Dyke turned cold at the thought of his position, and involuntarily began
to sweep the plain for signs of danger, knowing, as he did full well,
that beasts of prey always hang about the herds of wild creatures in
their migrations from feeding ground to feeding ground; the lions to
treat the strong as their larder when on their way to water; the hyaenas
and jackals to pick up the infirm and tender young. Then the boy's eyes
were directed to the distant figure of his brother, and his first
thought was to shout to him and ask for ammunition.
But no cry, however piercing, could have reached Emson then, as Dyke
well knew, and acting upon sudden impulse, he ran to his horse to
tighten the girths of his saddle to gallop off after him.
"And if I do," he said to himself, "the minute I am gone, the sneaking
jackals and vultures will appear as if by magic, and begin spoiling the
beautiful meat; Joe will laugh at me first for being a coward, and then
turn angry because I have left the eland for the animals to maul."
Dyke stood with his forehead puckered up, terribly perplexed. He did
not mind the anger, but the thought of Emson thinking that he was too
cowardly to stop alone out there in the plain and keep watch for a few
hours was too much for him, and he rapidly loosened the girths again.
Then came the thought of a family of lions, which had perhaps been
unsuccessful, scenting out the eland, and coming up to find him in that
unprotected state.
It was horrible, and, with a shiver, he tightened up the girths, sprang
upon the cob, pressed its sides, and went off after Emson at a gallop,
followed by Duke, who barked joyously, as if applauding his master's
decision.
Dyke felt lighter hearted and as if every stride took him out of danger,
and he gave a glance round, saw dots here and there in the sky which he
knew were vultures hurrying up to the banquet, and drawing his left
rein, he made Breezy swing round, and rode in a semicircle back to the
eland with teeth set, a frown on his brow, and determination strong: for
he had mastered the feeling of panic that had assailed him, and though
he did not grasp the fact himself, he had made a grand stride in those
few minutes toward manhood.
"Let 'em come," he said bitterly; "I won't run away like that. Why, I
could only have done this if a lion as big as that one we shot were
already here."
In another five minutes, with the dots in different parts around growing
plainer, Dyke was back by the eland, and hobbling his horse's forefeet,
he loosened the girths again with almost angry energy; then unstrapping
the bit, left the cob to crop such green shoots as it could find.
As the boy performed these acts, he could not help stealing a glance
here and there; and then standing on the eland, so as to raise himself a
little, he shaded his eyes and carefully swept the plain.
He could see distant patches, which he made out to be herds, gradually
growing fainter, and several more dots in the sky, but no sign of danger
in the shape of lions; but he derived very little comfort from that, for
he knew well enough that the tawny-hided creatures would approach in
their crawling, cat-like fashion, and a dozen might be even then hidden
behind the bushes, or flattened down in the sand, or dry, shrubby
growth, with which their coats so assimilated as to make them invisible
to the most practised eye.
Dyke's teeth were pressed so hard together that they emitted a peculiar
grinding sound with the exertion as he leaped down, and the dog looked
up in a puzzled way, and uttered an uneasy bark.
Dyke started. The dog must scent danger, he thought, and the next
glance was at Breezy, whose instinct would endorse the dog's knowledge;
but the cob was blowing the insects off the tender shoots at every
breath, and browsing contentedly enough.
It was fancy. The great, foul birds were coming nearer, but Dyke knew
that he could keep a thousand of them away by flourishing his empty gun.
Then a sudden thought occurred to him, and he turned excitedly to the
dog, taking off his canvas pouch the while, and shaking it.
"Hi, Duke! Hey there, good old boy! Lost--lost! Seek them! Good dog,
then! Seek--seek! Lost!"
The dog barked excitedly, sniffed at the pouch, looked up at his master,
whined and barked, sniffed again at the pouch, and finally, in answer to
Dyke's shouts and gestures, took another sharp sniff at the canvas, and
bounded away, head down, and following the track made by the eland, the
horses, and his own feet.
"What an idiot I was not to think of that before!" said the boy to
himself. "He'll find it, as sure as sure."
Then he gave another glance round, to stand repentant as he followed the
figure of the retiring dog, and felt ready to call it back, for he was
increasing the terrible loneliness by sending away his dumb friend, one
who would have instantly given him warning of the approach of danger.
Once more Dyke went through a mental battle. He was mastering the
strong desire to call back the dog, and forcing himself to take out his
knife and use it as a bill-hook to cut a quantity of the dry, short
bush, piling it up until he had enough to make a fire. This he started,
and felt better, for the flame and smoke would keep off animals, show
where he was, and cook his dinner, about which he had begun to think
eagerly, as well as of his position.
