Читать книгу: «The Gold Kloof», страница 9

Chapter IX.
IN THE THIRST-LAND

"Baas," said Poeskop, on the evening of that day, as his masters sat together as usual at their cheery camp fire, "I saw something this morning which I didn't understand. I don't like it."

"What was it, Poeskop?" said Mr. Blakeney, looking with an amused smile at the Bushman's serious face, puckered just now into innumerable wrinkles.

"Well, my baas," returned Poeskop, "it was this. When I first went out this morning, at sun-up, to start cutting out the rest of the teeth, I found the spoor of some one who had been prowling round our camp and looking at all our elephants."

"Only some wandering native, I suppose," said Mr. Blakeney. "It's quite natural. This is a very thinly inhabited country, but there must be some tribe or other in the neighbourhood, even if they were only Bushmen or Berg Damaras. There's no harm in that, if they take nothing; and the ivory is all right, anyhow."

"Nay, baas," replied Poeskop, "it's not a kaal[naked] Kaffir. There are no natives within forty miles of us. What I did find was spoor of a man wearing velschoen. He's not a white man, but a Hottentot or Griqua. I don't like it, baas. There is some one spying upon us."

Mr. Blakeney knit his brows and thought. He was a little disturbed at Poeskop's intelligence; but after all they were a strong party, whom few would care to attack. And besides, who wanted to attack them? Then somehow the figure of Karl Engelbrecht rose before his mind's eye.

"What's your mind running on, Poeskop?" he queried. "A Dutchman?"

"Ja, baas," said the little man sententiously. "It is just that."

"And the Dutchman is Karl Engelbrecht?" he queried again.

"Ja, baas," said the Bushman quietly. "It is Karl Engelbrecht."

Mr. Blakeney thought a good deal over this circumstance, and determined for the future to keep a sharper lookout. Hitherto, although they were now in the lion veldt, it had not been deemed necessary to keep a watch at night. It is not the custom to do so. So long as fires are maintained, and some one awakes periodically to keep them supplied with wood, it is thought sufficient, and the whole camp is usually to be found wrapped in slumber. Hunters sleep light, and arms are always at hand; and the presence of a marauding lion or leopard, or any other member of the Carnivora, is soon announced by the savage barking of the wagon dogs, or by a disturbance among the oxen and horses.

For the future some one of the party was awake during the long night hours. All took their turns, and the guard was changed thrice during the time of darkness. So much Mr. Blakeney conceded to Poeskop's alarm and his own suspicions.

For the next few days, after the completion of the elephant hunt, they trekked through beautiful forest country, much of it adorned with wide and open grass glades, reminding the boys very much of an English deer park. They saw an immense quantity of elephant spoor, and several troops of the beasts themselves, but they were now anxious to press on; they had no room in the wagon for more ivory, and it was therefore decided to hunt the great pachyderms no more for the present. If they could not carry the ivory, it would be criminal waste of life to shoot the beasts that bore that precious commodity. And so they moved forward steadily on their way, determined, if by chance they returned by that route, to have at least one more good day of hunting. They had cleared the forest region, and had now entered upon a piece of thirst-land, which, as Poeskop informed them, would take three long days and three nights of travel to negotiate. Not a drop of surface water lay along this stretch of desert, and it would be tough work to get the oxen through without loss of life.

On the second morning of the long thirst, after trekking great part of the night through heavy sand, the two boys and Mr. Blakeney were sitting at breakfast. Seleti and Mangwalaan, who had been herding the oxen while they fed, presently came in with their charges, and the order was given to inspan. Seleti brought news that a big troop of eland had been feeding close to the camp during the night. They had not gone by very long. Would the baases not like to hunt? Eland meat-here the Bechuana's eyes sparkled-was very good; better than elephant, better even than giraffe. The two lads were at once on their feet.

"Pater, we haven't shot eland, either of us," cried Tom eagerly. "May we go? We shall probably be gone no more than an hour, and we can soon pick up the wagon."

