THE DESERT TREK
The rest, short as it had been, had worked wonders for the cattle. They
were as fresh and sleek as ever, and the lightly loaded wagon was a
small burden to them. At the last moment Schoverling had flung in the
six traps.
"I have a notion," was all he would reply to the questions of the boys.
He and the boys and von Hofe rode first, the Masai tramping along to a
swinging chant beside the wagon, and the three gun-bearers bringing up
the rear. The oxen did not require any driving, as they followed the
leaders unhesitatingly and patiently.
"I guess we've got our work cut out for us," said Charlie as the long,
rolling white-dusted plain opened out before them in the moonlight. He
and Jack rode together, as usual.
"Seems weird," replied Jack, "to think o' Mowbray coming across here on
a camel only to die, an' us going back on the same trail. Wonder how
that camel died in five days?"
"I don't know. He said it was unhurt. Prob'ly the Arab pushed it day and
night at full speed. Even a camel would go down under that."
As they advanced, the dust rose in clouds about them, hanging low and
choking the Indians behind until they had to come forward. Once or twice
the barking call of a zebra sounded from the distance, and toward
morning the distant growl of a lion, but no other signs of life came to
them.
The boys had been busy all day, and they were tired enough to doze off
in the saddle as they went forward, the white dust covering them all
with a thick coating. Hour after hour they plodded on, at intervals
wiping out the nostrils of the horses and cattle with a wet cloth by way
of refreshment. Von Hofe chatted intermittently with Schoverling, who
guided the march by compass, but the boys were too weary for talk.
At five o'clock they halted on the edge of a dry water-course. They had
not omitted to fetch along a good supply of fodder for the cattle, which
was loaded in the wagon to the very top of the tilt. The horses were
given a few swallows of water each, the Masai dined on roast meat about
their fires, while the four explorers and the Indians made an excellent
repast on cold meat and biscuits with tea. Biscuits were Charlie's
specialty, and before the start he had made a good supply, as their
flour was running low.
For three hours they rested here, Schoverling and Jack keeping watch in
turn. At the next halt von Hofe and Charlie would stand guard, then the
three Indians. At eight the cattle were inspanned, and they plodded
onward until noon, hot and choked with dust. No complaint came from the
Masai, and here the second meal of the day was eaten.
The boys had thought that first march across that almost deserted grass
plain was hard, but this gave them an inkling of the meaning of an
African trek. They slept with heads on their saddles, the single tent
they had brought along shading them somewhat. The Indians and a few
Masai slept on the fodder beneath the hood of the wagon, the rest
stretched out under the wagon itself.
At three they inspanned and went on again until seven, when another two
hours' rest and the evening meal took place. Thus they traveled sixteen
hours and rested eight, the men and cattle both getting on more easily
at night than in the blazing sun.
That first afternoon nothing much occurred to interest them. Out on the
dry desert scoured a few ostriches, at which the boys took distant shots
but without result. In the evening they saw two giraffes lumbering
across the horizon.
"Wish we had a few yoke of those fellows," said the explorer. "They can
go for months without water, and seem to pick up a living from the dead
grass."
"I thought camels were the only beasts who could live on air?" said
Charlie in surprise. "Do you mean that giraffes absolutely require no
water?"
"That is it," answered von Hofe. "It is an unexplained mystery, my
friend. The giraffe, he carries no water-tank inside like the camel, yet
he sweats and lives. How, is not known."
Charlie and Jack looked after the Masai, but found them dust-grimed and
cheerful. The leader, Bakari, had evidently picked out the best men--all
stalwart, sinewy warriors who won the respect of the boys in that
terrible march by their powers of endurance and unfailing good humor.
"I don't see how they can plug along on foot that way," volunteered Jack
on the third day. "By jiminy, two days of it would 'bout put me in
hospital! Say, Chuck, ain't these moccasins great? If we had boots now
we'd be sorry."
"You bet," nodded Charlie. "They keep the dust out pretty well. The
doctor has to empty out a pound o' dust every hour. No wonder his feet
are swollen up!"
Indeed, that night von Hofe made application for a pair of the spare
moccasins. The dry, irritating dust made no entrance through the thick
moosehide, and although the moccasins were undeniably hot, they were
much better than hunting-boots. He freely admitted that in no instance
had Schoverling's prophecies and ideas fallen down, and thereafter wore
his moccasins until the end of the trip.
The dry, brown grass of those plains was almost hidden by the dust, but
when their fodder gave out, on the fifth day, the oxen seemed to take it
willingly enough. Day after day the march kept up without intermission,
and fortunately the six-oxen suffered no loss. They were used to such
treks, and the unremitting care of the boys kept them in good shape.
On the seventh day the supply of meat, large as it had been, began to
show signs of giving out. The Masai had accepted the smoked meat
willingly enough, but neither the explorer nor the boys had counted on
their enormous appetites. As it would not do to halt the march, the
wagon was left in charge of von Hofe, while the General, the boys, and
the three gun-bearers cantered out after whatever game they could find.
So far the horses had stood the strain well, being seasoned, wiry little
beasts. Schoverling rode between the boys.
"I didn't want to tell the doctor," he volunteered in a low tone, when
they were a good half-mile from the wagon, "and don't let on before the
Indians; but we're going to be in bad unless we get across pretty soon.
There are only two casks of water left. I'm afraid the Masai have been
tapping them at night."
"Jumping sandhills!" exclaimed Charlie, staring in dismay. "Why, we have
to use at least half a cask a day, only giving the horses and cattle a
few swallows, and us too! I s'pose we'll cut out the cattle?"
