Off to the Wilds Part 7

"Threw you? Nonsense, boy! He set his fore feet in an ant-bear hole, and turned a complete somersault. We were afraid that he had rolled upon you."

"Then a good rider couldn't have helped it, father?"

"Helped it? No, my boy."

"Oh, I feel better now," said Jack, laughing; and, limping up to his horse, he patted its neck and remounted, though not without difficulty.

"Where's the bok, Chicory?"

Chicory pointed to where they were, nearly a mile away, and looking exceedingly small, but quite clear in the bright African atmosphere; and without a word he set off again.

"Ought he to go, father?" said d.i.c.k.

"Yes, my boy. He is not much hurt, and it will be a lesson to both him and his horse. I am glad to see that he has so much spirit."

A short chuckle close by made Mr Rogers turn his head, and he saw that the Zulu understood his words, and was smiling approval.

"Brave boy! Make big hunter warrior, some day," said the Zulu.

"Boss d.i.c.k big brave hunter too," cried Coffee indignantly, as he went and laid a hand upon the neck of d.i.c.k's horse. "Boss d.i.c.k go shoot bok?"

"Not now, Coffee," replied d.i.c.k, smiling; and then the little group remained watching Jack, who was in full chase of the springbok, which, as he came nearer, began to skip and bound and gambol together, leaping over each other's backs, but all the time watching the coming enemy.

It was an exciting time for Jack, and in it he forgot the pain in his shoulder and the stiffness of his leg. He had the rifle-barrel ready c.o.c.ked, and his feet out of the stirrups, and at last, when he had galloped up to within a couple of hundred yards, he saw such evident preparations for flight on the part of the little bok, that he leaped down, dropped upon one knee, and fired straight at the flying herd.

Before the smoke had risen he had another cartridge in the rifle, and fired again. Once more he threw open the breech and loaded--and fired, though by this time the bok were seven or eight hundred yards away. But in spite of the care in the aim taken, no bok fell struggling to the ground, and Jack rode back slowly to join his father, wondering whether the bore of his rifle was true, for he knew, he said to himself, that he had aimed straight.

When he hinted at the possibility of the rifle being in fault, his father smiled, and d.i.c.k gave him so comical a look that Jack said no more, but rode on silently by the side of the waggon, till, seeing his disappointment, his father joined him.

"Why, you foolish boy," he exclaimed, "it was not likely that you would hit one of those flying bok. It is a matter of long practice; and even the Boers, who have studied such shooting for years, often miss."

"But you see, father, I did make such a dreadful mess of it," pleaded Jack. "I came off my horse; and then I shot over and over again, and missed. I can't help feeling what a muddle I made."

"Well, for my part," said his father, "I am rather glad that you failed.

If you had succeeded, my boy, without effort at the first trial, it would have made you careless. These failures will teach you the necessity for using care, and trying to perfect yourself as a marksman."

"But there'll be no bok for dinner," said Jack ruefully.

"Never mind," replied Mr Rogers. "I daresay the boys will bring in something."

He was right, for Coffee and Chicory brought in six great plain partridges, which they had knocked down with their kiris, and these were roasted at the midday meal, and eaten with the appet.i.te found in the desert.

As the day wore on, and after the refreshed oxen were once more doing their duty, the effects of the last night's scare began to show itself, Peter, Dirk, and Dinny declaring that they had seen lions creeping after the waggon in the distance, ready to pounce upon the oxen as soon as it was dark.

Dirk reported this to Mr Rogers, who gave them all a good, talking to about their cowardice.

"Why, look at these Zulu boys," he cried; "they don't show any fear, while you grown men are almost as bad as children."

"Sure, sor, an' the Zulu boys don't know any better," said Dinny.

"They're little better than the bastes themselves."

"Well, there are my own boys," exclaimed Mr Rogers. "They are not afraid. I wonder at you, Dinny, an Irishman, and to set such a bad example to these blacks."

"And is it afraid?" said Dinny. "Not a bit of it. I'm not a bit afraid at all; but I can't help thinking of what my poor mother's feelings would be if she came to know that her only son Dennis had been aiten up by wild bastes. I don't mind a bit, but I wouldn't hurt her feelings for the world."

"Then oblige me, Dinny, by holding your tongue, for if I hear any more complaints I shall send you back."