"I wonder whether other fellows of my age are so ready to take fright at
everything. It's so stupid, just because the place is open and lonely.
Fancy wanting to keep Duke back when he is pretty well sure to find my
cartridge pouch, and bring it here. It's a good job no one knows what
we feel sometimes. If any one did, how stupid we should look."
The fire burned briskly, with the white smoke rising steadily up in the
still air, as, after trying whether the edge of his sheath-knife had
been blunted by cutting the bush wood, he attacked the great antelope to
secure a good steak to broil.
"Plenty to cut at," he said with a laugh; and his mouth watered now at
the thought of the juicy frizzle he could make on the glowing embers,
which would soon be ready for his purpose. But he went to work
judiciously. His experience in the lonely, wild country had taught him
a little of the hunter's craft, and he knew the value of the magnificent
skin which covered the eland; so making certain cuts, he drew back the
hide till a sufficiency of the haunch was bared, and after cutting a
pair of skewer-like pieces from a bush, he carved a good juicy steak,
inserted his skewers, spread out the meat, and stuck the sharper ends of
the pieces of wood in the sand, so that the steak was close to, and well
exposed to the glow. Then leaving it to roast, Dyke carefully drew the
skin back into its place and set to work washing his hands.
Only a dry wash in the soft reddish sand, but wonderfully cleansing when
repeated two or three times, and very delightful as a make-shift, where
there is no water.
By the time Dyke's hands were presentable, and he had piled-up some more
bush where the fire had burned into a hole, the meat began to sputter,
and drops of fat to drip in the hot embers, producing odours so
attractive to a hungry lad, to whom fresh meat was a luxury, that Dyke's
thoughts were completely diverted from the loneliness of his position,
and he thought of nothing but the coming dinner as he took from his
pocket a lump of heavy mealie cake which had been brought by way of
lunch.
"Wish I'd brought a bit of salt," he said to himself and a few minutes
later, as he saw the full pound and a half steak beginning to curl up
and shrink on one side, another thought struck him. Wasn't it a pity
that he had not cut a bigger slice, for this one shrank seriously in the
cooking?
But concluding that it would do for the present, he carefully withdrew
the sticks from the sand, and turning them about, replaced them so as to
cook the other side, congratulating himself the while upon the fact that
the meat tightly embraced the pieces of wood, and there was no fear of
the broil falling into the sand.
"Don't want that kind of salt peppered over it," he said in a mixed
metaphorical way, and after a look at Breezy, who was browsing away
contentedly, Dyke smiled happily enough. Then inhaling the delicious
odours of the steak, he knelt there, with the fire glancing upon his
face and the sun upon his back, picking up and dropping into places
where they were needed to keep up the heat, half-burnt pieces of the
short, crisp wood.
It was so pleasant and suggestive an occupation that Dyke forgot all
about danger from wild beasts, or trampling from a startled herd coming
back his way. For one moment he thought of Duke, and how long he would
be before he came back with the cartridge pouch. He thought of Emson,
too, in regard to the steak, wishing he was there to share it, and
determining to have the fire glowing and another cut ready to cook.
Then, springing up, he ran to where Breezy raised his head with a
pleasant whinny of welcome, took the water-bottle he always carried from
where it was strapped to the back of the saddle, and returned to the
cooking.
"Done to a turn," he cried, as he caught up the two pieces of wood which
held the steak, bore his dinner away a few yards from the fire, sat down
holding the skewers ready, and then placing his cake bread in his lap,
he began to cut off pieces of the meat.
"De--licious!" he sighed, "but a trifle hot," and then everything was
resolved into the question of meat--rich, tender, juicy meat--glorious
to one whose fare had been dry, leathery, rather tainted biltong for a
long while past.
Dyke ate as he had never eaten before, till the last fragment was
reached--a peculiarly crisp, brown, tempting-looking piece adhering to
one of the skewers. This he held back for a few moments in company with
the last piece of mealie cake, wishing the while that he had cooked
more, and brought a larger piece of the cake.
"Roast beef's nothing to it," he said softly. "Wish old Joe had been
here to have a bit while it's so tender, and poor old Duke, too. Never
mind, he shall have double allowance when he does come--triple if he
brings my pouch. I wonder whether he has found it. It's wonderful what
he can do in that way."
He raised his eyes to gaze in the direction taken by the dog as he sat
there near the fire, and the huge carcass of the eland behind him, and
then he seemed to have been suddenly turned into stone--sitting with the
bit of cake in one hand, the skewer in the other, staring, with white
rings round his eyes, straight at a full-grown, handsomely maned lion,
standing about twenty yards away, gazing at him straight in the face.