like alertness leaped up to the top of the ant-hill. The moon had
meanwhile risen, and her light flooded the veldt all over, making
objects distinguishable on it at far distance, almost as by day. But it
did not need looking far for him to see the horse, nor an instant of
time in recognising the animal as his own. Not much longer, either, was
he in learning why it galloped and screamed--for it was more scream than
neigh that had waked up the echoes of the night: still waking them, in
quick successive bursts, as the horse rushed affrightedly to and fro.
No wonder at his fright with such a following; full a hundred other
animals flecked and spotted, as seen under the clear moonlight: to all
appearance a pack of hounds in pursuit of him! And hounds were they,
but such as never came out of kennel; far fiercer than these, for they
were the _wilde-honden_ [Note 1] of South Africa. They were scattered
over the veldt, in squads here and there, with the horse careering from
point to point between them; and go in what direction he would, it was
to get headed off by one group or another.
At a glance the young hunter took in the situation, and trembled for his
steed. The poor animal was black with sweat, and evidently far
exhausted. No doubt it had been running thus pursued for hours, and at
any moment now might be pulled down, and torn to pieces. How was such a
fate to be averted? How could the horse be saved.
The first impulse of its master, so interrogating himself, was to catch
hold of his gun, and rush out to the rescue. The gun he caught hold of;
but then came the thought, that instead of saving the horse, he would be
himself sacrificed. Well knew he the habits of the wilde-honden with
their fierce, savage nature, and that, in their then excited state, man
would be no more feared by them than horse, or any other animal. It
would be like bearding a pack of hungry wolves; in fact, flinging away
his life. But what ought he to do? What could he? Nothing.
"Ah! yes; something!" he exclaimed, hope returning with a thought that
had flashed across his brain. "There may still be a chance, if I can
make him hear me."
Saying which, he thrust the tips of three fingers between his lips, and
blew a whistle that went screeching across the veldt, repeating it
several times. But much repetition was not necessary.
At the first note of it reaching his ears, the horse was seen to give a
start of recognition; then, as the second was sent after, the sagacious
animal, trained to the signal, answered it with a joyous neigh, and came
galloping up to the ant-hills. In half a minute more he was among them;
and now guided by a well-known voice, soon stood by his master's side,
panting, quivering in every fibre of his frame, but confidently
whimpering, as if at length assured of safety.
But he was not safe yet; neither he, nor his master, as the latter well
knew. If he did not, it was instantly made known to him, as he saw the
wilde-honden gather in from all sides trooping after. In a trice they
too had entered among the ant-hills, and were still coming on for that
beside which he and the horse stood. To the young hunter it was a
crisis, dangerous as when being charged by the buffalo, and equally
slight seemed his chance of escape. He had dropped back to the ground--
knowing he would be no safer on the ant-heap, which the clawed creatures
could easily scale--and stood holding his horse in hand. The animal was
still under saddle and bridle, as when it ran away from him. Should he
spring upon its back, and attempt to escape by flight? Impossible. The
horse was already tottering on his legs; another mile, perhaps half that
with a rider on his back, and he would surely go to grass.
Piet Van Dorn was left no time for deliberation. What he did after was
done in hottest haste, unreflectingly, almost despairingly. Yet were
its results of the best; could not have been better, if planned
deliberately and in coolest blood. He first discharged his roer at the
nearest and foremost of the honden, which went rolling over with a howl.
