"Why, here come the boys!" exclaimed Major Flinders, as he and his
friend Weston sat round the camp fire, on the banks of the Gamska River,
smoking their after-supper pipes and chatting over old times. "I hear
the sound of their horses' gallop."
"But you did not expect to see them much before noon to-morrow," said
Mr Weston in a tone of surprise. "They would never have returned so
soon! You must be mistaken, Mat."
"There are horses galloping in this direction, that I'll swear to,"
rejoined his friend, who had risen to his feet and was listening
attentively. "And what's more, they're coming towards us at a
tremendous pace. What say you, Keown?"
Kneeling down, Patrick Keown placed his ear to the ground; and after a
lengthened pause, replied: "They're horses, shure enough, sorr; but, by
the beat of their gallop, I fear there's never a sowl on their backs.
No, sorr, there's no doubt about that," he presently added. "And
they're slackening pace now."
At that moment, as if to prove the truth of the ex-sergeant's words, two
riderless horses cantered quickly up, and halted a few paces from the
camp fire; they were those upon which Tom and George had ridden after
the hartebeest in the morning!
The Major and Mr Weston stared at each other in consternation.
The horses were covered with sweat and dirt, and their distended
nostrils and heaving, foam-flecked flanks bore silent but convincing
testimony that they must have travelled some distance at a stretching
gallop; whilst one of them--George's grey--had an ugly wound on his near
shoulder.
"Mat," said Mr Weston huskily, his face betraying his agitation and
alarm, "the poor lads must have come to grief--possibly they have been
attacked, and--and murdered by natives!"
"I trust not, my dear Maurice; nay, I am sure that such is not the
case," answered the Major.
"In the first place, the natives would have been nearly certain to
secure the horses; and in the second place--"
"This wound in the grey's shoulder was inflicted by a wild baste, not a
human cratur," interrupted Keown, who had caught George's horse. "Look
ye, Misther Weston, there are the marks of the brute's claws as plain as
a pike-staff."
"There's no mistake about it," said Major Flinders, stooping down and
examining the grey's shoulder; "this is a tiger's work. Maurice," he
added, "you and Patrick Keown must remain here, whilst I take William
and go in search of the poor boys."
"I would rather go with you, Mat," replied the other.
"No, old friend, do you remain here, the Hottentot is an admirable
`tracker,' and I could not do without him. Patrick, saddle up at once."
A couple of horses were quickly saddled, and Major Flinders and Black
William mounted.
"Is there any hope, Mat?" whispered Mr Weston, as he wrung his friend's
hand at parting.
"We must hope for the best, Maurice," was the doubtful reply.
It was a bright moonlight night, and the Hottentot had no difficulty in
following the back track of the horses, as he and his master went over
the ground at a hand-gallop. The Major's heart was heavy, for he feared
the worst; and for some time he rode along in silence.
"What think you, William?" said he at length. "Is there any hope that
the young gentlemen are alive?"
Black William shook his woolly head, saying: "I think tiger pull Baas
George from his horse, and dat Baas Tom try to save him. But tiger too
strong for yong baas to fight."
The Major's heart sank within him: not that he had had much hope from
the first; and he bitterly reproached himself for having allowed the
boys to go off alone. Day was beginning to dawn when they came in sight
of the range of hills over which the herd had disappeared when chased by
the boys; here the `spoor' of the hartebeest was very distinct, and the
Hottentot, tracking them to the foot of the hill, pointed out to his
master where they had crossed. Hope then revived in the Major's breast,
for it struck him that the boys might have followed the game afoot, and
during their absence the horses must have broken loose and galloped
off--frightened most probably by some wild beast.
"We will off-saddle for an hour or so, William," said he, drawing rein
and dismounting near the entrance to the ravine. "And do you ascend the
hills, and--"
"Vat dat, baas?" cried Black William, as a rifle-shot echoed amongst the
hills--a shot that had evidently been fired at no great distance from
the spot where they stood.
"The boys!" shouted Major Flinders; "the boys, no doubt! Come on, man."
And springing into his saddle, he put spurs to his horse and rode up the
ravine at full gallop, followed by the Hottentot.
When Tom Flinders recovered consciousness he staggered to his feet and
took a look around him.
A few paces up the ravine lay George Weston; the dead leopard was a
little further on; but the horses were nowhere to be seen.
"This is pleasant!" said Tom, feeling himself all over to make sure that
no bones were broken. "How my poor head does ache, to be sure; that
tiger must have caught me a thundering lick with his paw! I do hope
poor old George isn't done for," he added, kneeling down by the side of
his friend; "he got it far worse than I did. Halloa, George! how are
you, old chap?"
