
rifles and ammunition, and Poeskop carried the water-bottle, all of
which tended, of course, to increase their difficulties.
As they trotted across the open plain Poeskop looked behind him.
"They're not coming yet," he said. "We must make the most of our
start."
Away they went, running steadily at a pace of rather better than seven
miles an hour, which, under all the circumstances, and seeing that they
were moving through longish grass, was excellent going. For a couple of
miles they kept this up.
"Baas," said Poeskop presently, looking at Guy with a strange, comical
expression on his yellow, pinched face, "your legs are too long for me.
I can hardly keep up with you."
"All right," said Guy cheerfully; "I'll slacken off a bit."
But at that moment Poeskop looked round over his shoulder towards the
entrance to the gorge.
"They're coming!" he cried. "I shall run your pace after all. Now we
must go till we drop. If I were only a hartebeest and you a springbok!
Run, baas, run!"
Guy glanced back, and saw four mounted figures just emerging from the
dark gorge on to the yellow plain. Broad daylight was upon the veldt.
It was evident that their pursuers must have already sighted them. The
situation was becoming serious indeed. They ran stoutly on, saying not a
word, and directing their course for a clump of bush and low timber
which, with two or three other similar patches, rose like islets upon
the sea of plain.