"Very well," said Mr. Blakeney. "Be off, and shoot a couple of eland if you like. Shoot cows for preference. We want some good meat, so bring in as much flesh as your ponies can carry. You had better take Poeskop with you, Guy; you're not yet a practised veldt man like Tom, and I wouldn't like you to get lost in this thirst-land. Tom can pick out spoor and knows his whereabouts, and can always hit off the wagon-trail and find his way, if you get separated."

"All right, uncle," said Guy. "We shall be back soon. Good-bye."

The lads took their rifles and bandoliers, saddled their ponies quickly, and were in such a hurry to be gone, believing the eland to be quite close, that they took with them neither coats nor water-bottles, but just rode gaily off, calling to Poeskop, who was still saddling his pony, to follow them. Seleti had given them the direction in which the elands had been grazing, and it was not very long before they had found traces of the animals they sought.

"That must be eland spoor," said Tom, pointing to a quantity of footprints, which showed that a large herd had gone by. "I never saw it before, but there's no mistaking it. It looks something like a buffalo spoor, or, better still, that of Alderney cattle."

Just then Poeskop, who had heard Tom's remark, rode up.

"Ja, baas," he said. "That is eland spoor right enough. It is a big troop, seventy or eighty at least. Something has startled them: they are running."

"That's a nuisance," rejoined Tom. "We may have to ride farther than we thought."

"Never mind," added Guy. "Once we get up to them, we shall soon run them down. At least, all the books I have ever read on African sport speak of eland as being very easily ridden in to."

They moved rapidly on the spoor, now walking their horses at a brisk pace; but the troop had, by some means or other, been thoroughly alarmed, and had trotted ahead of them, without halting, for miles, bent manifestly on seeking more secluded pastures. It was not until twelve o'clock, after a short off-saddle to rest their nags, that the hunters came up with them. They were riding through a thickish belt of mopani forest, a tree which grows as a rule in light, gray, tufaceous soil, and abounds in "thirst" country. Suddenly Guy whispered to his companions, -

"Look! these must be elands."

Tom and Poeskop turned their heads quickly, and saw, through the trees on the right, some two hundred yards ahead, a number of big, fawn-coloured forms disappearing into the woodland.

"Ja, those are elands, baas," answered Poeskop. "They are running; we must hartloup."

They put spurs to their willing nags and dashed after the game. Clearing the thicker part of the forest, they emerged into much more open country, where for the first time they obtained a fair view of the noble herd of game in front of them. It was a goodly sight indeed. Nearly a hundred great elands, the biggest of them enormous creatures, heavier and fatter than a heavy ox in the prime of condition, were trotting along briskly in front of them. The eland seldom runs at a gallop until very hard pressed; but the fine, slinging trot at which the great antelopes moved was fast enough to keep the hunters at a steady canter to hold them in view. Seven or eight enormous bulls ran with the herd-huge, ponderous fellows, with coats of pale fawn, heavy dewlaps, massive horns twisted at the base, and dark-brown patches of thick, brush-like hair growing in the middle of their foreheads. Some fine young bulls, many splendid cows, and numbers of younger animals, completed the company. As Guy and Tom cantered side by side, watching this entrancing spectacle with the keenest interest, Tom exclaimed, -

"What magnificent fellows! We must get a bull as well as the two cows the pater spoke of. I shall bear to the left; the troop seems to me to be splitting up. You take those on the right hand, Guy. Now we must gallop hard."

It was even as Tom had said. Entering more woodland half a mile farther on, the troop had definitely broken up into two big sections. Tom, galloping as hard as the mopani growth would allow him, was rapidly closing up with the hindmost of the left-hand section. In another mile they had once more entered on a stretch of nearly open grass veldt. Here Tom set his pony going in earnest. He was quickly up to the tail of a magnificent old bull, upon which he had fixed his attention. The great antelope was in far too high condition to stand a prolonged chase. So fat, so plethoric was he, that he was now practically at the end of his tether. From the slinging trot he had relapsed to a heavy gallop; his sleek, short-haired, buff coat was moist with sweat, showing the bluish skin beneath; clots of foam dripped from his mouth, and strung out over his mighty neck and shoulders.

