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Chapter IV.
THE GOLD SPOOR

"There is another matter I want to speak to you about, Guy," continued Mr. Blakeney, "which has been perplexing me a good deal. It is this: When your father wrote me the first of the two last letters he sent me before his death, he sent also a short statement, sealed in a packet and marked 'Important.' This statement concerns a very rich discovery of gold in a far-away part of the interior of South-west Africa, somewhere on the border of the Portuguese territory of Benguela. I have worried over this problem for many weeks past, and the conclusion I have come to is that I ought to tell you about the whole business. The shortest and best plan is, I think, to show you your father's letter. Here it is; I'll read it to you: -

"'ABAQUESSA, GOLD COAST,

March 19, 1896

"'MY DEAR CHARLIE, – You will see from the letter I have already written you that I am in a very precarious state of health, and that I doubt greatly if I shall get over these repeated attacks of fever. In case anything happens to me, I must unburden my mind on one other matter, which seems to me, though it may not to you, very important. A year ago, as you know, I was making some mineral explorations for copper in the mountains behind Mossamedes, Portuguese West Africa. There was little copper to be found worth speaking of, and this business came to an end. One day towards the finish of this work, a Bushman in my service, named Poeskop, came to me and said he thought he could show me something better than copper; that he had once found gold, and that he would show me the place where he had found it. Poeskop was a Bushman from the country north-east of Ovampoland, in German territory. He had worked for Germans and others, and had afterwards drifted into the service of one of the Trek Boers who came to the Mossamedes country fifteen or sixteen years before. He had been brutally treated by this Boer, and, running away from him, came to me. I treated him kindly, and he became exceedingly attached to me, and would do anything for me. He speaks Boer Dutch and one or two native languages of his own country, besides a smattering of German. Well, I asked Poeskop what he meant, and where was the gold he spoke of. He took from the bottom of a dirty old pouch he always wore a piece of skin sewn up with sinew. Cutting this open, he took out four small nuggets of gold, manifestly water-worn. He said that where they came from there were plenty more-plenty. He had come across the place years before as a lad, and he had discovered what gold was, and its value, when he was working for some German prospectors in Damaraland. He knew now also the worth of gold money in English, and German, and Portuguese. I asked him how long it would take us to reach the place. He said more than a month. I was then under contract for this work at the Gold Coast, and it was impossible to throw it up, or to spare the time-about three months in all, reckoning the return journey to Mossamedes. I told the man I would return, if possible, the following year (1897), or, if not that year, in 1898, in the month of June, which is their healthy season, and go with him to the place. Meanwhile, would he promise not to say a word to any other person? Poeskop replied that he cared for no other white man but me; that he would wait till I came, and would meet me in Mossamedes in June the next year (1897), and the year after, and the year after that; and that each year he would wait for me a month. "But," I said, "supposing I can't come, and wish to send some one else in my place? I may be ill, or dead, or anything may have happened to me." "Well, my baas," replied Poeskop, his little drooping eyes twinkling in the oddest kind of way, "if you can't come, and send any one in your place, let him show me that funny steenje which you wear on your watch-chain, and I shall know he is your man, and will do what he asks me." The steenje, I must tell you, was nothing else than a piece of New Zealand jade, carved rather curiously in the shape of a fish. Well, there's the end of my yarn. I am dead tired, and feeling very ill. The ague is coming on again, as you can see by my handwriting."

"Here," interjected Mr. Blakeney, "as you can see, Guy, your poor father's writing has become very shaky. But he has underscored the remaining lines of his letter, and they run thus: -

"'My dear Charlie, I consider this discovery is very important. Poeskop, who was in my service five months, is a most shrewd and reliable little chap. I know he is not lying. I know he has found a place very rich in gold. Of this I am absolutely confident. If I'm right, there is a fortune for all of us. If I get through this bout of fever I shall ask you to give up your ranching for six months, and come and join me at Mossamedes in June. If I go under-and something tells me I shall-I beg you to go on my behalf. Take with you a good and reliable mining engineer; and if Guy is with you, take him. If you cannot go this year, go next. I can't finish … what I meant to say. This fever is too much for me. You and Guy are to go shares if the gold is right. – From yours ever,

"'J. S. HARDCASTLE.'

