Читать книгу: «The Gold Kloof», страница 13

Chapter XIII.
GUY IS MISSING

More than a month had elapsed since the beginning of the trek. They were now, as Poeskop had informed them, within little more than a week's journey from the kloof of gold of which they were in search. It was full a week since they had left the Berg Damara village behind, and they had progressed well and steadily during the interval. One morning Mr. Blakeney and Tom had ridden out together in search of game. Guy was sitting on the wagon, for a change taking a rest, going through some of his specimens, and packing away odds and ends. They were trekking across a wide, open grass plain, whereon various herds of game, for the most part hartebeest, blue wildebeest, and Burchell's zebra, were to be seen grazing in the distance. At half-past twelve the oxen were outspanned, and a halt was made. Guy, having finished his work and eaten some lunch, was now, with the aid of the Ross stalking-glass, ranging the wide grass flats, watching the various troops of game, and wondering what kind of luck his uncle and cousin were having. It had been a most beautiful morning. The hot, rather suffocating winds, which had been blowing persistently from the north for the last few days, had vanished. A most cool and refreshing breeze now came up gently from the south, borne from the cool regions of the far Antarctic; and there was a feeling of vigour in the sparkling atmosphere which, albeit it was now just past high noon, made Guy's restless English blood eager for action.

As he looked, he suddenly spied through the clear telescope a single ostrich, stalking across the veldt. It was a long way off-five miles certainly-but he would go after it. Telling Seleti to saddle up his pony, Guy's preparations were soon made. After their experiences in the thirst-land, he was not going to take any more unnecessary risks, and he had fastened to his saddle his water-bottle, coat, and a hunting case containing a little food. Thus equipped, he picked up his sporting Martini rifle-he had lent Tom his Mannlicher-and, swinging himself lightly into the saddle, rode off at a brisk canter, humming, in the lightness of his heart, a cheerful song. Poeskop gazed admiringly after him as he rode away.

"There goes a proper young baas!" he said to Jan Kokerboom, as they sat at their meal. "'Tis a fine thing to be an Englishman." Jan admitted that it was, and Guy's figure gradually receded into the distance.

Guy rode steadily for five or six miles, at the end of which he discovered that the ostrich had been moving away north-westward, and was still two or three miles distant. Some light bush now hid it from view, and, taking advantage of this screen, Guy pressed on until he saw that he was about to enter upon the plain again. Before issuing from the bush, he got off and carefully examined the country in front of him. Yes, there was the ostrich right enough, feeding quietly less than a mile away. It was a splendid cock bird, and its white plumes, showing up finely against its black body colouring, made Guy long to possess them. Walking his horse out of the covert, Guy now touched the good beast with his spur and galloped for the big bird, hoping to get a shot at it before it had discovered that the approaching object was anything more than a zebra. It was a wild, unfrequented veldt, and surely, argued Guy to himself, an ostrich in these parts would not be very suspicious. Half a mile was covered. He was now within seven hundred yards of the bird; surely he was going to get a fair shot directly.

But even as he thus flattered himself, he was discovered. The ostrich's head went up, and then, with a limp and a flutter of the wing feathers, the bird moved off. It went so lame that Guy at once perceived that something was the matter with it. So much the better-he would have an easy victory. Suddenly, fifty yards in front of him, there rose from the long grass veldt another ostrich, a hen bird manifestly. Nothing ailed her, and she rushed away like a steam engine, covering whole leagues, as it were, in her enormous strides. Guy reached the place whence she had started, and saw, as he expected, a nest full of huge, shining eggs. At a swift glance, as he galloped by, he reckoned that there must have been twelve or fourteen of them. But he had no time to attend to them now; he would ride back that way, and take toll of them as he went to the wagon. For the moment all his energies and attention were centred on the maimed or sick bird in front of him, the magnificence of whose plumes he could now plainly discern.

He galloped, but still the limping creature managed, not only to keep a start, but even to increase its lead. In a while it squatted, as if it had reached the end of its tether, and Guy thought now surely it was his. It was not so, however. As he approached within four hundred yards the great bird rose and pursued its way, stumbling, staggering occasionally, as if it would fall on its head, and flapping its wings, plainly in great distress. It was very annoying that, notwithstanding its apparent sickness, the bird could yet manage as it did to keep going. Mile after mile went by, and still the ostrich stumbled along, just beyond reasonable shooting distance. Once again, having gained a fresh lead, in response to a long spurt on the part of Guy, it sat down again; and once more Guy was most provokingly baulked of what he now looked upon as his legitimate booty-those magnificent plumes that waved and dangled so annoyingly, just beyond reach of his trusty Martini.

