A MIDNIGHT ALARM.
"What in the world is the matter with those horses?"
Oscar had just finished writing up his diary, and was getting ready to
tumble into his cot. The camp, which had been made in the edge of a
little grove a quarter of a mile from the nearest water-hole, had been
put in order for the night.
The trek-tow was stretched from one of the hind wheels of the wagon to a
tree that stood twenty yards away, and to this the oxen were tied. The
horses were fastened to the rear of the vehicle, and under it were all
the dogs and three goats which Oscar had purchased of Mr. Lawrence.
Paddy O'Brian was sitting on the dissel-boom smoking his pipe. A little
distance away a fire was burning brightly, and around it were seated
the Kaffir interpreter and the two Hottentots, who had erected a high
fence of thorn bushes to protect them from the attack of any hungry
beast which might be disposed to make a meal of one of their number.
It was the first time they had taken this precaution, and when Oscar saw
them building the fence he told himself that at last he had got into a
country in which dangerous animals abounded.
The reader will bear in mind that when our hero hunted in Africa game
was by no means as plenty as it was in Gordon Cumming's day.
The settlers, who increased in numbers every year, made savage war upon
the antelope to supply their tables, and upon the beasts of prey to
protect their flocks and herds, and now it was a rare thing to find any
very dangerous animal between Zurnst and the coast. Consequently Oscar
had thus far been allowed to pass his nights in peace.
The building of that fence of thorn bushes, however, was as good
evidence as he needed to show him that he might begin to expect trouble
now, and, in fact, it came that very night.
While he was writing in his diary, by the dim light of a lantern, using
the fore-chest for a desk, Little Gray and his mate suddenly began
pulling at their halters, and snorting as if they were greatly alarmed
about something, whereupon the men about the fire brought their
conversation to a close, and the Kaffir arose and peered into the
darkness.
"Now, then, what's the matter with the cattle?" exclaimed Oscar, who
knew by the sudden jar communicated to the wagon that the oxen had also
become alarmed, and were pulling at the trek-tow. "If there is any
varmint about why don't the dogs say so? Go out there and speak to the
horses, Paddy, and I will look around a bit."
After putting his writing materials away in one of the pockets that hung
against the arches by which the tent was supported Oscar picked up a
rifle, and made the circuit of the camp, much to the surprise and dismay
of his native servants, one of whom called out in his broken English:
"Hi, baas! you'd best have a care. Something might spring out at you."
It _was_ rather a dangerous proceeding to stroll around in the darkness,
so far away from the protecting glare of the camp-fire, and the thought
that possibly there might be some beast of prey loitering about, waiting
for his supper, made the boy's heart beat a little faster than usual;
but his hand was as steady as a rock.
He had unbounded confidence in himself. He knew that he seldom missed
his aim, and he calculated to make a specimen of the first animal that
showed himself.
He walked around the camp without seeing anything (there was something
there that saw _him_, however, and made all haste to get out of his
way), and as the horses and oxen had by this time become quiet he
climbed into the wagon and went to sleep.
About midnight a terrible hubbub arose. The first thing that Oscar heard
was the bleating of one of the goats that were tied under the wagon.
Then the dogs barked vociferously, the horses snorted and tried hard to
escape from their fastenings, the oxen bellowed and pulled at the
trek-tow, and the native servants shouted in chorus, and ran toward the
wagon, waving aloft the blazing brands they had snatched from the fire.
Oscar, always cool and collected, sprang out of his cot and caught up a
rifle, while Paddy O'Brian--who had doubtless been dreaming of
Donnybrook Fair--rolled off the fore-chest, with his ready stick in his
hand. It is probable that he had heard of the instructions given by one
of his countrymen to a novice during a riot, "Whenever you see a head
hit it," for he carried it out to the very letter.
"Hurrouch!" yelled Paddy, striking up a war-dance, and twirling his
stick in his hand. "Sorra one of me knows what the foight is about, but
take that, ye spalpeen!"
As he uttered these words he brought his stick down in the most approved
fashion, and it landed on the head of Big Thompson (who just then came
rushing up with a firebrand in one hand and an assegai in the other),
flooring him in an instant.