Tom saw that the bull was his. His eyes rested upon those magnificent horns. Firing from the saddle, he gave the bull two bullets at very close range: the first penetrated the antelope's ribs, but did not stop him; the second broke his off fore-leg at the shoulder, and the great beast came down instantly in his tracks, as if struck by a pole-axe. Never again would the goodly antelope wander through the mopani forest, or graze peacefully over the grass plains. Tom jumped off instantly, gave the bull another shot, which put him out of his suffering, cast an admiring look at the splendid horns, and jumped on his pony again. Galloping along the spoor of a few of the retreating herd, which he was easily able to follow, in ten minutes he was within hail of the nearest of the troop. Now he singled out a fine cow, carrying a remarkably long and even pair of horns, and turning her from the rest galloped hard at her. In two miles the cow was beaten, and Tom, having raced past her, jumped off, and as she came by gave her a shot behind the shoulder which instantly stretched her dead. The eland is the softest and most easily slain of all African beasts of chase, and, unlike most of the antelope family, which are astonishingly tenacious of life, will often fall dead to a single well-planted bullet. Feeling mightily content, the lad examined his prize, handled the long, even horns, noted the fine basal twist, put his knife into the dead beast's loin and saw that she was very fat, and turned to knee-halter his pony.

To his astonishment Rufus, who had been plucking a few mouthfuls of grass, suddenly threw up his head and trotted off. Tom called to him in his most coaxing voice, but in vain; the pony, seeing that he was followed, broke from a trot to a smart canter, and presently, entering some thick woodland, became lost to sight. Tom blamed himself bitterly for his neglect in not having thrown the reins as usual over the pony's head, so as to hang down in front of its fore-legs. This is an invariable South African custom, which all ponies understand and obey. Tom had been so desperately intent on shooting and putting an end to the eland that he had for once omitted the act. He had ridden Rufus many times out bird-shooting, but had never hunted heavy game with him before. Why the pony should thus have bolted off, however, he could not imagine.

Tom was now in something of a quandary. Should he follow the pony, or turn to and skin the eland? He decided for the latter. He could then spoor up the pony, capture it, bring it back for the meat, and go on for the horns of the bull eland. He would never return to the wagon without those magnificent trophies, which he pictured to himself lying in the veldt a few miles away. It was now one o'clock; Tom had a very respectable thirst already upon him. Most foolishly, as he now remembered, he and Guy had ridden away from camp without their water-bottles-an act of folly of which, as Tom confessed to himself, he at all events ought never to have been guilty. Well, there was nothing for it; he must skin the eland, cut up some meat, and probably by that time the other two would have returned in search of him. He had heard their rifles going. No doubt they had killed a cow, and would be soon on their way again. If they and he should chance not to meet, he must go in search of his pony, and somehow find his way back to the wagon.

Thus turning matters over in his mind, Tom drew his hunting-knife from his belt, and, having first fired a couple of shots to try and attract his comrades, began to skin the eland.

Meanwhile, Guy and Poeskop had ridden away on the heels of the herd of eland which had run right-handed. After a stiffish three-mile gallop, Guy had ridden up to the finest cow he could pick out, and with two bullets from his Mannlicher brought her down. During the run up he was somewhat astounded at the agility shown by these great antelopes; the bulls, it is true, pushed steadily on at a fast trot, but some of the cows jumped timber and bush in a style that would have done credit to a red deer. And the cow he had shot had, in her anxiety to escape, bucked clean over the stern of an animal running by her side.

