AFRICAN TREACHERY.
The stable-yard was inclosed on one side by the hotel, on another by the
barn, and on the two opposite sides by upper sheds, which were built
very high and roomy in order to accommodate the Cape wagons that now and
then sought refuge there during bad weather.
There was a wagon under one of the sheds now, and an enormous affair it
was, too. It was so large that one of the ordinary lumber wagons we see
on the streets every day would have looked like a hand-cart beside it.
It belonged to our friend Oscar, and was filled to overflowing with
supplies of all kinds.
The trek-tow, or chain, by which the oxen were to draw the unwieldy
vehicle, was made fast to the tongue (the natives called it a
"dissel-boom"), and lay at full length on the ground, the yokes being
deposited at intervals beside it.
Oscar's driver and fore-loper had placed the chain and the yokes in
these positions before going to the pound to bring up the cattle.
They had been gone half an hour, and their employer was expecting them
back every moment.
Because Oscar's oxen were in the pound the reader must not suppose that
they had been engaged in any mischief, for such was not the case.
The law of the colony required that they must be taken care of every
night, when there were cultivated fields in the vicinity, and the price
that was charged for putting them in the pound was much less than Oscar
would have been obliged to pay if he had employed herdsmen enough to
keep them within bounds; besides, they were safer there than they would
have been anywhere else, for nobody could steal them.
When Oscar first took his stand in front of the window there was but one
man in the stable-yard, and he was engaged in grooming a small
iron-gray horse which he had hitched in front of the barn door.
That horse was a part of Oscar's outfit. He was by no means a handsome
or even a desirable-looking animal as he stood there with his head down,
his eyes half closed, and a general air of worthlessness and
indifference about him; but he was a "salted" horse--that is, he had had
the distemper, been cured of it, and was warranted not to have it
again--and, consequently, he was worth money.
He was one of the nags that Oscar, by the advice of his new-found
friends, had selected to carry him on his long journey; and as he had
heard a good many stories told regarding his speed, courage, steadiness,
and other good qualities as a hunter, the boy had indulged in some rosy
dreams about the runs he hoped to have when he reached the country in
which the lordly eland, the stately giraffe, and the fleet-footed quagga
and wilde-beest abounded.
While Oscar was conversing with the landlord he looked him full in the
face, and when he directed his gaze toward the stable-yard again he saw
a young man walk leisurely into it through the arched gateway, and,
after exchanging a few words with the hostler, turn his steps toward the
wagon that stood under the shed.
He stopped beside the dissel-boom, and Oscar, who had been warned that
eternal vigilance was the price he must pay for making his expedition
successful, kept his eyes fixed upon him and watched every movement.
He saw the young man look all around, to make sure that there was no one
but the hostler in sight, and then take some glittering object from his
pocket and work it up and down over one of the links of the trek-tow.
"Just look at that, will you?" repeated Oscar, seizing Mr. Dibbits by
the arm and turning him around so that he could look into the
stable-yard. "Is that the kind of care you take of property belonging to
your guests?"
"Why, whatever is the fellow doing?" exclaimed the landlord, who seemed
to be very much astonished.
"I know, if you don't," replied Oscar in a tone of voice that had a good
deal of meaning in it. "Hold on, there!" he added as the landlord
reached out his hand, as if he were about to raise the window. "Say not
a word. I'll attend to him, and if I can get my hands on him I'll see
what Mr. Donahue will have to say to him."
Oscar faced about, and giving his leather helmet a slap, to fix it
firmly on his head, started on a full run for the door.
No sooner had he left the room than the landlord quickly but noiselessly
threw up the sash, and, leaning as far out the window as he could
without losing his balance, called out in a suppressed voice:
"Thomas! Thomas! Look out for yourself!"
And having attracted the young man's attention, he went through some
sort of a pantomime that must have been perfectly understood, for Thomas
took to his heels and was out of sight in a twinkling.
The next moment Oscar Preston darted around the corner of the hotel and
entered the stable-yard. He looked everywhere for the young man, but he
was not to be found.
He glanced up at the window and saw that it was closed. He walked over
to his wagon, and after a short search found the link on which Thomas
had been at work with a saw made of a watch-spring.