"Well now, Guy," added his uncle, "there's the yarn. Look over the letter yourself."

Guy read the letter again, with a serious face, from beginning to end.

"Poor pater!" he said, as he concluded, the tears standing in his eyes; "he was ill indeed when he wrote and underscored these last lines. Oh, that he could have been with us now!"

"Would that he could have been, Guy!" said his uncle feelingly; "would that he could! Having read that letter, you will understand something of my anxiety. If your father's surmises are correct, there is a fortune for us all. And yet any ordinary business man would say the whole thing is a mere wild-goose chase, a will-of-the-wisp. I am bothered awfully; I hardly know what to say, what to do."

Guy Hardcastle sprang to his feet.

"Uncle Charles!" he exclaimed, "I'm certain this is no wild-goose chase! My father had a great knowledge of men and things, especially where natives and mining were concerned. He wasn't a mad enthusiast; in fact, I always looked upon him as a very long-headed and cautious man. I'm only a boy; but that was my impression. Let us go. I'm certain that our search will be a success!"

"Well, Guy," rejoined Mr. Blakeney, smiling at the lad's enthusiasm, "I half believe you are right. Your father was no hunter of wild geese; he was, as you thought him, a man of good judgment and much knowledge. Yet there are many difficulties to be surmounted. I don't like leaving this place just now. Still, there's George Forster to look after matters in my absence-as he did two years ago, when I was in England.

"I might do this," he went on, speaking as if to himself. "Some years ago I trekked across the Kalahari, by way of Lake Ngami, to Damaraland, and traded and brought back a thousand head of cattle. I have sometimes thought of repeating the trip; but it's a tough business, and a long and anxious one. If I go with you, we might kill two birds with one stone: go round by sea, and so save much time; and after we have had a hunt for the treasure, pick up a lot of cattle and bring them overland. Meanwhile I'll have a talk with your aunt, and hear what she thinks about it all."

Mrs. Blakeney was a great believer in her brother; and her vote went for the expedition, little as she liked the prospect of parting from her husband for five or six months. Finally Mr. Blakeney's mind was made up: he determined to go, at all events, as far as Mossamedes. If Poeskop were found, well and good: they would go on with the search. If he were not found, they would go south, buy cattle in Damaraland and Ovampoland, and take them across to Bechuanaland by the Trek Boer route, viâ Lake Ngami. No sooner was the expedition settled upon than Guy begged his uncle to let Tom accompany them. This Mr. Blakeney refused; Tom, he said, must remain at home to look after his mother and sisters. But, as the lads pointed out, Mr. Blakeney's partner and cousin, George Forster, was coming across to live at Bamborough and take up the management of affairs during his absence. For weeks the lads moved heaven and earth to accomplish their purpose. They at length won over Mrs. Blakeney; and after she had joined for a few days in the siege, Mr. Blakeney gave way. It was settled that Tom was to go, and the two cousins were overjoyed. After much consideration, Mr. Blakeney decided not to take a mining engineer, as suggested by his brother-in-law. He himself had spent two years on the Lydenburg goldfields, in the Eastern Transvaal, in his younger days, and had a fair knowledge of gold and gold formations; he had learned assaying also. On the whole, they all deemed it wiser not to impart the secret to any one out of their own family.

Towards the middle of May the party went down by rail to Cape Town, and thence by sea to Mossamedes. Ostensibly they were on a cattle-trading expedition; even George Forster was not let into the secret of the gold search. It would be too ridiculous if the quest turned out an unsuccessful one, and the gold vanished into thin air. Moreover, Mr. Blakeney deemed it unwise to make any mention of gold at all; the merest whisper of it might get about, and set others upon the alert. They kept the secret, therefore, severely to themselves. In pursuance of his expressed intention of bringing home some cattle, Mr. Blakeney took with him as wagon-drivers and herds four of his most reliable natives. These were-Jan Kokerboom, a Koranna; Seleti and Mangwalaan, two Bechuanas of the Barolong clan; and September, a Zulu. They were all good herdsmen and horse-masters, fair shots, and, barring various idiosyncrasies and prejudices peculiar to their tribes, steady and reliable men. Jan Kokerboom was a capital cook, a generally handy man, a good rider and shot, and a first-class hunter. After a fairly prosperous voyage of a week, during the early part of which the natives suffered a good deal from sea-sickness, the ship dropped anchor in Little Fish Bay, off Mossamedes, and the party landed. Their hunting ponies, four in all, which they had brought with them from Bamborough, were safely got ashore.