Poeskop and Guy, who were still together, now set to work to skin the dead antelope. This they accomplished. Then cutting off the head, Poeskop set aside that part of the trophy, which Guy meant to carry himself, intending to skin the skull itself at his leisure after their return to camp. Next the Bushman cut off a quantity of the best part of the flesh, especially from the rump, loins, and brisket, and packing these, with a couple of marrow bones, carefully on the pony he rode, they prepared to set off. It was now two o'clock. Like Tom, they had set off hastily from camp without either food or water, and were already both hungry and thirsty. Guy, in particular, would have given a good deal for a pull at some lime juice and water or cold tea. The Bushman led the way; Guy, carrying the eland head in front of him, balanced on the pommel of his saddle, followed.

Poeskop struck for where he believed he would hit off the spoor of the wagon as it trekked forward on its route. But he had not quite reckoned upon the distance they had traversed that morning in pursuit of the elands, and at four o'clock they halted to rest their nags and take reckoning. The whole country seemed to Guy absolutely alike-a vast flat, covered for the most part with bush and thin forest, with here and there a small grass plain to vary the monotony. Far above them, the huge vacancy of the hot, brassy sky loomed unutterably vast.

The Bushman looked about him with a puzzled expression. Even he, in this wilderness where every object seemed to be repeated interminably, and not a hill, or swelling of the ground, or any kind of landmark, arose to offer guidance to the traveller, seemed for a few minutes to be at fault.

"Hallo, Poeskop!" said Guy wearily. "Have you lost your way? I hope not. I've got a thirst on me that I would give a sovereign to quench."

"Nie, baas," said the Bushman cheerfully. "We have not lost our way yet. I shall soon show you the wagon spoor."

And, in truth, the little wizened fellow was not many seconds at fault. To Guy, as the little man looked this way and that, searched the sky, squinted at the westering sun, and opened his broad nostrils to the faint breeze that was now beginning to move over the parched veldt, it seemed almost as if Poeskop was smelling his way. At all events, his savage instinct quickly reasserted itself. Touching his pony by the heel, he went resolutely forward. For another hour and a half they marched on in silence. The veldt seemed very desolate and very sombre. A few small antelopes fled away from their approach; these were steinbuck and duyker, which exist apparently as readily without water as with it. The sun sank below the skyline, leaving the flaming heavens arrayed in a marvellous glow of radiant colouring; the light quickly faded.

"Poeskop," said Guy at last, "we shall have to camp out for the night. It's a bad job. I don't know what we shall do without water."

Scarcely had the words left his mouth when the Bushman pointed to the sand a few yards in front of them, and said quietly, -

"There's the wagon spoor, baas."

And so, indeed, it was. They rode on in the darkness for something more than three hours longer. Guy, who suffered much from thirst, and began to ache all over from the effects of fourteen hours in the saddle, the weight of his rifle, and the added labour of supporting the eland head in front of him, began to wonder if he could stick it out much longer. At last, towards nine o'clock, they saw, twinkling cheerily in the distance, the light of a fire. It was the camp fire. Their trouble was instantly at an end; Guy's aches and pains vanished; they cantered briskly forward, and in ten minutes were at the wagon.

"Hullo!" cried Mr. Blakeney cheerily, as they rode up; "so you've turned up at last. Who is there?"

"Poeskop and I, uncle," said Guy. "Hasn't Tom turned up yet?"

"Not yet," said Mr. Blakeney, without a trace of anxiety; "but he'll be here presently, no doubt. How do you feel? Dry?"

"Dry isn't the word for it, uncle," said Guy. "I never knew what thirst was until to-day; not even when I got lost at Bamborough, hunting hartebeest. I would have given £5 willingly for a glass of water in the last hour or two."

"Well, you were a pair of silly fellows to go tearing off without your water-bottles and without food; and when I heard of it afterwards, I knew you would suffer for it. Now have a drink, lad. Here, Seleti, fetch the baas some water."

