instincts, with much of his prowess, was doing his best to overtake the
wounded bull. For a bull it was, and of immense size; apparently the
patriarch of the herd it had so unaccountably forsaken. This had caused
the young hunter some surprise; and he was also surprised, as well as
chagrined, at his first shot not having brought the bull down. For he
had aimed at a vital part, with excellent opportunity, and could not
account for his having missed. True, it was not altogether a miss,
though not much better, the buffalo seeming but little hurt as it
careered on over the veldt, tail high in air. Mounted on a strong,
swift horse, however, Van Dorn at length got again within range of it;
and once more raising his roer, delivered what he believed would be its
death shot. Only to see, with chagrin greater than ever, that though he
had made a hit, it was not a kill. Indeed, so far from the bull being
further disabled, he but seemed to gather fresh strength, and with a
loud bellow and angry toss of the head, continued on at a heightened
speed.
But the pursuit was continued too; for with Piet Van Dorn it was now do
or die. Not for worlds would he have allowed that buffalo to escape
him; and, once more appealing to the speed of his horse, as he rammed
another cartridge down the barrel of his gun, he followed at his
fastest. It was a tail-on-end chase, prolonged for nearly another
league, before the pursuer thought himself near enough to send another
shot at the pursued. He did so at length, hearing his bullet hit with a
dull thud, as it buried itself in the flesh of the great bovine. Still
the animal fell not, neither staggered, though it made no attempt to run
on. The third shot produced an effect in it quite different from the
two former, and, instead of further retreat, it stopped short, wheeled
round, angrily shook its horned head, tore up the turf with its hoofs,
then, with a loud bellow, charged back on its relentless pursuer.
Having perfect control of his horse, and trust in the animal's speed,
the young hunter could have easily avoided the onset by galloping wide
out of the way. And he was in the act of doing so, had half reined
round, when he felt the horse sink beneath him, and himself going a
"cropper" over neck and head.
There was no mystery about the cause, which on the instant declared
itself by a peal of unearthly laughter ringing loud in his ears, while
at the same time he saw the creature that sent it up. His horse had
gone knee-deep into the hole of a "laughing hyena," [Note 1] out of
which the ugly brute now bounding ran off affrightedly over the veldt,
as it went emitting its wild, weird cachinnations as the cries of a
maniac fresh escaped from some lunatic asylum. All, too, as if in
mockery at the hunter's mishap!
The horse was in no way injured, though, perhaps, better for his rider
if he had been, for, on regaining his legs, which he instantly did, the
triple scare he had got, from the oncoming of the buffalo, his own
tumble, and the screams of the hyena, was too much for him, and he broke
off in wild stampede, leaving his master to look out for himself.
For some seconds Piet Van Dorn felt dismay, even to fearing death. The
infuriated bull was fast nearing him, with head lowered, and horns set
to crush or impale him. In another moment he might receive the fatal
shock to know no more. For although he was also uninjured, and again
upon his feet, there was no hope for him to escape by flight, and his
gun was empty; nor was there aught near to afford him shield or shelter.
A look cast despairingly around revealed the veldt smooth and level for
miles in every direction. Some bushes there were, with here and there a
straggling tree, but none seemingly of sufficient size for climbing. At
a last glance, however, he caught sight of one branched to the ground,
and with a full, dense foliage. It might afford at least a temporary
concealment, and without staying to think further, he made for it at
lightning speed. Luckily it was in his line of retreat, and as no time
was lost, he got up to and behind it before the bull could overtake him.
Never was hunter more overjoyed than he, when after a quick inspection
of the tree, he saw it had two trunks, either of which would bear his
weight up to ten or twelve feet above the ground. But there was a _per
contra_, which acted as a damper to his joy, on his perceiving that both
were beset with sharp spines. For it was a _doorn-boom_ [Note 2] a very
"monkey puzzle," to ascend which would have deterred most _quadrumana_,
as for a time it did him. Not long, however; it was "die dog, or eat
the hatchet," a choice between horns and thorns, and Piet Van Dorn
preferred laceration by the latter, to facing certain death by the
former. So throwing his arm around the largest of the twin trunks he
commenced swarming up, regardless of the thorns tearing into his flesh,
even undismayed by the hissing of a _boom-slang_ [Note 3] which with
neck craned out threatened him from a branch above. But his resolution
to climb had been too late. Scarce were his feet well off the ground
when he experienced a shock that sent him sprawling back upon it, a
concussion of such violence as for a time to deprive him of his senses.