The lad had now become downright angry. That bird should be his, if he had to ride till evening; and so, about five hundred yards still separating them, the hunted and the hunter moved swiftly across the plain for another mile. Three o'clock went by-four o'clock-surely the bird would soon give in! But now it was running quite differently. There was no trace of the falterings and stumblings that he had so long noticed. The cock was apparently quite recovered, and running as strongly and as straight as had its mate. Then suddenly there flashed upon Guy's mind what had happened. The creature had been playing the fool with him all this time. It had simulated lameness and sickness, just as will a plover or a partridge, merely to decoy him away from its nest, which he had by a lucky chance ridden by and discovered.

Guy smiled grimly to himself as the cleverness of the whole ruse was borne in upon him. Nevertheless, he was wild with vexation; and setting his teeth, he said to himself very softly that he would make it hot for the shamming bird yet. And, indeed, he did so. He was now full twenty miles from camp; hills and kopjes rose not very far in front of him-hills which, now ruddy brown and plain to see, looked four hours ago blue in the distance. His pony was a good one, and in first-rate condition. It was not by any means at the end of its resources, and Guy called upon it for one more long and sustained effort. Two more miles were past. Then Guy, to his joy, discovered that the ostrich was really coming back to him. The long and persistent chase under the hot sun had at last told upon it. He had certainly gained one hundred and fifty yards in the last hour.

Once more the great bird set itself going, and raced away. So rapid was its flight that it seemed as if Guy and his nag were this time to be completely distanced. But it was soon very plain what the bird was aiming at. It was trying for an offing, so as to work its way round to the right, and thus, as evening fell, regain its mate and her nest once more. Guy saw the manoeuvre, and, galloping across the wide arc that the ostrich was now making, managed, by dint of pressing his pony for another and a final effort, to cut it off. The foolish bird stuck obstinately to its point; its pace was now slackening; and Guy succeeded in getting within fifty yards of its line. Slipping off his pony, he fired as the big bird came by, and, aiming well forward, struck the ostrich fair in the body. Even so tough a creature as this, the largest of all feathered fowl, could not resist the impact of a solid Martini bullet at fifty paces, and the bird suddenly fell dead in its tracks, a mere quivering bundle of flesh and feathers.

It was a splendid prize. Guy, as he walked up and looked at the dead bird, saw at once that the plumage was magnificent. Knee-haltering his pony, and taking off its saddle, he now refreshed himself after his desperate ride, and set to work to divest his capture of its finest plumage. The white feathers were magnificent, and Guy could scarcely admire them sufficiently. Making neat bundles of the prime whites, the shorter whites, the beautiful black and white plumes, and the black feathers, he now saddled up again, slung the longest feathers over his back, fastened the rest to his saddle, and mounted.

The point now to be decided was, What should he do for the night? He knew that the camp lay away behind him, far across the dry and weary plain. But it was twenty long miles away; his pony was very tired and thirsty; and in the darkness now coming on he might easily lose his direction. Only a mile or two in front of him rose the line of low hills. Here he was pretty sure to find water for his pony. On the whole, it seemed better to make his way thither, water his pony, light a good fire, rest till early morning, and then ride back to camp. Having thus decided, he rode his nag at a walk for the kopjes. Night was falling rapidly as he entered the hills. After following an open valley for a quarter of a mile, he came, as he expected, to a vlei of water, recruited by a fountain flowing from the hill above. Here he off-saddled for the night. His pony drank till it cared to drink no more. Meanwhile he cut some grass for fodder, tied his nag to a bush, collected wood for a fire, and, taking out the meat and bread he had brought with him, ate his supper.