The report of the gun--noise so unexpected--caused the rest to falter
and hang back; then, before they had recovered confidence, they were
saluted by a second clap of that thunder, so new to them, with its blaze
of lightning, which still further cowed them. For all, they did not yet
seem inclined to retreat; and Piet Van Dorn, fancying the flash more
frightened them than the crack, suddenly bethought him of a way to make
it more effective. Quickly striking a light, he set fire to the
withered grass, on which he had lately been lying. It caught at once,
flaring up with a flame that mocked the moon. And to keep it ablaze he
employed the long barrel of his now empty gun, fork fashion, tossing the
tufts of burning grass high in the air, all the while shouting at the
loudest pitch of his voice. Continuing to shout so, he would soon have
been hoarse. Fortunately he was spared this infliction; for the
wilde-honden, at first sight of the conflagration, which they doubtless
believed to be the veldt on fire, took to their heels, and scampered off
in every direction; leaving the young hunter, and his newly-recovered
horse, masters and sole possessors of the field.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. "Wilde-honden" (_Canis picta_). These wild dogs of South
Africa have some affinities with hyenas. They are sometimes called the
hunting hyena (_Hyena venatica_). They are as large as stag-hounds, and
flecked and spotted in a similar manner, black and white blotches on a
ground colour of reddish brown. But for their erect ears, which are
large and black, they would bear a still greater resemblance to hounds.
There is this also in their habit of pursuing their prey in packs, which
renders them much more formidable than the hyena. They have little fear
of man, and men have been often killed by them.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
TRACKING BACK TO CAMP.
His lost steed, thus strangely, as it were miraculously, restored to
him, gave Piet Van Dorn gratification in more ways than one. The
thought of his horse reaching the camp before himself, and so causing
keenest alarm, had been his major trouble. But there was a minor one,
far from insignificant, affecting his skill as an equestrian. Of his
hunter-prowess he had the proof; but who would know how the horse had
got away from him, save those who might put faith in his own account of
it? That there would be some to discredit him, he knew; Andries Blom
would take care of that. But now he would ride back to camp with the
buffalo's tail flouted triumphantly at the muzzle of his gun, as flag
captured from an enemy; instead of sneers, or sympathy, to receive
congratulations.
Under the excitement of this pleasant anticipation, that night he could
sleep no more, nor did he try. And there was enough to keep him awake,
in caring for his horse, the poor animal needing all the attention he
could give it. Having cut some wisps of the withered grass, he rubbed
its coat dry, which greatly refreshed it; while the grass itself proved
a fodder not unpalatable. But the horse suffered more from want of
water than food, as he could see; and there was no water near, an added
reason for making quick departure from the place. He would have started
away from it at once, but the sky had become suddenly overcast, the moon
obscured by thick cumulous clouds, and the night darker than ever. He
could barely see the white ant-hills close around him, and of course the
trail he had needs still follow would be undistinguishable. So he must
wait for the morning's light.
But light came sooner, and from a different source--out of the clouds
themselves. They were rent by forks of lightning, and illumined by its
flashes, with an accompaniment of thunder. Rain followed, descending in
sheets, as if emptied out of dishes--true storm of the tropics.
There was water now for a hundred thousand horses, yet how was he to
catch enough for one? He had no vessel, or aught else, to collect as
much as a mouthful, though his animal was in a very agony of thirst,
himself the same. He looked around in hopes of seeing a puddle, but
there was none. Soon as it fell the water filtered into the loose sandy
soil, as if poured into rat-holes. What was to be done?
"Ha! A happy idea; the very thing itself!" So soliloquised he at sight
of the rain running down the sloped sides of the ant-hills in rivulets.
Drawing knife again, he commenced delving into the firm tough compost,
and kept at it till he had hollowed out a trough capable of containing a
gallon. Then making some diagonal scratches to guide the water into it,
he had the satisfaction of seeing it soon fill, while he and his horse
drank their fill also.
The downpour was not of long continuance, though long enough to leave
him without a dry rag on his body. Little recked he of that now, being
far more solicitous about another effect it might have produced, and
which he feared it had. Nor was his fear groundless; for when day at
length dawned, and he rode out to get back upon the trace hitherto
guiding him, not a sign of it was to be seen, neither track of horse nor
buffalo. They had been all filled up by the rain wash--completely
obliterated--and once more he was a lost man!
This time, however, he was less dismayed, from having his horse under
him. The sun had not yet risen, but the aurora, its precursor, told him
which point was east; and, believing this to be the right direction, he
took it. But long after the sun was up, he found himself wandering on
the veldt, as much puzzled about his course as ever. The points of the
compass he knew well enough, but the belt of timber was still invisible,
and he may have gone too far eastward.