Had it been a white man's head the consequences might have been
serious; but the Kaffir's thick skull was his protection. He was on his
feet again in a twinkling, and the honest Irishman was never before so
near death as he was when the native drew back his spear in readiness
for a throw.
"Hould aisy, ye blackguard!" cried Paddy, who was now wide awake.
At that instant Oscar Preston sprang between him and the enraged Kaffir,
and the native, cowed by his employer's bold front, and not liking the
looks of the rifle he held in his hands, all ready for a shot, lowered
his spear and walked back to the fire.
The next thing was to ascertain the cause of the disturbance. One of the
goats was missing; that fact was established at once, for the piteous
bleatings of the poor animal could be heard growing fainter and fainter
as the daring robber hurried away.
All attempt at rescue would have been unavailing, and, to tell the
truth, Oscar did not think of making any.
The night was pitch dark, and the actions of the dogs, which followed
close upon the heels of the robber and barked at him, but dared not lay
hold of him, made the boy believe that the animal was one that had
better be left alone.
What species he belonged to Oscar, of course, could not tell, but
everything proved that he had been very sly about his work.
He had taken his prey from under the very noses of the sleeping dogs,
and neither they nor the horses or oxen knew that there was anything
wrong until they were alarmed by the bleating of the goat.
"He must have been a powerful as well as a cunning beast," thought Oscar
as he examined the broken rope, which was almost as large as a clothes
line. "That goat must have weighed sixty or seventy pounds. When Mr.
Lawrence gave me those hounds he assured me that they would attack
anything from a porcupine to a leopard; but they didn't dare take hold
of this fellow. Where was he, I wonder, while I was walking about the
camp? Whew! I don't want anything to do with such a varmint in the
dark."
The dogs came in one after another; and when quiet had been restored
Oscar went to bed again.
It was a long time before Big Thompson forgave the Irishman for knocking
him down. He looked savagely at Paddy whenever the latter came near him,
and muttered something between his clenched teeth, and it took a good
share of Paddy's tobacco to restore the Kaffir to his usual good nature.
After this nothing worthy of interest happened until the wagon reached
Leichtberg, where Paddy O'Brian was to leave Oscar's employ.
Oscar had letters of introduction to Mr. Evans, an English gentleman
living in Leichtberg, and, as usual, he was cordially received.
During the progress of one of his conversations with Mr. Evans, who,
like all the rest of those whose acquaintance he had made since leaving
his native land, was an ardent and experienced sportsman, Oscar spoke of
the loss of his goat, and asked what sort of an animal it was that
carried it off.
"It was a hyena--a spotted hyena--the pest of this country," replied
his host. "It was well for your dogs that they did not take hold of him,
for he would have made mince-meat of the whole pack before they could
have yelped twice. In point of cunning and rapacity, the spotted hyena
surpasses every beast of prey in Africa. I except nothing. An animal
that can take a child out of its mother's arms when both are asleep, and
get away with it without alarming anybody, would not have much
difficulty in stealing a goat from under a wagon, would he?"
Oscar could only look the surprise that these words occasioned.
"What I am about to tell you I know to be a fact, although you will
scarcely credit it," continued Mr. Evans. "When I first came to this
country wolves, as we call them here, were in the habit of paying
regular nightly visits to the streets of Cape Town, and it was not so
very long ago that their howling (the cries they utter sound more like
laughing than howling, and for that reason they are sometimes called
laughing hyenas) was heard from Table Mountain.
"In the Kaffir country they are so numerous and daring that they make a
business of entering the villages of the natives and carrying off young
children. When a native builds a house, which is in form something like
an old-fashioned straw bee-hive, the floor is raised two or three feet
from the ground, and covers only part of the house--the back part. In
the space between this raised floor and the door, which is nothing but a
piece of antelope hide, the calves are tied every night, for protection
from the storms and from wild beasts. Now you would suppose that when a
wolf got into one of these houses he would grab the first thing he came
to, but he won't do it. He'll not look at lambs or calves if he has once
tasted human flesh. He will pass them without alarming them, get upon
the raised floor, and take a child from under its mother's kaross, and
he will do it in so gentle and cautious a manner that no one is
awakened. What do you think of that?"
Oscar did not know what to think of it. It beat anything he had ever
heard of.