His position was a well-chosen one. At his back he had an impenetrable screen of thick bush and rock. He had seen no indication of lions as he rode into the hills. A big fire blazed cheerfully in front of him, and plenty of wood lay handy so soon as its first strength died away. The lad was very sleepy after his long ride. He lay for an hour or more gazing drowsily into the red blaze in front of him, turning over in his mind the events of the afternoon, and following with a feeling of placid contentment the shifting scenes depicted in the heart of the fire by various pieces of burning wood. His pony munched its food contentedly close to his head. Gradually his eyes closed, his head sank deeper into the saddle which formed his pillow, and he slept.

Guy had not enjoyed the blessed oblivion of slumber more than an hour-it seemed to him not a minute since he had closed his eyes-when he was suddenly and most rudely awakened. Strong hands gripped him fiercely on either side, and pinned him to the ground. With a cry he tried to spring to his feet. But his hands and feet were both securely held. He struggled violently, but his struggles were ineffectual against superior strength and numbers. Almost before he was fully awake he was bound hand and foot, and lay helpless in the hands of his captors. Then he had time to look about him. The light of the fire showed him that his assailants were four in number, two white men and two black. The faces of the white men were known to him. It was with something like a shock of dismay that he realized the fact that he was in the hands of Karl Engelbrecht and Antonio Minho, who were now regarding him, as they stood over him, with unmistakable signs of triumph on their unpleasant faces.

"What's all this about?" cried the lad angrily in Dutch. "And what do you mean by attacking me in this way? You shall suffer for it, and that before many hours are over."

"Softly, my young friend," answered Minho, a bantering smile illuminating his oily, yellow face. "You go a little too fast. You, and not Karl and myself, are likely to be the suffering party. We find you are necessary to our plans, and so we invite you to come with us. If you keep a civil tongue and behave yourself, we shall treat you reasonably well. If you are troublesome and impertinent, you will be corrected."

"Ja," added the slower-tongued Boer, who had by this time found his speech. "We shall stand no nonsense from you. Keep your mouth shut, you schepsel, unless you are spoken to. We want no tantrums, and no noise. If you don't behave, we shall teach you to, and that with the sjambok." As he spoke the great Boer touched significantly his riding whip of giraffe hide, just now stuck through his belt.

The English lad's eyes blazed with anger at this threat. If he had been free, he would at that instant have struck the Dutchman in the face, great as was the disparity in size and age between them. But he was helpless; and he saw, answering his own fiery look, such an expression of malevolence and hate spread over the Boer's countenance, that he judged it the wiser course to resume a less pugnacious demeanour. After all, pugnacity, when you are tied hand and foot, avails nothing.

"What do you want with me?" he went on, in a tone of assumed indifference, addressing himself to the Portuguese.

"We propose to take you with us on a short journey," returned Minho. "We shall tell you more of our plans later on. Meanwhile, you had better submit yourself quietly, and don't make a fuss, or it may be worse for you. There are more painful things even than sjamboks," he added, with a significant leer; "rifles and knives, for instance."

"Now, then," said Engelbrecht, in his thick guttural voice, "pick him up, you two."

The two strong natives, who were standing ready to obey their master's orders, stepped forward, picked up Guy, and set him on his feet. Then, saddling and bridling his pony, they unfastened the raw-hide riem that bound his feet, hoisted him to the saddle, and set off. All carried rifles; the Boer marched at the pony's head, holding its bridle. Guy's hands were firmly tied, and there was not the faintest chance of escape. Half a mile farther up the valley they came to Karl Engelbrecht's camp. Here a wagon was outspanned, and there were more natives. The word was now given at once to trek. Guy was placed on the wagon, and his feet carefully bound again, and in half an hour they set forth, steering a course through the hills which would take them north-west, in a direction almost diametrically opposite to that in which the English party was progressing. They trekked rapidly, and the oxen were pushed to their utmost speed.

Quitting the hills presently, they entered upon thin forest country, and thereafter their course was set, manifestly, for a chain of mountains which lay upon the horizon some fifteen miles distant. This range was reached before evening set in. Entering a deep and secluded gorge, Engelbrecht's party ensconced themselves in a strong defensive position, commanding a narrow pass, the entrance to which they blocked temporarily by rolling down boulders and rocks from the hillside. Here, with plenty of wood and water about them, and holding what they evidently looked upon as an impregnable position, the shadowers believed themselves in absolute security, and prepared to take the next step in the operations upon which their energies and schemes were fixed.