He was about reining round to try another slant, when again tracks came
under his eye--hundreds of them. All buffalo tracks these were, the
hoof-prints well defined and easily recognisable. For the ground was
different from that by the ant-hills, a firm, stiff clay, which had
resisted the beating down of the rain. He had little doubt of their
being made by the drove of yesterday's chase, and less after riding in
among them, and making note of their number; the buffaloes had been
close to the camp-ground, and it only needed proceeding along their
trail to reach it.
Once more was Piet Van Dorn full of confidence. But only for a very few
seconds, when uncertainty again took possession of him. In what
direction had the buffaloes been going when they passed that point?
Towards the camp, or from it, after being met and turned by the
marksmen? He was unable to answer this question, and its answer was of
absolute necessity ere he could proceed a step farther. Without it he
knew not which was his way, and would be as likely to take the wrong as
the right one. It might be of serious consequence if he went wrong--
indeed fatal--so what he should do next needed deliberation.
What he did do was, first to make more careful examination of the
hoof-marks, hoping from them to draw deductions that would serve him.
Not as to time; in that respect there could not be any great difference
between the tracks going toward the camp and those from it. Even if
there had, the rain would have rendered it imperceptible. But there
might be a difference in the stride: animals pursued would make longer
bounds than if running at will.
His new inspection, however proved of no avail; nor could it, as he now
bethought himself, recalling the fact that the buffaloes were in full
run when first seen, and likely long before.
He was about raising his eyes despairingly, when something on the ground
caught his glance, and kept it rivetted. It was only a little pool of
water--rain that had fallen still lying--but water dyed red, and with
blood, beyond a doubt! Of this he was confident; and equally sure it
was blood from one of the buffaloes that had been wounded when the
volleys were fired into the drove.
Hitherto he had been rather inclined to go as they had gone, still
thinking his proper course lay eastward. Now he knew better; and
without further delay, wheeled his horse round, and struck along the
trail backward.
Thenceforth it was all plain sailing, the track easily distinguishable,
in places as if a steam-plough had passed along turning up the soil. He
could have gone at a gallop, and would but for sparing his horse, which
still showed signs of suffering from the terrible strain late put upon
it. Withal, he made fair way, and in another hour came upon familiar
ground, where the buffalo-bull he had himself pursued separated from the
herd. Without seeing its tracks, or those of his horse, he could not
have mistaken the place. There lay the carcases of two other buffaloes,
the pair killed by Rynwald and Blom. They were little more than
skeletons now; for as he rode up to them nigh a score of jackals went
scampering off, while twice that number of vultures rose sluggishly into
the air.
At this point, for the first time since leaving it, Piet Van Dorn caught
sight of the timbered belt, to comprehend why he had not sooner sighted
it. The reason was, the river, with some miles breadth of the adjacent
terrain, being below the general level of the plain. He saw the mowana,
too, under which was the laager, perceiving that he was even yet leagues
from it. But distance no more troubled him; his thoughts, as his
glances, being now given to two horsemen who were coming in quick gallop
towards him. On their drawing nearer he recognised one of them as
Hendrik Rynwald; the other not Andries Blom, but his own brother.
They had come in quest of him, sent by anxious friends, themselves as
anxious as any. Rejoiced were they at the encounter, and not less he,
though his joy in part proceeded from another and different cause.
Never listened he to sweeter words than those blurted out by Hendrik
Rynwald, a generous, guileless youth, who said, grasping his hand--
"I'm so glad, Piet, to see you safe! And won't Sis Kattie, too! I
don't believe she slept a wink, all of last night."
CHAPTER TWELVE.
A FORMIDABLE OBSTRUCTION.
Explanations having been hastily exchanged, the trio of young Boers
turned face toward the camp. Burning to make known the joyful news,
Rynwald and Piet's brother would have gone back at a gallop, and so Piet
himself. But there was something to delay them: this the horse late
chased by wilde-honden. The rain, at first refreshing the animal, had
afterwards produced an opposite effect, and the result of the sudden
change from heat to chill was a founder, the creature being now barely
able to keep on its legs. As it could not carry him further without
cruelty, its merciful master, dismounting, led it along.