On recovering them he saw that he was lying some six or seven paces from
the tree, bruised and bleeding. But where was the buffalo-bull?
Raising himself on elbow, he looked all round; but no buffalo was in
sight, nor quadruped of any kind. His own horse, with the hyena, had
long since disappeared, and now also the horned bovine; he himself
seemingly the only living, breathing thing over all that wilderness of
veldt.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. The so-called laughing hyena (_H. Crocuta_), as the other
species, often make burrows, but sometimes appropriate those of the
ant-eater. This species, though smaller than the striped hyena, is of a
fiercer nature and more dangerous. So much so as to have earned for it
among the South African colonists the title of _Tiger wolf_.
Note 2. "Doorn-boom." Another of the thorny acacias so characteristic
of South African scenery.
Note 3. "Boom-slang." Literally "tree snake." It is a large serpent,
of yellowish brown colour, which makes its home in trees. It is not
venomous, however, though of formidable aspect.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
TRAPPED BY A TREE.
The feelings of the young Boer may be better imagined than described.
For a time mystification, then changing to weird fear, as a sense of the
supernatural stole over him. Around the spot upon which he had been
pitched were several small ant-hills; so, scrambling to the top of the
nearest, and then standing erect, he had the veldt under his view for
miles on every side. He could see no bush, nor other cover that would
have concealed an animal so large as was the buffalo. Yet buffalo there
was none on it.
It now recurred to him that his unconsciousness might have been of
longer duration than he had supposed it; giving the buffalo time to
scamper off out of sight. But this hypothesis was also untenable for
more reasons than one. For an animal of such bulk to have got beyond
his view on that smooth, level plain was of itself highly improbable.
Besides, why should the buffalo have run away from him? The last
glimpse he had of it was while in mad, determined rush towards himself,
and he knew it was the shock of its horns against the doorn-boom that
had shot him off the tree as from a catapult. What reason would it have
for retreating then, wounded as it was, and feeling itself, too, master
of the situation, as it must have felt on becoming the aggressor? Of
all this the young hunter was conscious, and not on that account the
more mystified. For he had also bethought him of his three bullets sent
into the buffalo's body, recalling how carefully he had taken aim, and
how their failing to bring the animal down, had surprised and puzzled
him. It was then the weird fear came over him in full, almost a horror,
as the mystery remained unsolved. He rubbed his eyes, and once more
took a survey of the veldt; scanning it minutely all over, as he
mechanically interrogated, "Am I in my senses? or has it been a dream?"
At this crisis his ears were saluted by a sound, seemingly in response
to his questioning, and promising to end his perplexity. It was a loud
snort, which he knew could only proceed from the throat of a
buffalo-bull, and the same whose sudden disappearance had been puzzling
him. Just then reverberating all over the veldt in a long, continued
roar, it seemed to rise out of the earth.
But another noise in accompaniment was less misleading as to direction.
This was the swish of leaves, with a snapping of twigs, as a tree tossed
about by the wind. Turning his eyes upon that he had late essayed to
climb, he saw it was in violent agitation; oscillating to and fro, as if
under the impulse of a tornado. But the bellowing which he now knew to
come from among its branches told a different tale, proclaiming the
buffalo still there.
Though thus relieved from all awe of the unearthly, Piet Van Dorn was
almost as much mystified as ever. What could the animal be doing by the
doorn-boom, and why had it stayed there? As yet he saw it not, the
thick foliage intervening, but its repeated routs, with the shakings of
the tree, left no doubt about its presence. The thought flashed upon
him that the bull supposed he had succeeded in ascending the tree, and
was still up in it; so in blind fury had remained there, at intervals
butting the trunk and bellowing.
Under this belief, both natural and probable, the first impulse of the
young hunter was to take to his heels, and put space between himself and
the dangerous brute, as much as the time would permit. For at any
moment the bull might part from the tree, or come round it, and again
catching sight of him renew the attack. So dropping down from the
ant-hill, he was about to make off, when he bethought of his gun, twice
shaken out of his grasp, and lying on the ground near by. But it was
also dangerously near the doorn-boom, and to get hold of it would be a
ticklish affair. Still, to return to the camp without his gun--bad
enough having to go without his horse--would be fearfully humiliating.