Seleti brought water from one of the barrels, and, lukewarm, muddy, and ill-tasted as was the stuff, to Guy it seemed the veriest nectar he had ever tasted. Then the Bushman drank.

"Now, Guy," said his uncle, "I wouldn't drink much of that muddy stuff. Have a bowl of tea; it will quench your thirst far better, and pull you together."

Guy took his uncle's advice, and felt all the better for it. Then he ate some supper. They sat by the fire till 11 o'clock, expecting Tom to ride up at any moment; but no Tom appeared. They were in the middle of a dangerous piece of thirst country, and it was absolutely essential that the oxen and wagon should trek on. The cattle had already endured two days and nights without touching water; they must reach the river-bed in front of them within the next twenty-four hours, or die. Enough water had been carried in the wagon-barrels to supply human necessities and give a scant drink to the horses hitherto, but that was drawing to an end, and the horses must push on also.

Leaving the wagon to go forward, and retaining with them three of the freshest horses, some food, and full water-bottles, Mr. Blakeney, Guy, and Mangwalaan stayed behind at the fire waiting for the return of Tom. Poeskop had now to accompany the wagon and show the way to water. Dawn came round, but still Tom tarried. Mr. Blakeney began now to betray some anxiety. He knew that his boy had no water with him, and he knew that two days and nights of thirst in such a veldt constituted a very real danger.

They cantered back to their camp of the previous morning and took the spoor of the three hunters, hoping in that way to trace the wanderings of the lost lad. Mangwalaan was a splendid tracker, as good almost as Poeskop himself; but even to Mangwalaan that inhospitable wilderness refused to yield up its secret. Troops of eland and gemsbuck had wandered about the country meanwhile, obliterating all traces of the hunter's devious wanderings; and after searching throughout the long and hot day, the three camped out in that desolate wilderness, dead tired, disheartened, and, in the case of two of them, with the foreboding of some nameless calamity weighing upon their spirits. They lit a fire, and almost in silence ate some food and drank a portion of the little lime juice and water that remained to them. Then Guy dozed off-he could keep awake no longer-and he and Mangwalaan slept.

He was awakened just before the dawn by the touch of his uncle's hand. Starting up, he looked into Mr. Blakeney's face, and was horrified at the change that had come over him. He looked ten years older, drawn, gray, and haggard. He had, in fact, been awake all night, in a state of intense nervous anxiety about his son.

"My lad," he said in a hoarse voice, "we must saddle up and be off again. The nags are tired, but they will stand up for a day longer. I pray God all may yet be well; but I fear-yes, I fear this hateful, waterless desert. It is a danger far worse than the worst lion veldt, or the most treacherous natives. I would to God I had never let you two lads go hunting till we had crossed it."

For the greater part of that day they continued the search, which, to Guy's sinking heart, seemed to become more and more hopeless. Occasionally they would fire a shot and listen, but, alas! no answering shot returned. It was pitiful to watch his uncle's restless anxiety, his feverish haste. Towards one o'clock it became apparent that their own horses were already jaded. They were now near the wagon spoor again, and, with the view of reaching water and obtaining fresh mounts, they rode, at the best pace their ponies could manage, on the track. At half-past five o'clock they had reached the outspan and water. Poeskop came forward with an anxious face.

"Is Baas Tom here?" demanded Mr. Blakeney, in a hard, dry voice.

"Nie, baas," came the answer shakily. "He is not here. But his pony came in alone, and very done up, two hours since."

"O God!" groaned Mr. Blakeney, in a despairing tone, "what is to be done?"

It was a blow sufficient to daunt the stoutest heart. Tom had now, as his father well knew and understood, been wandering for two days and a night without water. He was a tough and a strong, and above all a courageous lad, but in this land of thirst even the strongest man can scarcely expect to hold out for more than three days and nights under such conditions. That was a miserable night indeed. Nothing could be done; but two parties were to be out on the search again at daybreak next morning.