Mossamedes is, compared with other Portuguese towns on the African coast, rather a pleasant little place. It is built of white stone, and has a picturesque esplanade, lined with palm trees, running along the frontage to the bay. The country surrounding is not very inviting, that to the east and south being, like the littoral of Damaraland and Namaqualand, almost completely desert.

Having passed their baggage at the Custom House with somewhat greater ease than they expected-thanks mainly to a judicious use by Mr. Blakeney of palm oil-they went up the town, and found fairly comfortable quarters at the principal hotel. Here they remained for a week without being able to find any trace of the native known as Poeskop. At the hotel, the proprietor remembered Mr. Hardcastle, who had stayed with him. He remembered also his Bushman servant Poeskop, but neither he nor any of his people had seen him lately in the town. While they were thus waiting, Mr. Blakeney was by no means idle. He spoke with various Trek Boers who were in the place; bought an excellent tent-wagon for £80; four fairly good horses, wiry, but in low condition-a useful addition to their stud; and a span of serviceable oxen. These would in any case be necessary to them, even if Poeskop failed to put in an appearance. The native servants were then dispatched to the commonage outside the town, where a camp was formed, and the horses and cattle were turned out for grazing. The wagon was thoroughly cleaned out, repaired, and painted, and various cooking utensils necessary for the trek were purchased.

On the evening of the seventh day of their stay in Mossamedes the little party of English were sitting, half an hour before dinner, near the landing-place. Mr. Blakeney spent much time there; for he had an idea that if the Bushman, Poeskop, came to Mossamedes at all, he would make his way to the shore, and be on the lookout for his old master.

"Pater," said Tom, kicking his heels against the low wall on which he sat, "I begin to think the man Poeskop is a solar myth, and I am revolving in my mind a theory by which he can be explained away."

The lad had a roguish smile on his face, at which his father in turn could not help laughing.

"Well, fire away!" replied Mr. Blakeney. "What's your theory?"

"Well, I'll shortly explain," went on Tom. "I consider you and Guy have brought me out here under false pretences. The whole thing is a Barney. I've been thinking it all out for days past. Poeskop is clearly a non-existent person; and here is my theory of his non-existence!"

At this instant, from behind a great pile of stores which lay stacked on the landing-place, there appeared, just in front of them, the short figure of a native. He was a queer, dwarfish-looking little man, with high cheek-bones, a narrow chin, and yellowish skin. His eyes slanted upwards like a Chinaman's; curious, dark, bloodshot eyes they were, with a singular droop of the lids and innumerable wrinkles at the corners. This odd figure was dressed in an old store suit of faded moleskin, a ragged shirt, and a very battered, broad-brimmed hat. A pair of velschoens covered the man's feet. Before Tom, who stared open-mouthed at the apparition, could proceed with his theory, the little man's sharp eyes had run rapidly over the group before him. He looked, as it were expectantly, into the countenance of each. His eyes lingered longest on the face of Guy, and then fell instantly to the middle of the boy's waist. Stretching out his right forefinger, he pointed, with a gesture of strange energy and earnestness, at the watch-chain which Guy wore: it was his father's, and the green jade ornament depended from it.

Mr. Blakeney had watched the man keenly.

"Poeskop?" he said quietly.

"Ja; Poeskop," returned the native instantly, looking furtively about him. "Vaar is de baas-Baas Hartcassel?"

Mr. Blakeney could not refrain from his little triumph over Tom, who sat utterly confounded.

"Tom, my boy!" he said, with a hearty laugh, "your solar myth is instantly exploded. Here is the essential man, Poeskop himself!"