How delighted Andries Blom would be, and how he would crow over it!
"No! I won't go back without the gun, at all events," soliloquised Piet
Van Dorn, with returning courage, more confidently adding, "Nor leave I
this spot, till I can take with me a better account of what's happened
than I can now."
Thus resolving, he stepped softly towards the roer, with his eye upon
the shaking tree; and soon had the gun in hand again. Of course, it was
empty; as while retreating before the buffalo, he had not found an
opportunity to reload. Luckily, his quilted cartridge-belt was still
fast buckled around his body, and a supply of percussion caps lay
convenient in the pocket of his civet-skin waistcoat. Down went the
cartridge and rammed home, almost as quick as a partridge-shooter could
have charged his patent "central fire." And now ready, the young jager
set face for the doorn-boom, determined to try final conclusions with
the brute that had parted him from his horse, besides giving him a
scare, such as he had never before experienced.
Notwithstanding his restored courage, he was far from feeling reckless,
and made approach with all due caution. For as yet, much of the mystery
remained unsolved, and the behaviour of the buffalo as great an enigma
as ever. The animal still continued its terrific routing, while the
tree zig-zagged to and fro, both trunks, as though threatening to break
down with a double crash. But for the thick foliage around the base,
the young hunter would long before have had explanation of a thing so
incomprehensible. It came at last, however, as he drew close in to the
tree, and saw the buffalo with neck caught between the twin trunk, fixed
and fast as if in a vice. In its furious rush it had forced its head
through; the young flexible stems parting to let it pass, then
reclosing; the neck was held as in a yoke, and the huge buttressed horns
could not be drawn back again. So the bull had trapped himself in a
tree!
Seeing how things stood, Piet Van Dorn could not restrain himself from
giving way to loud laughter. He did smile, a vengeful smile, as he
thought of the trouble the black brute had put him to, with the chagrin
it had caused him. But the better feeling of humanity soon triumphed
over that of anger and revenge. He saw that the buffalo had received
its death wound, from the shots he had fired at it, and its struggles in
the clasp of the doorn-boom were but its last throes of life. Mercy
appealed to him to put an end to them; which he did by stepping close up
to the animal, and sending a fourth bullet into its body; this was so
aimed as to deprive it of life, with scarce a kick given after.
CHAPTER NINE.
BELATED ON THE VELDT.
For that day Piet Van Dorn's hunting was at at an end, but with a finale
far from satisfactory to him. True, he had succeeded in killing the
buffalo, and would not have to return to camp trophyless. But how about
his horse? The latter might be there before him--in all likelihood was
there already--if not lost on the veldt. If lost, it would be no slight
misfortune; his mount being of the best ever ridden by a Vee-Boer, and
one that could not well be replaced. Still he had not yet come to
contemplating the matter in so serious a light; trusting to the animal's
instinct to guide it back to its companions. But even this would have
sinister consequences. That anything could have parted him and his pet
steed, above all a tumble, and its becoming known to the fair
_fraulein_, his ladye love, was aught but pleasant to contemplate. And
the horse returning riderless would naturally create alarm in the camp,
where, besides a sweetheart, he had an affectionate mother and sisters
who would be in an agony of apprehension about him, he knew.
Furthermore, the thought of having to trudge it back afoot, wounded as
he was--in fact a good deal disabled--was of itself sufficiently
disagreeable. But just on this account was it necessary for him to
start off at once.
The sun was now little more than the breadth of its own disc above the
horizon; and, if night caught him upon the veldt, he might have to stay
in it till morning, almost certainly would.
Thus reflecting, he made no longer delay than the occasion called for.
Bleeding wounds were to be bound up; ugly scratches got in the attempt
at climbing the doorn-boom, and a thorn or two that still stuck in his
flesh had to be extracted. Then there was the reloading of his gun,
which it was not prudent to have empty in such a place. Finally he cut
off the buffalo's tail, to be taken along, less by way of trophy, than
as evidence that, despite so many other mischances, he had not failed as
a hunter. He would have preferred taking the horns, as he had never
before seen so grand a pair; besides, it was to them he owed the life
left him. But for their getting entangled in the tree, instead of his
now, in cold blood, cutting off the buffalo's tail, the brute might have
been standing over his lifeless body, trampling it into a mash. But,
notwithstanding the service the horns had done him, and tempting as a
trophy, it would take some time to detach them from the head, more than
he had to spare, and in his disabled state they would be too much of a
burden. So, shouldering his gun, with the bull's tail tied to its
muzzle, he strode away from a spot so replete with incident, and what,
but a short while before, seemed mystery incomprehensible.
