“WHERE’S MY HORSE?”
“What is it, boys?” asked Uncle Dick, his voice trembling with
excitement and alarm. “Anybody hurt?”
“No, sir,” replied Eugene, drawing a long breath of relief; “but if you
look about a little you’ll find some _thing_ out there that’s hurt. We
haven’t fired thirty-nine shots for nothing, I tell you.”
“What was it, anyhow?” asked George. “A lion?”
“I should think so,” replied Fred.
“Oh, I guess not,” said Mack, incredulously.
“I guess they were lions,” returned Eugene, quickly. “We saw more than
twenty prowling about here.”
“That’s a larger troop than I ever heard of before,” said Mack.
“Well, you hear of it now, and if you had been here you would have seen
it. Archie shot one, and he jumped clear of the ground, so that we all
had a fair view of him. I tell you he was a big one—larger than any I
ever saw in a menagerie. He’s out there somewhere.”
“I believe I see him,” said Frank, holding his firebrand above his head,
and looking intently at some object on the other side of the fountain.
The three hunters scrambled up out of the shooting-hole, and with the
rest of the party followed after Frank, who led the way down the bank.
There was some animal lying on the ground on the opposite side of the
spring, sure enough; but it was not the immense object they expected to
see after listening to Eugene’s description of it. When they had taken a
few steps more Mack broke into a laugh, and Eugene began to think that
he must have looked through a very badly frightened pair of eyes to make
a first-class lion out of the insignificant beast he saw before him.
What had at first appeared to be a great shaggy head gradually dwindled
into a pair of shoulders, and presently he found himself standing beside
an animal a little larger than the wolves he had often seen in his
native State.
“This can’t be the thing I shot,” said Archie.
“I don’t see anything else,” replied his cousin, raising his firebrand
above his head and looking all around.
“What is it, anyhow?” asked Fred. “It looks like a dog, and a
half-starved one at that.”
“That’s just what it is,” said Mack, “a wild dog. It was a pack of these
animals you fired into, instead of a troop of lions. I suspected it all
the time.”
“We’ll not stop to skin him, for his hide is not worth saving,” said
Uncle Dick. “We’ll go back to camp now.”
The three hunters were so greatly astonished that they had not a word to
say. Silently they shouldered their rifles and followed the party back
to the camp, listening all the while for the words of ridicule which
they expected from their companions, but which were never uttered.
Nothing was said about the matter until the next morning at breakfast,
and then the hunters themselves began to make sport of their night’s
work. This led to a long conversation, during which the boys learned two
things. The first was, that they had been in just as much danger of an
attack from the wild dogs as they would have been had they been visited
by a troop of lions. Wild dogs were by no means the insignificant foes
they imagined them to be. They were as fierce as wolves, always hungry,
and ready to attack anything they met, from a springbok to a buffalo. A
single one would take to his heels at the sight of a human being, but
numbers made them bold, and it was not often that a solitary hunter met
a pack of them and escaped to tell the story. The second thing they
learned was, that the reason Uncle Dick permitted them to carry out
their plan of watching the fountain, was because Mack assured him that
there was no danger to be apprehended from lions at that season of the
year. These animals came there to drink only when the springs that lay
deeper in the veldt were dry. Had they passed that way two months later,
Archie and his companions would have received orders to remain in camp.
The boys, however, supposed, from what Mack said, that lions visited the
fountain every night, and they showed no small amount of courage in what
they had done, but they never again proposed to spend a night in a
shooting-hole.
During the next three weeks nothing happened that is worthy of record,
and neither did anything happen to encourage the hope that their stock
of goods would pay the expenses of the trip. Not a Boer in the
settlement—and they visited every one of them—would trade with them. The
sight of the fine fat cattle feeding on the farms they passed induced
Mack to spend a good deal of time in the effort to dispose of the
contents of the wagon, but not a yard of ribbon could he barter. The
magistrate’s orders were strictly obeyed. Indeed, at the last farm they
visited they found the magistrate himself, who was, if that were
possible, more crabbed than when they first met him. No sooner had the
wagon halted than he appeared and ordered Mack to move on; but the
Scotchman, who had his eye on the cattle, believing that there was more
money to be made out of them in Grahamstown than out of the ivory they
expected to receive from the Griquas, was not to be driven away so
easily. He went directly to the house, found the owner of the farm, and
tried his arts with him, but with no better success. This one was as
cross and surly as the other, and Mack, finally becoming disgusted at
their obstinacy, jumped on his wagon and put the oxen in motion.