And indeed it was Poeskop. Speaking in Dutch, Mr. Blakeney explained to the strange little figure before them what had happened. The Bushman followed the story closely, nodding his head, and throwing in a "Ja, ja!" now and again, as it were rounding off the various points. When Mr. Blakeney ceased, he spoke.

"Ja," he said, "I am Poeskop. I came here to meet my Baas Hartcassel, and I am sad because of the news I hear. Never mind; if I cannot be his 'boy' longer, I will be his son's 'boy.' And I will tell you all I know, and take you to the place where-" [here he glanced suspiciously round him, with eyes that searched keenly beneath their droop] " – where my baas wanted me to take him. I see that the young baas is truly the son of my old baas: he has the same blue eyes, and the same look, and the same coloured hair, and though he is young he walks just as walked his father. I saw him yesterday, and watched him; and again to-day I watched him; and now I have seen the steenje-the little stone of the fish-and I am sure. Well, I am glad indeed. I will be the young baas's 'boy,' and wait upon him and hunt for him, as I did for his father. Is it not so?" he asked, looking inquiringly first at Mr. Blakeney, then at Guy.

"Yes," said Guy quickly, his colour heightened with the interest and excitement of the discovery; "it is so. You shall be my 'boy,' and I will be your baas, and try to be a good baas to you, as my father was. What wages did he give you?"

"He gave me one pound a month and my skorf [food], baas," replied Poeskop, "and sometimes some old clothes when I wanted them."

"Well, I'll do the same," returned Guy cheerfully; "and I am sure we shall be good friends."

Poeskop smiled a huge smile at this speech, showing a set of splendid teeth, which for the moment strongly illuminated his quaint and decidedly ugly visage.

"That is very good, my young baas," he said, his face still beaming with pleasure; "and I shall show you what I promised to show to your father" – he glanced round again, as if fearing to be overheard-"the Gold Kloof. It is there!" He stretched a forefinger into the air, pointing north-eastward. "And you will find plenty gold, enough for you all; and you will make Poeskop rich too, and buy him cattle, and set him up as a farmer."

It was now arranged that the Bushman should at once join the outfit. They walked with him to the wagon outside the town, and introduced him to the other servants. Had he a gun? asked Mr. Blakeney. Yes; he had a gun, concealed not far away. He would get it that night, and put it in the wagon. It was a Martini carbine, given to him by Baas Hardcastle, and in good condition; but he wanted ammunition. This Mr. Blakeney promised to procure for him; and they left the little man at his supper as happy as a king.

Next morning Poeskop turned up at the hotel in good time, as Mr. Blakeney had told him to do. It was after breakfast; and they were talking in front of the place, the three Englishmen asking the little Bushman all sorts of questions as to their route, the kind of country they would pass through, the prospects of game (which Poeskop told them were first-rate), and so forth.

"Poeskop," presently queried Mr. Blakeney, "how long will it take us, trekking steadily and with good oxen (which I have got), to reach the kloof?"

"About six weeks, baas," replied the Bushman. "It is far, and the way is hard."

"I had thought of getting another wagon," continued Mr. Blakeney. "It will be rather a squeeze for myself and the two young masters here to get into one at night. What say you, Poeskop? Can we manage with two easily?"

"Baas," replied the Bushman, "I would not take two wagons, if you can help it. It is a hard trek, and we have to cross a piece of doorst-land [thirst-land], which takes more than a week to get through: two days' and two nights' trek, then water, but not much; then two days and a night without water; then a water-pit; and then three days' and three nights' thirst. It will be hard to get across this with one wagon; much harder with two. If I were the baas, I would take the one wagon only and some spare oxen. We may lose some beasts on the trek from lions, or thirst, or hard work; and it will be safer."

"I'm glad you told me of this, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney. "You are quite right; we will take one wagon only. I can buy a small tent in the town; that will do for the young baases to sleep in, and I can have my kartel [bed-frame] to myself in the wagon. In the daytime the tent can be lashed along the buck-rail."