Engelbrecht and Minho had, in the course of their pursuit, followed pretty closely all the movements of the party in front of them. The Boer had with him clever and resourceful native servants. These he employed as spies, sending them forth scouting in front of him. These men, accustomed from their youth up to read accurately every sign and indication of veldt life, had traced with minute care every phase of the wanderings of the English trekkers. They had reported the various happenings-had observed the number of elephants slain in the big hunt, and had satisfied themselves and their master that the English leader and his party were all, white and black, good hunters and excellent shots. They were known to be very well armed, and it was obvious that any open attack upon them would mean severe fighting, in which the assailants, in all probability, would be beaten off or most seriously mauled. Besides, it was not the policy of the two allied ruffians to make any kind of attack before the gold treasure should have been discovered.

Upon the day before Guy had ridden out after the ostrich, Engelbrecht had made a forward trek, and placed his camp much closer to the English party than he had hitherto ventured. Minho was against this move, but the Boer was now growing somewhat reckless, and his persistency had carried the day. Guy's rifle had been heard that afternoon, spies were watching his movements from the hills, and his entrance to the valley and the place where he had camped for the night were carefully noted. The spies hastened back to the Boer's outspan, and reported all they had seen.

Then ensued a discussion between Engelbrecht and the Portuguese as to what course to pursue. Antonio Minho was in favour of letting the young man return to his own camp unmolested. But Engelbrecht's patience, as we have seen, was becoming somewhat exhausted. He was a man of action, and a plan had suddenly come into his mind which he at once unfolded. It was this. If they captured the English lad, they could hold him as a hostage, and make any terms they pleased with the gold seekers; nay, they might even force them to enter into a kind of partnership, by which the gold, when discovered, should be parcelled out equally between the two expeditions. This seemed to the Boer, upon the whole, a better and safer plan than attacking the Englishmen after they should have secured their treasure. After all, the attack might be repelled. Karl knew these Englishmen could shoot, and they would, no doubt, fight hard; and even if they were surprised and shot down in a night attack or ambuscade, there might be awkward questions to answer thereafter. Lawless and bloodthirsty though the man was, he knew that, even from amid the silence and solitudes of the desert, murder will out, especially the murder of white men. He still cherished bitter animosity and hatred against these intruders, especially against Mr. Blakeney, the man who had conquered him in the affair of fists at Mossamedes; but upon the whole he judged that he would now have a safer chance of gratifying his revenge, by seizing Guy and using him as an instrument for squeezing his rivals, than by more violent measures.

During an hour Karl and the Portuguese keenly debated the question, whether or not they should seize and carry away the lad, now sleeping in absolute ignorance of their vicinity no more than half a mile away. In the end the plan seemed good to Minho. The capture was effected; and now, having carried off Guy Hardcastle to a place which the Boer had in his mind-a place which could be made impregnable against any assault-they prepared to take their measures for squeezing Mr. Blakeney, and bringing him to the terms and demands upon which they had fixed their minds.

Chapter XIV.
POESKOP TO THE RESCUE

Upon the afternoon on which Guy Hardcastle had been so busily engaged with the ostrich hunt, Mr. Blakeney and Tom had returned about four o'clock. By six o'clock, when it was getting dark, they were-although expecting him in camp at any moment-by no means anxious about him. Mr. Blakeney had heard from Poeskop that Guy had gone out after an ostrich, and ostrich hunting is always a difficult and oftentimes a long and tedious business. Night fell, supper was over, and still the lad tarried. A rifle was now discharged at intervals, and the fires were replenished, so that the wanderer might be guided to the safe haven of the camp. Still no Guy. There was nothing more to be done that night. They imagined that he had wandered farther away than he had intended, and was camping out somewhere. The veldt was not a waterless one, and there was therefore little anxiety on that score. Still, as morning came, Mr. Blakeney was determined to lose no time in going out in search. Something might have happened. The lad might have been thrown, or have suffered some other casualty.

After a hurried breakfast, taking with them Poeskop, Mr. Blakeney and his son rode out, Poeskop carefully following the spoor made by Guy's pony on the previous day. It took them a long time to puzzle out the intricacies of the spoor, and trace the devious wanderings of the ostrich hunt. But they came in time to the place where Guy had killed the bird. Then they traced him to the valley among the hills where he had camped. Here they at once discovered other spoor as well as Guy's. To the Englishmen, accustomed as they were to veldt life, it was difficult to understand what had actually happened. To Poeskop the whole story was plain enough. He searched about quietly for a few minutes, then he told his tale.