“I hope the Bushmen will jump down on you and steal every ox you’ve
got,” he exclaimed, shaking his whip at the Boer as he drove away.
“That’s all the harm I wish you, Mynheer Schrader.”
The Dutchman made an angry reply in his own language, and seemed to be
giving Mack a little parting advice, for he talked rapidly to him as
long as the driver was within hearing of his voice. The boys could not
tell what he said, but they thought by the expression that came over the
Scotchman’s face, that his words had produced an unpleasant effect. “If
I thought that was so, I wouldn’t go a step farther,” the boys heard him
say, when the Boer ceased his shouting and went into the house.
“If you thought what was so?” asked Eugene.
“Why, Schrader says the Bushmen will be down on _us_ before they touch
him,” answered Mack. “He says there’s a large party of them between here
and the Griqua country, and that that farmer back there is going to pack
up to-morrow and move his family and cattle farther into the settlement
for protection.”
“And you say you don’t believe it?”
“I have no reason to disbelieve it,” said Mack, in a tone the boys did
not like to hear. “They’re always roaming about, these Bushmen are.
They’re something like what I think your Indians must be from what I
hear of them. Although they go about on foot—the only reason they steal
cattle is because they want something to eat—they get over a good
stretch of country in a day, and jump down on a fellow before he knows
they are near him. If I owned this wagon I’d turn back. We’ve got a
journey of four weeks to make before we reach the Griquas’ principal
town, and if the Bushmen are about they’ll have plenty of time to find
us. We shall see trouble before many days.”
The trouble began that very night. It was commenced by the Kaffirs, who
had overheard what the Boers said to Mack, and were greatly troubled by
it. When the wagon halted for the night, these worthies went about the
work of outspanning very reluctantly. They did not shout and sing as
they usually did when their day’s labor was over, but went into the
sulks, and acted like a lot of children who had been denied something
their parents thought they ought not to have. Uncle Dick, who lay on his
blanket under his tent enjoying his pipe, watched their actions for a
few minutes and then called Frank to his side. “Just keep your weather
eye open to-night, and see that the horses all come in,” said he, in a
low tone, “and tell the rest of the boys to be very careful of their
guns.”
“What’s the matter?” asked Frank.
“You know what that Boer said to Mack about the Bushmen, don’t you?
Well, the Kaffirs heard it and are laying their plans to leave us. They
are afraid of those wild men of the desert.”
“So am I,” said Frank.
“I am not particularly anxious to meet them,” said Uncle Dick, with a
smile, “but I am not going to run until I see something to run from, and
neither do I mean that our property shall be stolen. These Kaffirs are
noted for deserting their employers when things don’t go to their
liking, and they take care not to leave empty-handed. They always steal
the best of the horses and the best of the guns, too, if they can get
their hands on them. We must have a guard every night from this time
forward. Don’t you think it would be a good plan?”
This question was addressed to the driver, who had been standing in the
door of the tent long enough to overhear the most of what Uncle Dick
said to Frank.
“You surely don’t mean to go on?” said Mack.
“Certainly I do,” answered Uncle Dick. “I am not going to take my stock
of goods back to Grahamstown if I can help it.”
“If they belonged to me I should start back with them to-morrow.”
“Now, Mack, I didn’t expect to hear that from you,” said Uncle Dick,
reproachfully.
“And you wouldn’t either, sir, if it wasn’t that the Bushmen are
prowling about us.”
“Did you ever have any trouble with them?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you ever hear of a trader who did?”
“No, sir.”
“Neither did I. All we know about them is what we have heard of their
fights with the Zulus.”
This was only the beginning of the conversation between Uncle Dick and
the driver. The latter seemed to be greatly alarmed at the danger they
were about to run into, and when he found his employer was resolved to
go ahead, he urged him to pay him off and let him go. This Uncle Dick
refused to do. He could not get on without Mack, and besides, the latter
had agreed to drive the wagon to the Griqua country and back to
Grahamstown for so much money, which was to be paid when the journey was
ended. It was not yet half completed, and if Mack chose to stop work
then and there, he could not expect a farthing for the services he had
already rendered.
“You’re made of good stuff, you Yankees are,” said Mack, with more
earnestness than the occasion demanded, “and since you are bound to go
on, I’ll stick to you to the death. Bet on me every time.”