Though comprehending it now, his perplexities were not over nor his
troubles at an end. Scarce had he commenced moving off when the
hitherto unthought of question occurred to him--
"What direction am I to take?"
It may seem strange his not thinking of this before; but men in his
situation rarely do. The traveller on African plain or American prairie
only becomes conscious of being lost when he _is_ lost. Just such tardy
consciousness now came to Piet Van Dorn, but with so keen a sense of it
as to bring him to an abrupt stop before he had made half-a-dozen steps.
For a time he stood scanning the horizon around, but saw nothing there
to give him guidance. He had hoped to descry a dark line along it; the
timber skirting the stream by which they had encamped; but nothing of
this was in sight. Even the great mowana, with several others of its
kind he knew to be near it, were below the level of the plain. [Note
1]. This added to his uneasiness, telling of the long distance he would
have to tramp it, even with direction known. But the last was his
present trouble, and he bent himself, with all the energies of his mind,
to determine it. What assistance could he get from the sun? Nothing
else seemed to promise any, so he turned his gaze upon that. He
remembered its having been before his face while he was pursuing the
buffalo; well remembered this, as it had been in his eyes, and so
dazzled them as to interfere with his aim. Indeed, he blamed it, more
than aught else, for his having failed to bring the animal down. But
the sun had since changed place in the sky; true, not much, still enough
to make it a blind guide, notwithstanding its brightness.
It would help him in a way, however; and turning his back upon it, he
was about to start off eastward, when lo! tracks on the ground before
him! Two sorts of hoof-marks there were; one cloven, the other whole
and shod. The presence of neither surprised him, knowing, as he did,
what animals had made them--of course the buffalo and his own horse. It
was where he had fired his third shot, and the chase had come to an end
by the bull rounding upon him. But beyond he could see the same tracks
in a long line over the veldt, indicating the direction in which he had
approached the place. There was no need for longer doubt or hesitation,
he could not do better than take the trail of the chase backward; and
back on it he went.
Not far, however, before again getting interrupted. Out of some low
scrub, through which it led, came a peal of wild hysterical laughter,
that, to ears unacquainted with it, and in such a solitary place, would
have been appalling. But Piet Van Dorn knew the sort of creature that
laughed; was sure of its being the same which had lately saluted him in
a similar manner, as if mockingly. Remembering this, recalling also,
that to it he was indebted for the loss of his horse, with other
resultant troubles, quick as lightning, he jerked his gun from his
shoulder, and lowered it to the level. Almost at the same instant he
perceived the hyena making off through the bushes, as it sent back
another of its unearthly cachinnations--the last it ever uttered. It
did not even succeed in finishing that, being abruptly silenced by a
bullet that dropped it dead in its tracks; the loud report of the roer
replacing the animal's voice in prolonged reverberation over the plain.
With something like a feeling of satisfied vengeance, the young hunter
saw the hyena roll over dead. But for it he might still have been
astride his noble steed--almost surely would--with the buffalo's grand
horns carried on the croup behind him. And how different his
situation--how aggravating! But there was no time to dwell on it,
however; so, hastily ramming down another cartridge, and without even
deigning to look at the worthless quarry killed, he continued on.
So long as daylight lasted, there would be no difficulty about his
taking up the trail; he could sight it going at a run. And run he did,
now and then, despite his crippled condition, so anxious was he to get
back to camp, though less on his own account than that of the anxious
ones there. Besides, to be out all night on the veldt alone and
weakened as he was, were of itself a thing of danger. Not only cowardly
hyenas, but courageous leopards, even lions, might be prowling about and
make prey of him.
With such incentives to haste, he made it--all that was in his power.
But despite all, he saw the sun sink down below the horizon without
getting sight of the belt of timber he was looking for. Nor came it in
view during the short interval of twilight that succeeded, and through
which he had hastened on without halt or pause, till night's darkness
was almost down. Then he made stop, and ascended an ant-hill, with a
half-despairing hope that from its summit he might descry the wished-for
beacon--perhaps see the lights of the laager fires.