"Karl Engelbrecht has been here," he said suddenly.

"Karl Engelbrecht!" repeated Mr. Blakeney. "Surely you are mistaken, Poeskop?"

"No, baas," reiterated the Bushman; "there is no mistake. Karl has been here. I know his spoor too well. He and another white man, the man from Mossamedes, Antonio Minho, have been here."

Mr. Blakeney knew by experience the extraordinary powers of South African natives, and especially those of Bushman blood, in reading spoor. But he was staggered.

"How can you know it is the spoor of Antonio Minho?" he asked.

"Baas," replied Poeskop, "I have followed Minho many a time in the soft, sandy streets of Mossamedes. There is no mistaking his spoor. Once I have seen a man's footprints, or an ox's, or a horse's, I can tell it anywhere. To you it may seem difficult; to a Bushman, no!"

"Well," rejoined Mr. Blakeney, "anything else?"

"Ja, baas," pursued the Bushman. "There are, as you see, two others. They are natives-Karl Engelbrecht's servants."

"This is bad news, Tom," said Mr. Blakeney, with a troubled brow. "Wherever Karl Engelbrecht is there is mischief. Minho is a scoundrel, and we know that he had some inkling of what we were after. The Boer has a grudge against us, which he would like to pay off. I don't half like the look of things." Then, turning to Poeskop, he went on: "Well, what else?"

"You see, my baases," replied Poeskop, "there has been a bit of a scuffle here. These men have caught Baas Guy, tied him up, I think, and put him on his horse, and gone off with him. Now let us follow their spoor."

They followed the tracks up the valley for half a mile, and then came on plain evidences of the Boer camp.

"Here's a pretty how-d'ye-do!" said Mr. Blakeney seriously. "What on earth are these villains doing in this part of the world, Poeskop? We must follow them up."

The Bushman took up the spoor, and they followed the Boer wagon tracks without any difficulty. By afternoon they had cleared the forest region, and were now halted in a small grove of giraffe-acacia trees by a pan of water, about twelve miles distant from the mountain range in which Engelbrecht and his party had ensconced themselves.

"Baas," said Poeskop, "you and Baas Tom must wait here. Karl Engelbrecht has trekked for the berg yonder. He cannot be far in; his oxen could not have travelled much beyond the poort [pass] which you see there" – he pointed to a dark ravine giving entrance to the hills-"in the time. So soon as evening comes, I will ride on, tie up my horse near the poort yonder, and creep about till I find what has been done, and where Baas Guy is. What say you? Is not that the best plan?"

"Yes, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney, "I think that is the best thing that can be done. You will have an hour or two's good moon to-night; and if you can't creep about and find out things, I don't know who can."

Poeskop grinned at the compliment.

"Baas, I will find out all right," he said eagerly. "I like Baas Guy-he is my baas; and I will, somehow or other, bring him away with me if I can. At all events, I will reach him. We Bushmen, you know, can creep like the snake on his stomach. I shall becreep Baas Guy to-night. You will see. Poeskop knows. You stay here. I will come back by morning. If I can bring Baas Guy, well and good. If not, we try some other plan."

"Very well," said Mr. Blakeney, "we will wait here. Do the best you can, but don't run Baas Guy into danger. Get him away if you think you have a fair chance. Now, how many cartridges have you, if these fellows come out and we have to use our rifles?"

"I have seventeen," interrupted Tom, hastily running his fingers over his bandolier.

"And I have fourteen myself," added his father.

Poeskop fingered his greasy old bandolier.

"Nine, baas!" he said, grinning.

"Why, you're as niggardly as a Boer with your cartridges," said Mr. Blakeney, with a laugh. "I've often told you that you don't carry enough for emergencies. Here, when we're in a tight place and may want every bullet we've got, you're short."

"The baas is right," said Poeskop apologetically. "I'll never come so short again. Never mind. Perhaps I may find some more in Karl Engelbrecht's camp; who knows?"

"Well, don't play the fool and do anything rash," added his master. "What we want to do is to rescue Baas Guy, and get away. At our own camp we have plenty of rifles and cartridges, and, with our other men, can give a good account of Karl Engelbrecht and all his blackguards."