This entailed slow progress, and thinking of those in the camp, with
anxieties to be relieved, young Rynwald proposed galloping on ahead. To
this neither of the others objected, and he was about spurring away from
them, when there arose another obstruction, of a still more formidable
kind. An animal it was, seen standing right on the track he would have
to take--one that could not be passed with impunity. Many animals were
there, for it was where several other buffaloes had been shot down,
whose carcases, now mangled, were surrounded by jackals, hyaenas, and
vultures. But it was not any of these that stood in Hendrik Rynwald's
way, in an attitude of angry menace. Instead, the king and master of
them all--a lion; one of the largest and fiercest-looking any of the
young hunters had ever seen, much less encountered. The tawny brute
appeared as though he had but late arrived on the ground, coming in at
the end of the feast to find only bare bones; and, being hungry, the
disappointment had roused his rage to the highest pitch of fury. Having
caught sight of the oncoming horsemen, he evidently intended venting his
spleen, as well as appeasing his hunger, on one or other of them. He
stood crouched and roaring, with mane erect and tail oscillating to and
fro; both the attitude and action well-known to lion-hunters as
indicative of greatest danger.
The two bestriding fresh horses need not have much feared the
black-maned brute, and for that matter could have avoided an encounter
with it by riding wide away and around. For to a man well mounted the
lion is only dangerous in thicket, or jungle, hindering free action to
the horse. But circumstanced as they were, the young Boers saw that
only two of their horses had a fair chance of escaping thus, and perhaps
but two of themselves. The third must surely come to grief in any
attempt at shunning the lion, and to face it boldly could not well have
worse result; so facing it was instantly determined on. Indeed, the
resolve could not have been delayed; as at this place the veldt was
overgrown with tall grass, and they were close to the danger before
sighting it--so close, that in a dozen of his cat-like leaps the lion
might at any moment launch himself in their midst.
Less from any hope of his now staggering steed helping him to escape,
than the impulse of instinct--or rather habit--Piet Van Dorn sprang back
into the saddle; and the three, drawing their horses' heads together,
remained at halt with their eyes fixed on the leeuw. The brute was
within range of their roers, and the question was whether all three
should fire together, or in succession.
Not much time was allowed them for determination, in fact, not any.
Scarce had they their guns in readiness when, with a roar loud as last
night's thunder, the lion came vaulting towards them.
The three pulled trigger almost simultaneously; two of them, Hendrik
Rynwald and the younger Van Dorn, to miss, their frightened horses as
they danced about spoiling their aim. Different was it with that ridden
by Piet, whose forlorn condition was, possibly, as unexpectedly the
saving of his own and master's life. Too far gone even for affright, he
stood stock still; nor budged an inch, till the roer, with muzzle
projected beyond his ears, belched forth flame and smoke; a bullet at
the same time, which striking the leeuw fair on the frontlet, went
crashing through its skull. As a result the creature, so dreaded,
tumbled instantly over like a shot rabbit, and lay in the long grass
equally harmless.
With all South Africans, be they natives, colonists, Vee-Boers, or
other, the killing of a lion is an event to be chronicled, and he who
kills one is deemed to have performed a feat worthy of great praise; of
course all the greater when one of such size as that which had fallen to
Piet Van Dorn's bullet. Its skin would be a spoil indeed, and he
determined taking it with him. There was no longer such need for haste
on his part, as Hendrik Rynwald could now carry out his original
intention of preceding to camp--which he did.
Dismounting again, the brothers set about stripping the leeuw of its
pelt; an operation which cost them but a few minutes' time, both being
used to such work. Then with the skin thrown over the saddle, they
continued on toward the timber, Piet leading his horse as before.
In another half-hour, or so, they were near enough the camp-ground to
make out the figures of the men and animals that occupied it; to see
something, moreover, which filled them with surprise, even amazement.
