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Chapter VI.
THE SHADOWERS AND THE SHADOWED

Antonio Minho, at eleven o'clock on the morning on which the Englishmen had quitted Mossamedes, was to be seen with Karl Engelbrecht in the coolest corner of the billiard-room in a well-known canteen in the town, engaged in earnest conversation. The two men had long glasses of cooling drinks in front of them, and looked thoroughly comfortable. Antonio Minho was a Madeira-born Portuguese, who, some six years before, having found that lovely island somewhat too hot to hold him, had made his way to Benguela and thence to Mossamedes. He was a clever rascal, who spoke English and Spanish as well as his own language, and in a year's time had found no difficulty in acquiring a fair knowledge of Boer Dutch. He had many transactions with the Trek Boers, and, having opened a general store, managed to extract from these farmers and hunters of the wilderness a good deal of profit. Karl Engelbrecht was one of his best customers, and the two had done much business together, the bulk of it of an exceedingly doubtful character. Each man had found the other useful to him, and a strong alliance, offensive and defensive, had been struck up between them.

"Well, Karl," said Minho, as he took a pull at his gin tonic and lit a cigar, "I have more news for you."

"What is it, my friend?" asked the Boer, in his thick guttural voice.

"Well, it's this," continued the Portuguese, contemplating the burning end of his cigar. "For several days, as you know, I have made it my business to discover what this Englishman and his two cubs are after. I have, as I told you, opened up communication through my bedroom wall, and by this means have overheard a good deal, as Blakeney has been in the habit of chatting with the boys before they went to bed each evening. Thanks to the two dear cubs, whose thirst for information is inexhaustible, I have managed to discover that they are on the track of some wonderful gold discovery. Poeskop, your Bushman friend, is, I gather, the man who is to lead them into some part of the interior where gold is to be found abundantly."

"Poeskop, my friend, is to do this, is he?" repeated Engelbrecht, with a grim, hoarse laugh. "Poeskop owes me for a good many rubs. Perhaps I may find means to make him repay me. Well, what further? You know I am not much of a believer in gold and gold mines."

"I have discovered something besides," pursued Minho. "Do you remember a man named Hardcastle, an English mining engineer, who was in this country a year or so back?"

"Yes, I do," returned the Boer. "He took on that scoundrel Poeskop after he ran away from me. What of him?"

"He's dead," said the Portuguese, "and one of these two boys is his son. They have from this dead Hardcastle some kind of a clue to a gold field or a gold treasure of some sort, and Poeskop is the man who is to guide them to it. Now, you scoff at gold, and in the ordinary way I should be prepared to scoff too. I have seen and heard of too many frosts in the way of mineral discovery, even in the six years I have been out here. But look at this case! This man, Blakeney, whatever we may think of him" – a snort and an opprobrious expression from Karl Engelbrecht here interrupted the Portuguese's remarks-"whatever we may think of him," he went on, "and I know your opinion is not a flattering one, is no fool. Blakeney, I say, has come out on no other errand than to hunt up this treasure. Hardcastle was, I gather, himself hot upon the scent of the gold, and he was not a man likely to run about on a fool's errand. I knew him, and he was a shrewd fellow. Poeskop seems to be the backbone or mainspring of the whole thing. As far as I can make out, he, and he only, is the man who knows where the gold is."

"Then," broke in Engelbrecht, "all we have to do is to kidnap Poeskop, squeeze his secret out of him-a matter easy enough away out on the veldt-and rake in the plunder. There will be no difficulty in surprising the camp at any time, and the rest is easy enough."

"Steady, my friend," said Minho. "You go too fast. This Englishman, as far as I can make out, is a good veldt man, and not likely to be hustled out of his secret in this easy way. And Poeskop, as you yourself know very well, is as cunning a little piece of vermin as ever crawled on two legs. He'll not be easily squeezed or caught either. I've had my eye on Poeskop for a long time, thinking to make use of him; and I should have done so already if that man Hardcastle had not turned up, and you, I may add, had not been so unwise as to quarrel with a clever servant. Why, Poeskop is worth all the rest of your 'boys' put together."

"Well, if my plan doesn't suit you, what do you propose?" asked the Boer gruffly. Engelbrecht, as the result of much experience, had acquired a good deal of respect for the crafty and resourceful mind of his Portuguese ally; he recognized that the affair they were now engaged on was something out of the ordinary run of things, and he was prepared to listen to his advice.

"My plan," said Minho, a smile of oily cunning illuminating his fat, yellow face, "is a somewhat different one. I think it would be very unwise to attempt to seize Poeskop before he has shown where the treasure is. If, as I hope and firmly believe, there is gold where they are making for, let us wait. Let us shadow them in their wanderings, and when they have laid hands upon the treasure, we shall find some means of making them part with it, even if" – and he smiled grimly at the thought that rose before him-"we have to use some of your strong measures to make them do so."