At the sound of his friend's voice George Weston's senses partially came
back to him, and--much to Tom's relief--he made an attempt to raise his
head; but he had been sorely mauled by the leopard, and was quite unable
to speak, or help himself.
Seeing this, Tom looked about for a suitable place to take him, and
presently hit upon a small cavity in the hillside: thither he carried
the senseless boy, and proceeded to dress his wounds as well as he was
able; for George was much hurt, the leopard having severely lacerated
his thigh with her formidable claws, besides biting him right through
the forearm.
However, Tom made him as comfortable as possible; then, seeing that
nothing more could be done until morning, he gathered some boughs,
brushwood, and large stones, and with them built up a rough breastwork
in front of the cavity--which might be described as a small cave about
six feet deep, by five or six in height. Then he dragged the dead
leopard within it, secured George's rifle and the shattered remains of
his own, and, after a heart-felt prayer of thankfulness for his escape,
lay down beside his friend, and fell fast asleep.
The day was breaking when Tom Flinders was awakened by a violent blow on
the legs. Jumping to his feet, he seized his rifle and looked over the
breastwork; his appearance was immediately hailed by a loud chattering,
and a volley of stones and other missiles came whizzing about his ears.
"Niggers!" Tom exclaimed, bringing his rifle to the "ready;" "but where
the dickens are they?"
"Hi! what on earth are you about?" he shouted, as a big piece of rock
knocked off his hat. "You're an uncommon good shot, no doubt," he went
on, ducking down in order to escape another stony "projectile;" "but if
I catch a glimpse of you, I'll let you know that it is not a rook you're
pegging at."
As the boy spoke he caught sight of a dark active form swinging itself
from tree to bush on the opposite side of the ravine; without a moment's
thought, he raised his rifle and pulled the trigger, and down came the
figure by the run.
"There!" cried Tom angrily, for his temper was considerably ruffled.
"I'll teach you to make a cock-shy of me!" But now the ravine resounded
with ear-splitting cries, and to Tom's utter amazement a whole troop of
baboons appeared amongst the trees and bushes; and, after gibbering and
grimacing round their deceased brother for a few seconds, they suddenly
scampered off, springing from rock to rock, from tree to tree with
marvellous agility, until they were lost to view.
"Why, hang it all! I must have bowled over a monkey!" was the boy's
exclamation. "Poor brute! I wish I hadn't been quite so ready with my
rifle."
The next moment Major Flinders and Black William appeared in sight, and
with a wild shout of delight Tom jumped over his barricade and ran to
meet them.
The Major looked very grave when he examined poor George's wounds, for
he at once saw that they were of a serious, if not of a highly
dangerous, character--such, in fact, as called for skilled treatment.
If the boy's life was to be saved, it would be necessary to procure
medical assistance as soon as possible. Now the nearest place where
Major Flinders could make certain of finding a surgeon was Fort Crause,
a small town and military post situated some thirty-five miles to the
east-north-east: and to Fort Crause he resolved to carry the lad without
any delay.
"We must start at once, you and I, Tom," said the Major, as he scribbled
a few hasty lines on a leaf torn from his pocket-book. "William will
take this note back to Weston; I have briefly related what has occurred,
and told him to join us at Fort Crause."
"And what is to become of Patrick Keown and the horses, father? Are
they to follow us, or wait until we return to the Gamska?"
"Keown will come on with Weston, and we shall have to change our route,
and return home by the upper road to Tulbagh. Now, my boy, jump up, and
we will place George in your arms; you must hold him in as easy a
position as you can. There--now raise his head a little more; that will
do! I will lead the horse."
To convey a wounded person thirty miles on horseback under a burning
South African sun is a very dangerous experiment; and, had George Weston
been taken the whole distance under such circumstances, he would
certainly have suffered severely, and probably not have survived the
journey; but happily, before they had gone very far, they fell in with
an empty mule-waggon returning to Fort Crause, to which George was
immediately transferred, and thus he travelled in comparative comfort.
A week later Major Flinders and Tom, with the servants and horses, made
a fresh start, and at the end of five days marched into Rondebosch; but
George Weston was detained at Fort Crause for more than a month, and of
course his father remained to look after him. At first the doctor gave
but faint hopes of his recovery--for inflammation set in, and it was
feared that tetanus would supervene; but in the end, youth and a famous
constitution gained the upper hand, and George was able to rise from his
sick-bed.
When, at length, he and his father returned to Rustenburg Farm, they
found to their satisfaction that the Major had disposed of the young
horses for nearly double the price he paid for them; so, after all,
"Kicking Jan" did not dissipate all the profits of the expedition, but
when every expense had been allowed for there still remained a good
round sum to be placed to the credit of the firm of "Flinders, Weston,
and Sons."