They discussed many other points connected with the trek, concerning all of which the little Bushman gave them copious information. Suddenly, as he glanced down the sandy street, his countenance changed; he trembled; fear unmistakably seized him.

"Baas," he said, in a hoarse voice, "there comes Karl Engelbrecht; I am afraid!"

"Who is Karl Engelbrecht?" asked Guy; "and why are you afraid?"

"He is the Trek Boer in whose service I used to be," returned the Bushman. "He beat me often with his sjambok, and treated me cruelly; and so I ran away. But I fear him still. He is a bad man-schelm!"

"You need have no fear, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney; "I will look after you. Put on a bold face, and stick to me; I'll see that your friend Engelbrecht plays no tricks upon you. Remember that you are in my service, and that we are in Portuguese and not Boer country."

They watched the two tall figures, on which Poeskop's eyes were fastened, coming up the street. The Bushman whispered that Karl Engelbrecht was the bigger of the two-the man on the right. The Boers-for they were manifestly both Dutchmen-were now close to the hotel. Karl Engelbrecht, of whom Poeskop stood in so much terror, was a typical Boer of Boers-a big, heavy, slouching fellow, six feet in height, powerfully made, very strong, but slack and loose-limbed. He wore the usual Boer clothing-short jacket and loose trousers of moleskin, a flannel shirt, velschoens (field-shoes) of untanned hide, and a big slouch-hat, ornamented with a single short black-and-white ostrich plume. His long hay-coloured hair ran over his ears and partly covered his neck, and he wore a huge untrimmed beard and moustache of the same dull hue. His hard, pale blue eyes were set deep above broad, sunburnt, fleshy cheeks. It was an unpleasant face; something in the lowering brows, the hard, furtive eyes, gave the beholder instantly an unpleasant impression; and about the man's whole demeanour there was an undefinable yet unmistakable air of menace and brutality. The Dutchman accompanying him was of a much milder and less aggressive type-a big, dark-bearded, slouching fellow, of dull and heavy countenance, with nothing much to differentiate him from scores of his fellows of the Transvaal, Orange Free State, and Cape Colony.

As Karl Engelbrecht strode up to the hotel, his eyes suddenly fell upon Poeskop. He started, frowned evilly, glowered at the three white men standing near, and then, taking a step or two forward, seized the Bushman by the collar of his jacket.

"So, my fine fellow, I have caught you, have I?" he said, in a deep guttural and manifestly angry voice. As he spoke, he cuffed the unfortunate Bushman heavily on the head with his huge hand.

Mr. Blakeney was a strong and determined man, and in no mood to stand by and see his servant knocked about. His blood rose instantly at the insolent aggression of this bully.

"Let the man alone!" he said angrily in Dutch, snatching Poeskop away so suddenly and with such force that he freed him from the Boer's grip. "He is my servant!"

Karl Engelbrecht turned instantly upon the Englishman. His face was inflamed with passion, and he struck a heavy blow with his right fist, which, if it had not been parried, would have caught Mr. Blakeney fair in the face. But the latter had been a good boxer in his young days, and had no difficulty in stopping the hit. He was an active man, hard as nails, and in the prime of life, and he was in no mood to take a blow from any man. He retorted by a swift left-hander, which crashed into the middle of the Boer's broad, fleshy face like a kick from a horse. The blood instantly gushed from Engelbrecht's nose. With an oath in Dutch the giant rushed upon his assailant, swinging at him some dangerous right-handers; but Mr. Blakeney, although angry enough, was much too good a general to be overcome in this way. He fought very coolly, parried the round-arm blows, and every now and again planted on the Dutchman's face heavy and telling strokes that quickly told their tale. Pausing to get breath, to spit the blood from his mouth, and to wipe his streaming nose with the back of his hand, the Dutchman once more rushed in to the attack. This time he fought desperately, and Mr. Blakeney had some ado to repel the rush. Changing his tactics, he delivered two or three heavy body-blows, under which the Dutchman winced visibly; the third of these took the Boer's wind, and doubled him up. As his head went forward, the Englishman let drive one vicious upper cut which took Engelbrecht on the point of the jaw and stretched him instantly on the sand. The fight was over.