Karl Engelbrecht's right hand dived into his jacket pocket, from which he took a handful of Boer tobacco and filled his pipe. A hideous grin expanded over his broad face and illumined very unpleasantly his pale blue eyes.

"Ja!" he said, contemplatively. "That is a good idea of yours, Antonio. We will shadow them, and see them to their treasure ground. Then-well, we shall see what we shall see." The evil grin grew yet broader, and the Boer burst into a shout of laughter. "Ah!" he said, "I have two long accounts to settle; one with that schepsel Poeskop, the other with this Englishman. I shall not rest content, day or night, till I am even, and more than even, with them. But," he continued in a graver tone, "are you sure, Antonio, that these men are on the track of gold? What if the whole thing is a fool's errand, and the Bushman is deceiving them?"

"Trust to me, Karl, in this affair," returned the Portuguese; "I know what I am about, and I have heard enough to convince me that this thing is genuine. I want a change. I have been too long in Mossamedes, and I will come with you myself. We can take a wagon with a light load of trading stuff, and do some business. I have a lot of Hamburg gin, which I must work off somewhere. But we shall have to be very careful, so that the Englishmen have no suspicion that we are on their spoor."

"Ja," added Engelbrecht, emptying his glass. "We will keep at least two days' trek behind them. I will have a man or two out in front of us, keeping an eye on them. My Hottentot, Stuurman, is a capital fellow for a business like this. I will pack him off on a horse to-day with some provisions. He can follow the party up, and let us know their movements. At present they are taking the Humpata road-that much I have ascertained. We will get our things together, and start in a day and a half's time. That will be time enough."

"Right you are, Karl," added Minho. "I will be ready in twenty-four hours' time. Send your wagon round to my place, and I'll load up two or three thousand pounds weight of trading stuff. We must leave room for our kartels. Now, let us have one more drink, and be off." The two ruffians drank to the success of their precious conspiracy, and separated.

The English trekkers had negotiated, after considerable difficulty, the great mountain range that lay in front of them. There was some kind of a track, but it lay through wild ravines littered with boulders and overgrown with thorn bush and low timber, and it took them a long day and a half of severe labour before they had accomplished the passage and emerged upon the open country beyond.

The whole camp-oxen, horses, and men-enjoyed a long rest that afternoon, and after a good night's sleep all were refreshed and cheerful upon the following morning. They were up as the sun rose, and after ablutions in a bucket of water, Mr. Blakeney and the two lads sat down to an excellent breakfast of klipspringer chops and fry-Tom had shot one of these little mountain buck on the previous day-with keen appetites. Good coffee and a tin of marmalade rounded off an ample meal. Each of them had a little squat wagon chair, such as the Boers carry on their travels. The frames were made of the tough wood of the kameeldoorn(giraffe-acacia), and the seats consisted of thongs of raw hide. These folded up, and were stowed under the wagon while they trekked. A small folding table did duty for all three of them.

"Now, lads," said Mr. Blakeney, as, having filled and lit his pipe, he stood up and looked over the country in front of them, "Poeskop says that we shall find plenty of game out here. I believe we shall. It looks all over like a game veldt. We may see giraffe, buffalo, eland, blue wildebeest, roan antelope, zebra, lion, leopard, and wart-hog at any time. It's beautiful veldt. It reminds me of part of Khama's Country and Mashonaland. I only hope the game will be as plentiful as it used to be there twenty years ago, when I was a lad a year or two older than you are now, Guy."

And, indeed, the scene was very fair. They stood on the lower slopes of the mountain range through which Poeskop had shown them a path. For some miles in front open forest of giraffe-acacia lay before them. Beyond this stretched a vast plain of grass, here and there dotted with a clump or two of trees or a patch of bush. Through the centre of this great yellow plain ran a dark-green ribbon of thorn bush, indicating the bed of a stream. Far away in the dim distance rested, blue on the horizon, another chain of mountains.

"It's perfectly splendid," exclaimed Tom enthusiastically. "Father, I'll get your stalking-glass."

The boy climbed up into the wagon and took down from a hook at the side a leather case, from which he drew one of Ross's telescopes. Seating himself on the ground, he adjusted the focus and gazed over the plain.

"There's game out there on the flat!" he cried. "I can see clumps here and there. What do you make them out to be, father?"

His father took the glass, and indulged in a prolonged survey.

