"You're a dissatisfied young dog, Dyke," cried Joe Emson
good-humouredly, as he smiled down from his high horse at his brother;
"always grumbling."
"I'm not," cried Dyke indignantly.
"You are, boy. Just as if any one could be low-spirited when he is
young and strong, out in this wide free place on such a lovely morning."
"It's all right enough now," replied Dyke, "because it's early and cool;
but it is so horribly lonely."
"Lonely! Why, I'm always with you," cried Emson--"the best of company.
Then you've Jack and Tanta Sal, and Duke, and Breezy, and all the
ostriches for pets, and the oxen; while, if you want more company,
there's old Oom Schlagen out one way, and old Morgenstern out the
other."
"Ugh! Stupid old Boers!" cried Dyke.
"Well, they're civil to you, and that's more than Oom Schlagen is to me.
It's because you have got that Dutch name. I say, father meant you to
be a painter, I'll be bound, and here you are, an ostrich-farmer."
"Oh yes, and we're going to be very rich when the birds are all dead."
"And they seem as if they meant to die, all of them," said Emson sadly,
as he rode along by his brother, each with his rifle across his
saddle-bow. "I don't seem to have got hold of the right way of managing
them, Dyke: we must follow nature more by watching the habits of the
wild ones. I have tried so hard, too."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Dyke merrily. "Who's grumbling now!"
"That's better, and more like yourself, old fellow," said Emson, smiling
down pleasantly. "That's more like the light-hearted chap who promised
to stick to and help me like a brother should. You hurt me, Dyke, when
you turn so low-spirited and sulky. I've plenty of troubles, though I
say little, over my venture here; and when I see you so down, it worries
me more than I can say."
They rode on over the open veldt that glorious morning in silence for
some minutes, and Dyke looked down at his horse's mane.
"It makes me feel that I have done wrong in bringing a bright, happy lad
away from home and his studies to this wild solitary place. I ought to
have known better, and that it was not natural for a boy like you to
feel the hard stern determination to get on that I, ten years older,
possessed. I ought to have known that, as soon as the novelty had
passed away, you would begin to long for change. Father did warn me,
but I said to him: `I'm a man, and he's only a boy; but we've been
together so much, and always been companions, Dyke and I can't help
getting on together.'"
"And we can't," cried the boy in a husky voice. "Don't, please don't,
Joe, old chap; I can't bear it. I've been a beast."
"Oh, come, come," cried Emson, leaning over to clap him on the shoulder;
"I didn't mean to upset you like that."
"But I'm glad you have," cried Dyke in half-suffocated tones. "I know
well enough I have been a beast to you, Joe, and the more quiet and
patient you've been with me, the worse I've got, till I quite hate
myself."
"Oh no, not so bad as that."
"Yes," cried Dyke excitedly, "it's been worse; and all the while you've
been the dear, good old chap to me; just the same as it always was when
I was little, and grew tired and cross when we were out, and you took me
up on your back and carried me miles and miles home."
"Why, of course I did," said Emson, smiling.
"There's no of course in it. I was always petty and disagreeable, and
ready to impose on your good-nature; but you never had an unkind word
for me."
"Well, you were such a little one, and I was always so big."
"I can see it all, Joe, and it's made me miserable many a time; but the
kinder you've been, the worse it has made me. You and father always
spoiled and petted me."
"Not we. Only kind to you, because we liked you. I say, Dyke, what
games we used to have! You see, I never had a brother till you came.
There, it's all right. Now then for a canter."
"Not yet," said Dyke. "I feel as if I could talk to you this morning."
"But you have talked, and it's all over now; so come along."
"No," cried Dyke firmly, and he caught his brother's rein.
"I say, old chap, are you the boss here, or am I?"
"I am, this morning," said the boy, looking up in his brother's big
manly face. "I want you to listen to me."
"Well, go ahead then, and let's get it over."
"It's been like this, Joe. I've got in a bad way of thinking lately.
It's all been so disappointing, and no matter what one did, nothing came
right."
"Yes, that's true enough, old chap," said Emson, rather drearily; "and
we have tried precious hard."
"You have, Joe, and I've been a regular sulky, disappointed sort of
brute."
"Coat been a bit rough, Dyke, old chap, eh? Out of sorts."
"I suppose in my head; but, Joe, I am sorry--I can't say it as I should
like to, but I--I will try now."
"Just as if I didn't know. We've been chums so long, old man, ever
since you first took to me when I was a big stupid fellow, all legs like
a colt, and as ugly, and you were a pretty little golden-haired chap,
always wanting to stick your soft chubby little fist in my big paw.
There, it's all right. Old times again, old un, and we're going to do
it yet, eh?"