To give emphasis to his words the driver shook hands with his employer,
then with Frank, and hurried out of the tent to see how the Kaffirs were
getting on with their preparations for the night.
“Did he speak his real sentiments?” asked Uncle Dick, as soon as he was
out of hearing.
“That was the very question I was asking myself,” replied Frank. “To my
mind his tongue said one thing and his face another.”
Frank, who had his own duties to perform every time the camp was made,
now went out to attend to them. He found the rest of the boys and three
of the Kaffirs busy erecting a barricade of thorn-bushes behind the
tent, and joining in the work, he found opportunity to report to each of
his companions the warning Uncle Dick had given him. The boys were all
eager to stand guard, and Frank, knowing that Uncle Dick expected him to
arrange the matter, divided them into reliefs, and told them what hours
they would be called on for duty.
Supper was served in a few minutes, and while the meal was in progress
the horses began to come into camp and take their stations behind the
wagon, where they were always tied during the night. As fast as they
came up, the owners set down their plates and went out to secure their
steeds, taking care to see that the halters were tightly buckled on, and
that the tie-reins were well secured. About the same time Mack, who had
been missing for the last half hour, came up driving the oxen. Frank
told himself that that was something the driver had never done before,
and then the matter passed out of his mind until a few hours later, when
something happened to recall it very forcibly. During the meal one other
thing happened that was unusual, and which soon drew everybody’s
attention. When Uncle Dick’s horse was made fast to the wagon, he raised
his head, and looking back towards the grove from which he had just
emerged, uttered a loud, shrill neigh. This he repeated at intervals,
until Uncle Dick and the rest began to think it meant something, and
Archie, having finished his supper, went out to look into the matter. “I
know what it means now,” said he, at length. “The horses are all here
except mine, and Uncle Dick’s nag is calling him.”
The boys then remembered something which they might never have thought
of again if this incident had not suggested it to them, and that was,
that Uncle Dick’s horse and Archie’s had been almost constant companions
ever since the journey began. They never mingled with the other animals
when turned loose to graze, but wandered off by themselves; and if any
of the nags belonging to the rest of the party intruded upon them, they
would turn away as if annoyed by their presence, and hunt up a new
feeding-ground. It was the custom of their masters when on the march to
ride at opposite ends of the train, Uncle Dick in front, and Archie in
the rear with Fred and Eugene. The horses seemed to dislike this
arrangement, and annoyed their riders exceedingly by constantly calling
to each other. They liked to be in company, and they were uneasy when
separated.
“I wonder what has become of my horse!” said Archie, anxiously.
“I saw him a quarter of an hour ago, and he was all right then,” replied
Mack. “He will be along directly.”
“I am not so certain of that,” answered Archie. “These two animals are
never parted if they can help it, and there must be something the
matter. I’ll soon find out. May I take your horse for a few minutes,
Uncle Dick?”
“Where are you going?” asked Mack, as Archie, having received an
affirmative reply from the captain, hurried into the tent and picked up
his rifle.
“I am going out to see what has become of my horse,” was the answer.
“Oh, I wouldn’t do it, if I were you,” exclaimed the driver, who seemed,
all at once, to take a deep interest in Archie’s movements. “It will be
pitch dark in five minutes—there’s no twilight in this country, you
know—and if you lose your way out there in the bush the lions will get
you sure. I tell you that you had better stay here in camp where you’re
safe,” he added, almost appealingly, when he saw that the rest of the
boys were making ready to accompany Archie.
But the youngsters paid no attention to him. Hastily catching up their
rifles, they mounted their horses without stopping to put on the saddles
or bridles, and followed after Archie, who, giving Uncle Dick’s horse
his own way, was carried at a rapid gallop towards the grove. The
animal, which seemed to know just what Archie wanted to do, skirted the
woods for a few hundred yards, neighing at intervals, and finally
succeeded in bringing a faint response from among the trees. Then he
turned and was about to plunge into the forest, but his rider checked
him. Archie would not have gone in there for a dozen horses. The
undergrowth was all thorn-bushes, which stood so closely together that
it was only with the greatest difficulty that one could make his way
among them in daylight without being terribly scratched and torn. In the
dark it would have been almost as much as his life was worth to attempt
to force a passage through them.
“We must give him up until morning, if he doesn’t find his way out
before,” said Eugene.