"I take most of those clumps to be blue wildebeest and quacha," he said presently. "When I say 'quacha,' Guy," he added, "I don't mean the old Cape Colony, half-striped quagga, which is now quite extinct, but Burchell's zebra, which the Boers and up-country hunters still always insist on calling quacha. As a matter of fact, the old Dutch hunters called the true quagga 'quacha,' and Burchell's zebra 'bonte quacha,' which latter means 'striped quacha.' Quacha, by the way, is an old Hottentot word, taken from the neighing call of the animal, which has been corrupted to our English quagga. Well, now, I think I see some other kinds of game, probably eland, hartebeest, or tsesseby-what the Boers call bastard hartebeest-and, I fancy, ostriches. We'll trek in an hour. The wagon will move along across the plain. Meanwhile we'll saddle our best ponies, and see if we can't find a troop of roan antelope or giraffe as we ride through the forest. We'll go ahead of the wagon. Jan Kokerboom knows the route, straight across the plain for the mountain yonder in the distance. Poeskop can come with us and help spoor. Hi! Poeskop!" he called out.

The little Bushman came up.

"Ja, baas!" he said, his eyes twinkling with pleasure.

"We shall go in front of the wagon, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney, "and you can come with us. Take the bay pony, Rooibok; he'll carry you very well. And mind, if we find kameel [giraffe] you are not to shoot; at all events, until the young baases have each had a fair chance. I want them to shoot a kameel apiece. When they have done that, you and I can join in. Shall we find kameel, think you?"

"Ik denk so, baas," answered the Bushman. "I have been out since sun-up in the forest yonder, and I have seen spoor of kameel and rhinoster."

"Splendid," said Guy. "Now let's saddle up and be off."

They soon had their ponies ready, and, strapping on their bandoliers, fastened their spurs, took down their rifles from the wagon hooks, mounted, and rode down the hill.

"Now, boys," said Mr. Blakeney, "I want you to remember two things. If we find giraffe-kameel, as the up-country hunters all call them-we must try and drive them out on to the plain in front. Then we can run them down fairly comfortably. You must ride hard at first. Don't be afraid of using sjambok and spur. Try and push the giraffe beyond their speed, and they are yours. Ride right up to the stern of the beasts and put in your shots as you gallop, as near as possible to the root of the tail. Your bullets will penetrate the giraffe's short body, and you'll bring him down. You, Guy, take the biggest one of the troop. Follow him as hard as you can split, and stick to him till you get him. Blinkbonny, your pony, is a real good one, and knows what to do. You, Tom, take the next biggest, which will be, probably, a tall cow, and run her down. Now we'll get on. No talking, except in the merest whisper. Spread out, and keep an eye on Poeskop. You can't mistake giraffe spoor. It's like the huge, elongated footprint of a colossal ox, if you can imagine such a thing."

They rode into the forest and, spreading out a few paces apart, followed the lead of the Bushman, who, mounted on an upstanding pony of fourteen hands three inches, looked an odd little figure. On they went in silence for half an hour, Poeskop pointing here and there to spoor as they passed it. A big troop of lovely red pallah swept across their front, the graceful antelopes bounding into the air as they shot past. Numbers of guinea-fowl were to be seen moving hither and thither, busily engaged in digging up the bulbs on which they feed. An hour had passed. They had sighted koodoo, and let them go unscathed, hoping for heavier game. Some tracks of buffalo had been crossed. But they were now hot upon the spoor of a good troop of giraffe. The boys noted with the keenest interest the huge, slipper-like impression left in the red sand. Here some of the troop had browsed round a giraffe-acacia; the scraping of their fore feet, as they had stretched themselves to their fullest capacity to seize some tempting morsel of foliage, was plainly apparent in the tell-tale sand. Poeskop, mounted as he was, described the operation in dumb show, with all the dramatic ability of his race.

Suddenly he drew rein and lifted a warning hand. Then pointing through a wide, open glade in the forest, he glared intently. His audience stared hard, and saw nothing stir for a full half-minute. Then something which they had mistaken for the trunk of a tree moved, and they saw instantly that it was a giraffe.

"Go on," whispered Mr. Blakeney; "ride for the right hand. Push them out in the open." They walked their horses forward, and then, on clearing a patch of timber, an amazing and most wonderful sight was before them. A hundred and fifty yards away, gathered round three or four spreading trees of the giraffe-acacia species, stood a troop of more than twenty tall giraffes. Most of the animals were browsing contentedly at the green leafage; some few stood with necks stretched out at an angle of forty-five degrees, quietly chewing the cud and apparently half asleep. The troop varied much in colour. A huge, old, mahogany-coloured bull, so dark as to appear almost black upon his back and shoulders, towered above the rest. Several fine cows of a rich orange-tawny colour stood next. Then came young cows, a young bull or two, and some stilty, half-grown calves, all varying in colour from orange-tawny and rufous-tan to a pale yellowish buff.

All this the hunters took in instantly; then, setting spurs to their ponies, they sprang forward in the chase. There was a strange, confused movement of tall heads and necks among the startled giraffe, and then the troop, having swung round their heads and noted the danger that menaced them, strode off at a curious, gliding shuffle. The hunters cantered, but their canter made but little impression. The shuffling walk of a giraffe is, as a matter of fact, far faster than any one unacquainted with these animals could imagine.