"And you'll forgive me, Joe?" said Dyke earnestly.
"Forgive you?" cried Emson, looking at his brother with his big pleasant
manly face all in wrinkles. "Get along with you! What is there to
forgive?"
"I will try now and help you, Joe; I will, indeed."
"Of course you will, old chap," cried Joe, a little huskily too; "and if
you and I can't win yet, in spite of the hot sun and the disease and the
wicked ways of those jolly old stilt-stalkers, nobody can."
"Yes, we will win, Joe," cried Dyke enthusiastically.
"That's your sort!" cried Emson. "We'll have a good long try, and if
the ostriches don't pay, we'll hunt, as, I know, we've got plenty of
room out here: we'll have an elephant farm instead, and grow ivory, and
have a big warehouse for making potted elephant to send and sell at home
for a breakfast appetiser. Who's going to give up, eh? Now, then, what
about this canter? The horses want a breather--they're getting fidgety.
I say, feel better now, old chap, don't you?"
Dyke pinched his lips together and nodded shortly.
"So do I.--Here! What's that?"
He checked his horse, and pointed far away in the distance.
"Ostrich!" cried Dyke.
"Yes, I saw her rise and start off! My word! how she is going. I can
see the spot where she got up, and must keep my eyes on it. There's a
nest there, for a pound. That means luck this morning. Come along
steady. Lucky I brought the net. Why, Dyke, old chap, the tide's going
to turn, and we shall do it yet."
"But the goblin's dead."
"Good job, too. There's as good ostriches in the desert as ever came
out, though they are fowl instead of fish. It's my belief we shall
snatch out of that nest a better game-cock bird than ever the goblin
was, and without his temper. Come along."
Dyke felt glad of the incident occurring when it did, for his mind was
in a peculiar state just then. His feelings were mingled. He felt
relieved and satisfied by having shifted something off his mind, but at
the same time there would come a sense of false shame, and a fancy that
he had behaved childishly, when it was as brave and manly a speech--that
confession--as ever came from his lips.
All the same, on they rode. And now the sky looked brighter; there
seemed to be an elasticity in the air. Breezy had never carried Dyke so
well before, and a sensation came over him, making him feel that he must
shout and sing and slacken his rein, and gallop as hard as the cob could
go.
"Yohoy there! steady, lad," cried Emson; "not so fast, or I shall lose
the spot. It's hard work, little un, keeping your eye on anything, with
the horse pitching you up and down."
Hard work, indeed, for there was no tree, bush, or hillock out in the
direction they were taking, and by which the young Englishman could mark
down the spot where he imagined the nest to be.
So Dyke slackened speed, and with his heart throbbing in a pleasantly
exhilarated fashion, he rode steadily on beside his brother, feeling as
if the big fellow were the boy once more whom as a child he used to
tease and be chased playfully in return. Emson's way of speaking, too,
enhanced the feeling.
"I say, little un," he cried, "what a game if there's no nest after all.
You won't be disappointed, will you?"
"Of course not."
"'Member me climbing the big elm at the bottom of the home-close to get
the mag's nest?"
"To be sure I do."
"Didn't think we two would ever go bird's-nesting in Africa then, did
we?"
"No; but do you think there is a nest out yonder, Joe?"
"I do," cried Emson, "I've seen several hen birds about the last few
days; but I never could make out which way they came or went. I've been
on the lookout, too, for one rising from the ground."
"But is this a likely place for a nest?"
"Well, isn't it? I should say it's the very spot. Now, just look: here
we are in an open plain, where a bird can squat down in the sand and
look around for twenty miles--if she can see so far--in every direction,
and see danger coming, whether it's a man, a lion, or a jackal, and
shuffle off her nest, and make tracks long before whatever it is gets
near enough to make out where she rose. Of course I don't know whether
we shall find the nest, if there is one. It's hard enough to find a
lark's or a partridge's nest at home in an open field of forty or fifty
acres; so of course, big though the nest is, and the bird, it's a deal
harder, out in a field hundreds of miles square, eh?"
"Of course it is."
"'Scuse my not looking round at you when I'm speaking, old chap; but if
I take my eye off the spot, I shall never find it again."
"I say, don't be so jolly particular, Joe," cried Dyke, laughing.
"Why not? It's just what you and I ought to be," said the big fellow
with simple earnestness. "We're out here in a savage land, but we don't
want to grow into savages, nor yet to be as blunt and gruff as two
bears. I'm not going to forget that the dear old governor at home is a
gentleman, even if his sons do rough it out here."
"Till they're regular ruffians, Joe.--I say: see the nest?"
"Oh no; it's a mile away yet."
"Then there isn't one. You couldn't have seen it at all that distance."