The marks of the teeth were there, but he had not done the chain any
damage, because he had been interrupted before he had fairly settled
down to business.
"It's lucky that I am posted," thought Oscar as he walked around the
wagon to make sure that everything in and about it was just as he had
left it. "If that fellow had been left undisturbed for five or ten
minutes he would have sawed that link half in two. Then he would have
filled up the cut with mud, and just about the time we were going up the
town hill, and the oxen were beginning to lay out their strength, that
link would have given way and I should have had to come back for a new
start, and perhaps to have the same trick played upon me a second time.
That's the way these cattle-dealers have served more than one traveller,
trader, and sportsman, but they will have to try something else on me."
Having satisfied himself that his wagon had not been tampered with,
Oscar walked toward the hostler, who did not look up from his work.
As an accompaniment to his manipulations, he kept up a constant hissing
through his teeth, producing a sound which much resembled that which is
made by drawing a brush quickly across a curry comb.
Why he did it Oscar could not understand. Perhaps it was for the same
reason that an Irish laborer follows every blow of his pick with a
sonorous "wish-h-h!"--viz., to make his work easier.
When Oscar came up he stopped his hissing long enough to say:
"Hit's a wery fine 'oss you 'ave'ere, sir, an' I shall be glad to drink
your 'ealth and his'n, if you so please."
"I will give you half a crown if you will tell me the name of the man
who was fooling with my trek-tow just now," answered Oscar.
The hostler resumed his hissing again at once. He evidently wanted to
consider the matter before he ventured a reply.
"I'd be glad to earn the 'arf crown, sir," said he at length, "but I
can't do it. I aint seen nobody."
"I know better!" exclaimed Oscar. "He stopped and talked with you when
he first came into the stable-yard."
"Oh, _that_ man? I don't know 'im, sir. I never see 'im afore to-day."
Oscar said no more. He walked through the gateway, and, looking in the
direction of the pound, saw his oxen coming up the street.
"I'll soon be far away from this den of swindlers," said he to himself;
"but whether or not I shall be any better off than I am now remains to
be seen. Mr. McElroy says that the Dutch farmers are friendly to nobody
but Scotchmen, and how they will treat an American I don't know, for I
am the first one who has ever been here."
"Did you catch him, sir?" inquired the landlord when Oscar came back and
took his stand in front of the window again.
"Of course not!" replied the boy in a tone of disgust. "I knew I
couldn't catch him, for he has too many watchful friends about this
hotel. He was warned before I reached the stable-yard. By the way, Mr.
Dibbits, I am expecting a few gentlemen to dine with me this evening,
and I want your pleasantest parlor and the best dinner you can serve
up."
"Very well, sir," answered the landlord. "You shall have both."
Oscar turned toward the window again, and just then a horseman galloped
up to the porch and dismounted.
Giving his steed into the charge of one of the stable-boys who hurried
out to receive him, the man clattered up the steps and threw open the
door.
If there is any faith to be put in appearances, he was pretty mad about
something. His face was flushed, his shaggy eyebrows were drawn down in
a fierce scowl, and even his bushy side-whiskers seemed to bristle with
rage.
"Ah, colonel, I am surprised as well as delighted to see you back here,"
said the landlord, rubbing his hands and bowing obsequiously. "Is there
any way in which I can serve you?"
The angry man paid no sort of attention to the greeting.
He came over to Oscar's end of the parlor and stamped up and down the
floor, thrashing his boots with his riding-whip.
The boy took one look at him, and turned and gazed out of the window
again. He was fairly convulsed with laughter.
"Aha, my fine fellow," said he to himself; "you are the high-toned lord
who would not hunt with strangers, especially American _boys_! I know
what is the matter with you, and if your arrogance has met with another
rebuke I am very glad of it."
After a few turns across the room the colonel seemed to have worked off
a little of his rage, for he stopped and looked out at one of the other
windows.
Just then Oscar's oxen came into the stable-yard, and a fine-looking lot
they were--large, powerful animals, as black as jet and as sleek as
moles.
"Whose stock is that?" demanded the colonel in much the same tone he
would have used if he had been ordering one of his hounds out of his
way.
"It is mine, sir," replied Oscar politely.
The colonel started at the sound of his voice and stared hard at the
boy, who smiled and touched his cap to him.