There was commotion in the laager and around it, people rushing
excitedly hither and thither; horses and oxen being caught up and led
hurriedly from point to point. Borne on the still air also they could
hear voices, shouts, uttered in alarm as the tone testified.
In wonder at what it all meant, the brothers pushed faster forward.
Piet, no longer so tender with his halting steed, forced the animal into
a trot, himself running alongside. And when within nearer view their
wonder was no less, instead greater, and now with fear added. For they
saw the waggons drawn out upon the open veldt, with the oxen in long
line attached to the trek-touws, while the horses were all under saddle
and bridled. Clearly the camp was being broken up, and about to be
abandoned. But for what reason? Had the Matabele turned hostile, and
was a party of them threatening attack? But no, it could not be that.
If attacked, the laager would be the best place for resistance; far
safer than with the waggons _on trek_. What then could be causing a
movement so unexpected--so inexplicable? The two youths were in a very
maze of mystification. But not much longer were they left in it. When
within half a mile of the camp, a horseman came riding in all haste
towards them--Hendrik Rynwald.
"What is it?" hailed they, soon as he was within hearing.
To receive for answer, "The _tsetse_! The _tsetse_!"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
ATTACKED BY "TSETSE."
In all likelihood few of my readers need telling what is the tsetse, Dr
Livingstone and other travellers having given full account of this
scourge of Southern Africa.
An insect, little bigger than the common fly of England, but whose sting
is deadly as the bite of rattle-snake or cobra-di-capello; fortunately
not to man himself, but to man's best friends in the animal world--dogs,
horses, cattle, and sheep [Note 1]. So when Andries Rynwald called out
the name of the venomous creature, Piet Van Dorn and his brother had
instant and clear comprehension why the camp was being so abruptly
abandoned. The tsetse had made its appearance there; in flight lay the
sole chance of saving the stock, and even this might be too late.
Only within the hour had the danger been discovered, by the presence of
the insect becoming known. On the days before, and up till nigh noon of
this one, nothing had been seen of it after most careful search. As a
customary precaution they had looked for it all around the mowana. Had
it been observed, no camp would have been established there, much less a
laager; not even the shortest halt made. But confident of the place
being uninfested, the wearied travellers had joyfully out-spanned with
the intention of taking a long spell of rest. Then, the alarm caused by
the buffaloes over, they had breathed freely again, and were enjoying
themselves more than ever; for that danger, so far from resulting in
damage, had proved a profit to them. The daily provisioning of such a
large party called for a goodly quantity of meat, more than was always
obtainable by the chase. On the Karoo, just crossed, wild animals were
so scarce and shy, that with all the skill of their hunters the larder
had run low. And no longer having their sheep to depend upon, the
buffaloes coming that way, with so many killed, had been a bit of rare
good luck, seeming almost providential.
Nor did they fail to make the best of it; these animals having been
skinned and butchered; the choicest of their beef cut into thin strips,
and hung over riems stretched between the trees for conversion into
_bultong_ [Note 2]. There they were still hanging, like strings of
sausages; the red meat fast becoming a mahogany colour as the hot sun
shone down upon it, and drew out its juices.
The _naacht-maal_ of the evening before had been a rich repast. The
ant-hill kitchen-range, again called into requisition, had sent up its
appetising odour, with buffalo steaks frizzling in the pans, and
tongues, the tit-bits, simmering in the pots. The same for the
_morgen-maal_ of this the next day, which, withal, had been far from
cheerful. Quite the reverse to the relatives of Piet Van Dorn, as to
most of the camp people, the missing youth being a general favourite.
Anxiety on his account, keen throughout all the night and morning hours,
had reached its keenest when Andries Rynwald was seen coming back at a
gallop, and alone. He seemed the bearer of bad tidings, while in
reality those he brought were of the best, relieving every one on the
instant of his arrival. Indeed, before it, as from afar off he had
shouted, to ears acutely listening, "Piet's safe!" soon to follow the
joy-giving announcement with account of why the brothers lagged behind.