"Gallop hard, boys," shouted Mr. Blakeney excitedly, "or they will get away from us."

Following his example, the two lads now put spurs to their ponies and galloped in right earnest. Even in this open forest the chase was by no means an easy one. Guy, being the best mounted, pressed ahead, and, passing his uncle, rode for the great dark bull, which was lunging along at the head of the troop, evidently trying to sheer right-handed for the deeper parts of the forest. But Guy's blood was now up, and, pressing his good pony yet more, he galloped faster than the flying giants. The troop swung across an open glade, and, as they strode along like tall, dappled spectres, it seemed to Guy that he must surely be gazing upon some long-forgotten pageant of the earth's primeval past. These extraordinary creatures could surely scarce belong to this modern world! The whole thing seemed almost unreal. Still he galloped on, and presently achieved his purpose. The big bull, seeing that he was foiled in his attempt to plunge deeper into the forest, sheered left-handed and increased his pace. The troop began to string out, the calves and younger animals falling behind. Guy was riding, like his uncle and cousin, in his flannel shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. It was a warm morning, and their coats were as usual strapped to their saddle-bows.

On they went, through thorn jungle, over fallen timber, dodging tree trunks. Now the big bull tacked round a tree with the deftness of a well-handled yacht. Now a tall cow bent her swan-like neck and ducked marvellously under the spreading branches of an acacia. Guy felt many a scratch and stab as his excited pony plunged through the thorny brakes. In a patch of haak-doorn, through which they forced a passage, his left stirrup-leather and stirrup were ripped clean from the saddle. He lost his hat. These were mere nothings in the heat of a chase such as this, and he galloped on. At last they were clearing the forest. Now they were on the grass, with nothing but wide, open plain in front of them. Barring falls, that big bull must surely soon be his. The great giraffe was now running apart from the rest of the troop, going great guns, and manifestly thinking only of the safety of his own skin. The smooth, long, shuffling walk had been long since exchanged for a strange rocking gallop, in which the hind legs were straddled widely, and the long neck swung up and down in a rhythmic motion, which reminded Guy of a gigantic pendulum. Meanwhile the long black tail, screwed oddly up, was executing wild and fantastic flourishes. The chase swept headlong over the pale yellow grass plain. A mile and more had been accomplished since they quitted the timber. The great bull was running well, but Guy noted with a sense of exultation that he was now no more than eighty yards ahead. Another mile slipped by. The bull was tiring; he was now no more than sixty yards ahead. Guy shook up his pony and gave him just one firm touch of the spur. The gallant beast answered by a wonderful and prolonged spurt, which carried his rider to within twenty yards of that great dappled figure, rocking and swaying, like some tall ship on an uneasy sea, in front of them. One more touch of the spur and Guy was within eight paces of the giant's tail. Dropping his reins, he raised his rifle and fired. The heavy Martini bullet struck the giraffe fair, close to the root of the tail, and the great beast staggered to the shot. Still it pressed on. Guy instantly reloaded, and, taking aim as well as the motion of his pony would allow him, fired again. This time his bullet raked the giant's heart. Guy saw that its end had come, and galloped wide to the left. The bull faltered in his stride, staggered, strode on again, again staggered, and then with a crash that literally shook the earth fell to rise no more. The mighty limbs kicked twice or thrice, once the long neck was raised, then a shiver passed over the dappled frame, and the beast was dead.

Guy leapt from his reeking pony and, wild with excitement, turned to wave his rifle to the rest of the party. A quarter of a mile away on the left he saw Tom and his father riding close up to the rear of the main troop, which now contained about twelve giraffes. In a matter of a hundred yards Tom was right up behind a big cow. He fired, and the cow, turning away from her fellows, stood. Tom jumped off and finished her. Meanwhile Mr. Blakeney, having seen Tom bring his chase to a standstill, was himself galloping hard to make up leeway. He was soon up behind another tall cow, and she too went down. Three giraffes in the space of five minutes! Guy shouted congratulations to his fellow sportsmen, and turned to attend to his prize.

It was a magnificent beast, indeed, that lay before him. As Guy examined it, handled it carefully, almost lovingly, he realized the mighty proportions of the creature. His fingers could make no impression on the thick, tense skin of the back and ribs and neck. Almost the mighty beast seemed to be enveloped in a mantle of bronze. Presently Mr. Blakeney, having picked up Tom, rode up.

"Well done, my lad," he said. "You've got the finest camel of the troop. A tremendous old fellow. Let me tape him. I never saw a bigger."

The tape measure was carefully and scientifically applied.

"Eighteen feet nine, from hoof to tip of false horns! That's a great measurement," said Mr. Blakeney. "You seldom hear of a better. Only once or twice in five years of knocking about in the interior have I heard of giraffe of nineteen feet."