“Then he’ll never come out,” returned Archie, dolefully. “Something will
make a meal of him before daylight. Good-by horse!”
“What do you suppose makes him stay in there anyhow? That’s what I can’t
understand,” said Frank. “If he went in there of his own free will he
ought to be able to find his way out.”
“Are there any natives about here who would be likely to dig pitfalls
for game in these woods?” asked George.
“Listen!” cried Eugene, suddenly. “That neigh certainly sounded louder
and plainer than the others. Yes, sir, he’s coming.”
Archie thought this news was too good to be true. He held his breath and
listened until the next shrill neigh was uttered, and then told himself
there was no mistake about it. Presently the boys could hear the horse
forcing his way through the bushes, and in ten minutes more he came out
into the open ground, and galloping forward to greet his companion,
rubbed noses with him, and said as plainly as a horse could say, that he
was overjoyed to see him once more.
When the boys reached the camp Mack was the first to greet them. Indeed,
he was so anxious to know whether or not the horse had been found, that
when he heard them coming he ran out and met them a hundred yards from
the wagon. “It’s all right,” said Archie, gleefully.
“You haven’t brought him back?” exclaimed the driver, in tones of
astonishment.
“Yes, we have.”
This declaration seemed to surprise Mack. He stood motionless for a
moment, and then moved around to take a look at the horse, which was
following the one on which Archie was mounted. He saw the animal, but it
seemed as if he could not be satisfied until he had put his hand on him.
This familiarity, however, the horse would not permit. He bounded out of
the driver’s reach, and turned his heels toward him as if he had a good
notion to kick him.
“There wasn’t any rope on—I mean—”
“Rope!” exclaimed Perk, when Mack hesitated. “Now I’ll tell you what’s a
fact, of course there wasn’t. Who should put a rope on him?”
“I mean it’s wonderful that you’ve got him back safe and sound,” said
the driver, quickly. “I was afraid some wild beast had found him before
this time.”
The boys thought the Scotchman acted very strangely, but they were so
glad to recover the horse that they did not stop to think about that.
Archie’s first care was to fasten the animal to the wagon beside Uncle
Dick’s horse, and when he had done that he went into the tent where the
rest of the party were arranging their beds preparatory to retiring, and
trying to decide what it was that had kept the horse out so long after
his companion had come into camp. The conclusion at which they arrived
was that he had become separated from the other horse and got bewildered
in the woods. This was the opinion advanced by the driver, and the rest
all thought he was right—all except Uncle Dick. The latter said nothing,
but he thought there was something suspicious about the whole
proceeding, and that it would be a good plan to set a watch over the
driver. He could not speak about it then, for Mack was present; but he
resolved that he would do it the first thing in the morning.
It was now dark and time to post the guards, so Frank called the first
relief, which, singularly enough, consisted of Walter and Bob, the very
ones who were on duty the night two of Potter’s men made a raid on their
camp in the Rocky Mountains. The latter Frank posted at the upper end of
the camp in plain view of the barricade, behind which the four Kaffirs
were lying, and the other he stationed near the wagon, to keep an eye on
the horses.
“I hope you will not get into as much trouble as you did the first time
I put you on guard,” said Frank.
“I think there is little danger of it,” laughed Walter. “There are no
outlaws in this country, and besides I have learned wisdom since then.
I’d like to see a man approach me to-night and deceive me as completely
as those two fellows did. It couldn’t be done.”
“I don’t suppose that any one will try it. As long as the Kaffirs know
that we are watching them and the horses, they will probably behave
themselves. We’d be in a nice fix if all our help should desert us,
wouldn’t we? Good-night. Keep up the fire, and call Archie at ten
o’clock.”
Frank went back to the tent, wrapped himself up in his blanket, and went
to sleep, lulled by the yelping of a pack of jackals, which made it a
point to serenade the camp as regularly as the prairie-wolves did when
the travellers were journeying on the plains. In half an hour more every
person in the camp seemed to be sound asleep except the two sentries.
These paced their beats alert and watchful, one thinking of home and
friends, and the other recalling the thrilling incidents that had
happened once upon a time while he was guarding camp away off in the
wilds of his own country. He went through the adventures of that night
again in imagination, and just as he got to that particular part of them
where he first discovered the outlaws approaching the camp, he heard a
footfall near him, and turning quickly about saw the driver step over
the wagon-tongue.