"I never said I could see the nest, did I? It was enough for me that
I've seen the birds about, and that I caught sight of that one making
off this morning. We call them stupid, and they are in some things; but
they're precious cunning in others."
"But if they were only feeding?"
"Why, then, there's no nest. But I say breeding, and not feeding; and
that's rhyme if you take it in time, as the old woman said."
"But you talked about hen birds. Then there may be more than one nest?"
"Not here. Why, you know how a lot of them lay in the same nest."
"At home, shut up in pens, but not on the veldt."
"Why, of course they do, and 'tis their nature to, like the bears and
lions in Dr Watts. You don't know everything quite yet, old chap. If
you took the glass, and came and lay out here for two or three days and
nights, and always supposing the birds didn't see you--because if they
did they'd be deserting the nest and go somewhere else--you'd see first
one hen come to lay and then another, perhaps six of them; and when
they'd packed the nest as full as it would hold, with the sand banked up
round the eggs to keep them tight in their places with the points
downwards, so as to be close, you'd see hen after hen come and take her
turn, sitting all day, while the cock bird comes at nights and takes his
turn, because he's bigger and stronger, and better able to pitch into
the prowling jackals."
"How did you know all this, Joe?"
"Partly observation, partly from what I've heard Jack say," replied
Emson modestly. "Everything comes in useful. I daresay you won't
repent saving up all those odds and ends of stones and shells and eggs
you've got at home."
"Why, I often thought you'd feel they were a nuisance, Joe. I did see
you laugh at them more than once."
"Smile, old man, smile--that's all. I like it. You might grow a
regular museum out of small beginnings like that."
"Then we ought to have stuffed the goblin," cried Dyke merrily.
"Oh, come, no; that wouldn't do. Our tin house isn't the British
Museum; but I would go on collecting bits of ore and things. You may
find something worth having one of these days, besides picking up a lot
of knowledge. I'd put that piece of old iron the ostrich swallowed
along with the rest."
"Would you?"
"Yes; but now let's have all eyes, and no tongues, old chap. We are
getting near where that bird got up off the nest."
"If there was one."
"If there was one," assented Emson. "Now then: think you're mushrooming
out in the old field at home, and see if you can't find the nest. Move
off now a couple of hundred yards, and keep your eyes open."
Dyke followed out his brother's advice, and for the next hour they rode
over the ground here and there, to and fro, and across and across,
scanning the sandy depressions, till Emson suddenly drew rein, and
shouted to Dyke, who was a quarter of a mile away.
Dyke sent his cob off at a gallop and joined him.
"Found it?" he cried excitedly.
"No, old fellow. It's a failure this time. Man wants sharp eyes to get
the better of an ostrich. I made sure we should get it, but we're done.
We've been over the ground times enough, and it's of no use."
"What! give up?" cried Dyke merrily. "Didn't say we'd find it the first
time, but I mean to have that nest, if I try till to-morrow morning."
"Well done, little un," shouted Emson, laughing. "That's the right
spirit, and I should like to have had the eggs; it would have started us
on again. But I'm afraid we shall be wasting time, for we've lost count
now of the position where I saw the bird rise, and in this great waste
we may wander farther and farther away."
"But we can tell by the hoof-marks where we've been."
"Yes; and we've pretty well examined the ground. I tell you what, we'll
bring the glass this evening, and lie down watching till dark. We may
see a bird come to the nest, and then we'll mark down the place, and one
shall stop back, while the other rides forward, and number one can
telegraph which way to go with his arms."
"I am disappointed," said Dyke, looking round about him over the level
plain.
"So am I, old chap, but we won't be damped. It's only putting it off.--
What are you looking at?"
"That," said Dyke; and, kicking his nag's sides, he went off at a canter
for a couple of hundred yards, and then sent up a joyous shout.
"Why, he has found it!" cried Emson; and galloping up, there sat Dyke,
flushed and happy, beside a depression in the sand, evidently scraped
out, and with the sand banked round to keep the eggs in their places.
There they all were, thirty-nine in number, neatly arranged with their
points downward, while outside were several more, and on Dyke bending
down, he found that they were all of a comfortable temperature; those
lying outside being cold, and apparently freshly laid.
"Well, you have eyes, old chap!" cried Emson, slapping his brother on
the shoulder, and then proceeding to loosen a coarsely meshed net from
behind his saddle. "Bravo, Dyke! I told you the tide had turned.
We'll get these home at once and put them under one of our hens.
Shouldn't wonder if we get a nice little lot of chicks from these."
"If we can get them home without breaking."
"Oh, we'll do that," cried Emson, dismounting and spreading out the net
upon the sand before they began carefully removing the spoil of the
nest--that is to say, the eggs, which evidently contained chicks.