"Have to," nodded the explorer. "I hate to do it, but we can't return
now. I'd like to take a gun-butt to those Masai!"
"You can't blame them," put in Jack. "They've got the hardest end to
bear up, Gen'ral. We've only allowed them about a pint a day each, same
as us, when they've been hiking steady. It's hard lines on them, take it
from me."
"We can't help that, Jack," Schoverling returned. "There's no use
punishing them, of course, for they may be valuable later on. But when
you're on watch, just take a look under the wagon now and then. If you
find anyone at the water-casks, take the cattle-whip to him. That water
means life to all of us--and _we come first_!"
The boys fell silent. The danger was brought home to them, as the
explorer intended, and they realized the grim law of the white man in
savage places--that whatever happened, whoever perished, he must
survive. It is not a merciful law; Schoverling was not one of the
generous-hearted kind who treat the native as an equal at such times.
He was an average, self-preserving Caucasian, who was only merciless
when his own life hung in the balance. The boys had been trained in the
same school, and fully realized the force of his words.
"The Masai are holding up finely," he went on, "but we'll have to watch
them close. At any minute they may get sick of things and try to rush
us. That means trouble, which I hope will not come."
Charlie joined him silently in that hope, though from the behavior of
the natives he could hardly believe that they would turn on the whites.
However, the conversation was soon shifted by the discovery of a herd of
giraffes to the north.
"Long range, I s'pose?" queried Jack, getting out his heavy gun. The
Indians were armed with the lighter ones.
"Yes," returned the explorer. "We'll never get up on them in this
territory. Fire high, when they begin to run, or we'll lose them."
The giraffes saw them plainly enough, but they got to within four
hundred yards before the herd began to shift. All drew rein instantly,
the trained horses standing stone still, and just as the herd took
alarm and broke into their lumbering, awkward-looking gallop, the six
rifles rang out.
The lighter weapons of the Indians seemed to have no effect. Charlie saw
the bull at which he aimed stagger and go down. Another stopped with a
broken shoulder, and Jack's second barrel finished it. Schoverling fired
again, but either missed a vital place or his bullet went wide, for a
moment later the herd was gone in a cloud of dust.
"Never mind," he cried gayly, reloading as they trotted forward. "Two
will be all we can carry in, and will help out wonderfully. They are
poor eating for us, but the Masai will be overjoyed."
Reaching the two dead giraffes, all leaped from their horses and set
about cutting up the bodies. At last it was finished. Spattered with
blood, the boys got the heavy loads on their quivering, blood-sniffing
horses after some delay, and set about returning to the wagon.
"Where is it?" exclaimed the explorer. "Surely we can't have lost it?"
But, even with their powerful glasses, no sign could they see of the
little safari. In all directions the plain stretched out dry, white,
dusty, with no moving speck to break the monotony. The general cased his
glasses in disgust.
"I was so interested in giving you my warning that I forgot to take any
thought of our direction, and the doctor has my compass. Let's
see--we've been riding about northeast."
"Here," cried Jack, pointing to the dusty plain, "there's no wind, so we
can follow the tracks. It's a cinch."
"Of course," laughed the explorer, and with Jack and Charlie in the lead
all six began retracing their steps. But it was not so easy to follow
the trail, after the dust had settled down upon it, and it was an hour
later before the white tilt of the wagon was seen, far to the southwest.
"We came more east than north, evidently," said Schoverling. "However,
all's well that ends well. Don't gallop, Akram; we must go easy on the
horses!"
They were soon up to the wagon and were greeted with a joyful yell by
the Masai, who had no scruples about partaking of the raw meat. Knowing
their tastes, the explorer had filled two or three gourds with the blood
of the slain giraffes, which the natives drank greedily. The boys were
disgusted, and sought refuge at the head of the column again.
That night the two remaining casks of water were shifted to the bed of
the wagon, the empty casks remaining slung below. With the next evening,
however, there came a joyful change in their prospects, for as they
proceeded they saw that dark clouds were gathering along the horizon to
the north.
"Rain!" cried the boys eagerly. Von Hofe nodded, and the Masai struck up
a "rain chant" which seemed to have the desired effect. By midnight the
sky was overcast, and when they outspanned the next morning for the
early halt gusts of wind and rain were sweeping down upon them that
gradually changed to a steady, settled rain.
"This is a great piece of good luck," exclaimed Schoverling, revealing
to von Hofe for the first time how their water supply had shrunk. "Get
out all the casks, boys, and let them fill. It's a bad thing for the
march, however."
"Why so?" queried the doctor, as the two boys began unslinging the
casks.
"Because when this soil is wet it's mighty greasy, and makes hard going
for the ox-team. However, it's well worth it."
The only trees on the plain were stunted thorn-trees, but from these the
Masai got enough dry wood to start a fire, after which others were
started. The boys, Schoverling and the doctor huddled together in the
wet grass under the tent, blankets around them and saddle-cloths over
their feet, and slept comfortably enough despite the drenching rain.
When the camp wakened into action, the rain had passed over and once
more the sky was bright and the air hot. But they had obtained three
full casks of water, and now had little fear for the future. As the
explorer had predicted, the soil was wet and greasy, but aside from
getting stuck once in an old drift, they had no great trouble, and after
the noon halt the sun had dried up the ground fairly well.
When they halted at sunset that night Charlie pulled out his glasses and
then gave a cry of joy. Far ahead, but unmistakable, they could see
green slopes and trees. Quilqua the mysterious was in sight.