"Bravo! splendid!" panted Emson, as he and his brother met by the side
of the dead eland, upon whose flank Duke had mounted, and stood with his
red tongue out, too much run down to bark. "Why, Dyke, lad, how did you
manage it? Right through the shoulder. You couldn't have done better
at a stationary target."
"All chance," said the boy, panting as heavily as the dog; and lowering
himself off his nag, he loosened the girths, and then sank at full
length upon the sand.
"Tired?"
"Thirsty," replied the boy.
"That you must bear, then, till I come back."
"Where are you going?"
"To fetch Jack and a span of bullocks. I won't be longer than I can
help. Keep Duke with you, but don't leave the game. One moment: make a
fire, and cook yourself a steak."
"Stop and have some, Joe."
"No time," said Emson, and he strode away, leaving his brother alone
with the great antelope and his two dumb companions.
"Well, I didn't reckon upon this," said Dyke, as he lay upon his side
watching his brother's figure grow slowly more distant, for he was
walking beside his horse, which hung its head, and kept giving its tail
an uneasy twitch. "Not very cheerful to wait here hours upon hours; and
how does he know that I've got any matches? Fortunately I have."
There was a pause during which his cob gave itself a shake which
threatened to send the saddle underneath it, an act which brought Dyke
to his feet for the purposes of readjustment.
This done, and feeling not quite so breathless from exertion and
excitement, he walked round the great antelope.
"Well, it was all chance," he said to himself. "The first shot was an
awful miss. Good job for us there was so much to shoot at. I could
hardly miss hitting that time. What a bit of luck, though. A big bit
of luck, for we wanted the fresh meat very badly."
After scanning the goodly proportions of the animal for some time, it
struck the boy that he had not reloaded his rifled gun, and this he
proceeded to do, opening the breech, taking out the empty brass
cartridges, carefully saving them for refilling, and then putting his
hand to the canvas pouch in which the cartridges were packed.
His hand stopped there, and, hot as he was, he felt a shiver pass
through him.
There was not a single cartridge left.
Dyke stood there, half-stunned.
Had he forgotten them? No, he had felt them since he started; but where
they were now, who could say? All he could think was that they must
have been jerked out during the violent exertion of the ride.
How his heart leaped. They were in the leather pouch, which he had
slung from his shoulder by a strap, and the excitement had made him
forget this. "What a good--"
That pouch was gone. The buckle of the strap had come unfastened, and
it was lost, and there was he out in the middle of that plain, with the
carcass of the antelope to act as a bait to attract lions or other
fierce brutes, and he was without any means of defence but his knife and
his faithful dog.