This done, the net was folded over and tied here and there so as to form
a long bag, the ends fastened securely; and each taking an end, they
mounted, and swinging between them the huge bag, which now weighed
nearly a hundredweight, started for home. They left the new-laid eggs
to be fetched that evening, or next morning, leaving them just as they
were spread, looking clean and fresh, about the outside of the nest,
much to Dyke's regret.
"Why, we could manage them too," he said.
"We might, but if we did we should have mixed them up with the others,
which would be a pity; for if we put them under a bird, they would only
be addled, whereas if we keep them separate, they will be good either to
set under another hen, or to eat. They will not hurt there."
Dyke said no more, but held on tightly to the end of the net, helping
his brother to keep their horses a sufficient distance apart, so that
the egg purse might keep well off the ground, and not be shaken too much
by the horses' gentle pace.
"Wonder what the young birds think of their ride," said Dyke merrily.
"We shall have one of them chipping an egg presently, and poking out his
head to see what's the matter, and why things are getting so cold."
"Cold, in this scorching sun!" said Emson; "why it would hatch them out.
Hold tight."
"Right it is!" cried Dyke in seafaring style. "I say, what a smash it
would be if I let go!"
"Ah, it would," said Emson; "but you won't. Cry stop when you're tired,
and we'll change hands.--Steady, boy!" he continued to his horse, which
seemed disposed to increase its speed, and they jogged gently along
again.
"I always used to read that the ostriches did lay their eggs in the sand
and leave them for the sun to hatch."
"There is some truth in it," said Emson; "but the old writers didn't get
to the bottom of it. The sun would hatch them if it kept on shining,
but the cold nights would chill the eggs and undo all the day's work.
It's of a night that the birds sit closest.--Like to change now?"
"Yes: they are getting heavy for one's wrist," said Dyke; and the great
purse was lowered to the ground, the eggs clicking together as if made
of china. Then the brothers changed places and hands; raised the net;
the horses hung apart again, and the slow journey was resumed.
"Gently!" cried Dyke before they had gone very far. "If you hang away
so hard, I shall be dragged out of the saddle."
The tension was relaxed, and they went on again riding by slow degrees
back to Kopfontein, which they finally reached with their heavy and
fragile load intact.
Dyke was hungry enough, but they neither ate nor rested till their eggs
were borne into one of the pens where three hens and their husband had a
nest which contained only ten eggs, and these were known to be addled,
for the time was long past for hatching; and upon the brothers
approaching the nest, there was a great deal of hissing and cackling,
the cock bird beginning to roar like a lion, and stalking menacingly
round the net, which he kept on inspecting curiously.
"Be on the lookout for a kick," said Emson, as the net was lowered.
"Oh, he won't kick me--will you, old chap?" cried Dyke, giving the large
bird a playful poke, which had the effect of sending him off
remonstrating angrily, as if he resented such liberties being taken with
his ribs. For he turned when he reached the fence, and stood fluttering
his short wings, clucking, and making threatening gestures with his
head.
The hen bird sitting was much more amenable to their approach, for,
after a little persuasion, she rose in a very stately way, blinked her
rather human-looking, eye-lashed optics, and stalked to the other wives
to stand with them, hissing and cackling a little, while the bad eggs
were removed and the fresh thirty-nine were put in their place, Emson
arranging them as regularly as he could in accordance with the bird's
habits.
But as Dyke handed them to him one by one, they had hard work to get
them in on account of the impatience displayed by the wives, two of
which displayed a great eagerness to have first sit upon the nestful,
and needing to be kept off until all were ready.
Then began a severe quarrel, and a good deal of pecking before the
youngest and strongest succeeded in mounting upon the nest, shuffling
the eggs about so as to get them more in accordance with her own idea of
the fitness of things, and then, when all were in order, she settled
down with her plumage regularly covering up the eggs, while the other
birds now looked on.
"Do you double up your perambulators?" said Dyke mockingly. "Yes,
madam, I see you do; but pray don't put a toe through either of the
shells."
The hen uttered a strangely soft clucking kind of noise, as if in reply,
and there was a peculiar look of satisfaction about the huge tame
creature as she covered the gigantic clutch.
"So they are," said Dyke--"something like eggs, aren't they?--I say,
look at the others," he continued, as they stalked off to go apparently
to discuss the new arrivals with the cock bird over at the other side of
the enclosure.
"There," said Emson, "you can have these addled eggs cleaned out, Dyke,
and we'll make chunking cups of them. When shall we fetch the other
lot? This evening?"
"If you like."
"No; we'll leave it till to-morrow, and give the nags a rest."