Guy, meanwhile, had passed the day by no means comfortably. He had been duly fed, it is true, his hands being untied for the purpose; but while they trekked he had been fastened up again, and placed on Engelbrecht's kartel in the forepart of the Boer wagon. There he lay throughout the long, hot day, wondering what his people were doing after discovering his absence, and what was to be the upshot of his captivity. At evening, after they had passed into the kloof and the entrance had been barricaded, he was taken down from the wagon and placed by the camp fire, where, his hands being again unbound, he was supplied with meat, bread, and coffee. Having made a respectable meal, Guy felt somewhat more cheerful; and the liberty of his hands being allowed him for half an hour further, he was enabled to stretch himself, chafe his benumbed wrists, and restore the circulation.

He noticed various circumstances as he looked about him. Karl Engelbrecht and Minho kept themselves pretty much to themselves, sitting at their own fire, and engaging in a good deal of earnest conversation. Once the big Boer got up and stretched himself, and came over to the fire at which Guy sat. Here were gathered the five natives comprising Engelbrecht's retinue-a villainous-looking Griqua, who had special charge of Guy, two Hottentots, and a couple of Bihé natives. The Boer looked fixedly at the English lad, but said not a word to him. He addressed a few sentences to his servants; told Thebus, the Griqua, to fasten up his captive's hands again, and look sharply after him during the night; and stalked back to his own fire.

Half an hour later he and Minho retired to their kartels, and were soon sound asleep. The natives sat talking round the fire for another quarter of an hour; and then, tired with their hard day's trek, and the labour of barricading the poort, they made their way to Engelbrecht's wagon, beneath which, having ensconced themselves under their blankets, they were not long in following their master's example. There remained by their camp fire, which lay farthest away from the wagon, only Guy and the Griqua. The latter threw a blanket carelessly over his captive, and then settling himself comfortably under his kaross, a few feet away, went to sleep. Thebus was a light sleeper, he had by his side a loaded rifle, and he knew that the English lad was securely fastened.

Guy awoke very quietly some hours later. The moon had sunk; the Southern Cross, which he had last seen glittering bolt upright in the dark, star-sown night sky, now lay well over on its side. What had roused him? He knew that something had touched him; what exactly, his senses could not inform him. Then he felt a quiet, almost caressing touch upon his shoulder, and a voice whispered very softly in his ear, in Dutch, "Lie still, baas; it is Poeskop!" Guy did as he was told, and, immediately, he felt hands busy at the rawhide riem that bound his ankles. Then he became aware that a knife was at work; then his legs were free. A dark figure wormed itself up, towards his hands, and with the same silence and expedition his wrists were set free.

"Now," whispered the voice in his ear again, "creep away to the other side of the fire. Go very gently."

"But Thebus?" whispered Guy.

"Thebus all right; he'll not move again," returned Poeskop. "Come!"

Guy shuddered. He guessed what had happened, but did as he was told, and began to roll himself very gently over the sand towards the other side of the fire. Suddenly a dog barked in its sleep. The three figures-they appeared to be but two, for Poeskop lay crouched close alongside the Griqua-lay motionless as stones. Then all was silent again.

"Now," whispered Poeskop, after a pause of three minutes. They crept away, and after what seemed to Guy to be ages-so great was the strain-had reached the farther side of the fire. Guy looked across. Thebus lay as if sleeping, and Poeskop had so arranged Guy's blanket that it seemed as if he, Guy, were still beneath it. They crept yet farther, and were beyond the light of the now fading fire. It was a warm night, and Guy, what with the labour of crawling and the intense nervous excitement, dripped with perspiration. Still farther they crept into the darkness, and then Poeskop, taking Guy by the hand, led him very softly round the camp towards the mouth of the kloof. They reached the inner end of the poort, now blocked with huge boulders, and began to climb as softly as they could. The Bushman pulled himself over the obstacles with the lightness and the noiselessness of a cat. Guy did his utmost to follow his example, but he was much heavier; and presently a boulder, becoming dislodged under his weight, fell with some little noise. Instantly there rose from the stillness of the camp, sixty yards away, the furious barking of wagon dogs. Men stirred about the wagons.