He saw them not, neither blaze nor spark; and, as night had now drawn
its sable mantle around him, he had but the two alternatives--stay where
he was, or go blindly groping onward. Making choice of the former, he
stayed.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. As stated in a former note, the "mowana" in girth and spread of
branches is perhaps the largest of all known trees, but far from being
the tallest, in height rarely exceeding a hundred feet.
CHAPTER TEN.
A HORSE CHASED BY WILD HOUNDS.
That night there were sore hearts in the camp under the mowana, and eyes
that closed not in sleep. A mother lay awake, thinking apprehensively
about her son; sisters in like manner were in fear for the fate of a
brother; while a young girl, not sister, but sweetheart, was no less
uneasy about the absence of a lover.
Perhaps had Piet Van Dorn, the object of this concentrated solicitude,
been only sure of its being shared by Katharina Rynwald--for she was the
waking sweetheart--the long, unhappy hours he was constrained to pass
upon the veldt would have seemed shorter, and been less irksome. As it
was, he too slept little, in part kept awake by the pain of his wounds,
and partly by torturing thoughts. Withal, he took steps for passing the
night, in the best and safest way possible under the circumstances.
Anticipating a heavy dew,--which indeed, had already begun to fall--with
that raw chilliness, as much the accompaniment of a tropical night as of
one in northern climes, he had need to take precautions against it.
Thinly and lightly clad, just as when interrupted at target-practice,
ever since hotly engaged, and all over perspiration, experience told him
there was danger from this alone. So, warned by it, soon as he had made
up his mind to remain there he dropped down from the ant-hill, and
bethought himself of kindling a fire. But for this the luck was against
him. There was no wood near, nor anywhere within sight; not a stick.
All around the veldt was treeless, and alike bare of bushes; the only
relief to its monotonous nakedness being some score or two ant-hills,
like hayricks scattered over it.
Yes, there was something more, which after a time came under his eyes;
some tall bunch grass growing at no great distance off, or rather had
grown, for it was now withered and dead. True, it would not make a fire
that could be kept up; but the young hunter saw it might be utilised in
a way almost as good, by making a warm bed of it. Soon as thought of,
he unsheathed his hunting-knife, and set to cutting the grass, as reaper
with "hook and crook." Nor stayed he his hand, till several large
armfuls lay along the earth. These, one after another, he carried up to
the ant-hill he had first stopped at, and which, as already ascertained
by him, had been abandoned by its insect builders.
It was but the task of a few seconds to form the dry grass into a rough,
but fairly comfortable couch; upon which he lay down, drawing the
straggled selvedge over him, by way of blanket and coverlet. Thus
snugly ensconced, he took out his pipe, with flint, steel, and tinder,
struck a light, and commenced smoking.
One passing near, and seeing a red coal glowing in that heap of haylike
grass, with smoke rising in curls over it, might have wondered at the
grass not catching fire, and blazing up. But there was no one passing
near, or likely to pass; and Piet Van Dorn continued puffing away in
solitary silence.
After a time the tobacco in his pipe was burnt to the bottom; but
finding it had given him some relief from the stinging of his sores, he
refilled the pipe bowl, and went on smoking.
At length the narcotic property of the weed produced a soporific effect;
Morpheus demanded his toll; and the wearied hunter, despite pain of
wounds, and mental anxiety, sank into sleep, meerschaum in mouth.
Luckily, he lay on his back, and the pipe from habit was held tight
between his teeth, till the ashes in it became cold. Had it been
otherwise, he might have soon and suddenly waked up, to find himself as
a rat in the heart of a burning hayrick.
As it chanced, he slumbered long, though how long he could not tell.
Dreamt also; in his dream, fancying himself still charged upon by the
buffalo and that he heard its heavy tread on the firm turf as it came
thundering towards him! But was it fancy? Was the thing all a dream?
Questions he put to himself, when at length awakened by the visionary
scene, he lay listening. No, not all. The trampling sound was real and
recognisable; not as made by a buffalo, but the hoof strokes of a
galloping horse! Had there been any doubt about this, what instantly
succeeded would have solved it--a neigh ringing clear and shrill on the
calm night air.