"Sind me back!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Dinny, as soon as his master had gone. "Sind me back across the big desert all alone by meself. Why, it would be worse than murther. It's meself wishes I hadn't come."

Whatever he may have wished, these sharp words had the effect of silencing Dinny for the time being; but when the Zulu had led them at last, just at sundown, into a dense patch of forest, where the overhanging trees made the gloom quite oppressive, Dinny's eyes showed white circles round them; and if it had not been for the fact that they found a Boer and his family encamped by the water they had been seeking, the Irishman would have probably turned, and at all risks have fled.

People are ready enough to make friends out in the desert, and the Boer gladly offered the use of the fire he had made, and a part of the springbok he had shot, on receiving a share of some of the good things brought by the newcomers. Then, with the great camp-kettle simmering over the fire, and with the boys patiently waiting for their share of the provisions, guns were cleaned and laid ready for use, the men the while busily attending to the oxen and horses, while the Zulu and his boys collected wood into a pile to keep up the fire.

"Sure an' it's a dreadful melancholy-looking place," said Dinny with a shudder. And then he listened attentively while the Boer expressed his belief that there were lions in the neighbourhood, though they were not often seen.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

HOW NATURE WAS STRONGER THAN TRAINING.

Days and days of steady travel, and the slowly gained miles mounted up till they had journeyed far into the interior. Mr Rogers, yielding to the importunities of his boys, had several times over been ready to come to a halt; but the Zulu still pointed forward, and feeling that there must be much truth in his declarations regarding the game country on ahead, he was allowed to act as guide.

It was a long journey, but though they did not have much sport, it was not monotonous, for Mr Rogers was a good naturalist, and eager to collect everything curious in beetle, b.u.t.terfly, and bird, so that all hands were pretty busy from dawn to dark. Coffee and Chicory, after they had been taught not to pull off the feathers, became very clever at skinning birds, some of which had been denizens of the woods, some of the lagoons and marshes they had pa.s.sed, and which were shot at daybreak, or else after sunset, from amongst the great beds of reeds.

Then if they were ducks, the bodies became occupants of the great pot; if they were not considered eatable they fell to the share of the dogs.

That great iron pot, which was always suspended from three poles over every fire that was made, became an inst.i.tution. The idea was taken from a hint given by a hunting-party, one of the gentlemen forming it telling Mr Rogers that, upon returning weary and exhausted to camp, there was nothing so restorative us good rich soup. Consequently, whenever a buck was shot, great pieces of its flesh were placed in the pot, and allowed to stew till all their goodness was gone, when the blacks considered them a delicacy, the rich soup being the portion of the hunting-party.

Game was scarce, but they got a sufficiency of either small bok or birds to supply their wants; and, whether it was the constant change, the fresh air, the rich meat essence which d.i.c.k partook of with avidity, or whether it was a combination of the effect of all these, the change in the boy was magical. He could take a long ride now without feeling weary, and wanting in appet.i.te; he was ready to buckle to and help when the waggon was stuck, literally putting his shoulder to the wheel with a will, and in place of hanging back, he was now the first to spy out game, and set off in chase, making Jack quite envious by coming back in triumph with a couple of springbok hanging from his saddle-bows, both having had to succ.u.mb to his rifle.

But this was not to be borne; and Jack at once took Chicory into his confidence.

"I must shoot a springbok, Chick," he said. "d.i.c.k has shot two."

"Boss Jack shoot springbok to-morrow," said the boy, decisively; and soon after daybreak roused his young master, and pointed out across the plain towards the rising sun.

"Bok," he said laconically; and while Jack was giving a finis.h.i.+ng touch or two to his dress, the boy ran off, and began to saddle Stockings, having the little horse ready by the time Jack was prepared to mount.

The others were not awake, saving the Zulu and d.i.c.k, who had the morning watch; so Jack got off unquestioned, and rode away in the direction pointed out by Chicory, whose dark eyes made out the presence of the little bok long before they could be seen by his young master, who began to think that he had been deceived, and expressed his doubts upon the point.

But Chicory smiled, and laid his hand upon Jack's arm, pointing to where some shadow shapes of animals could be seen through the faint mist hanging over a low clump of hillocks; and with a cry of joy the boy pressed his horse's sides, and went off at a swinging canter, without discomposing Chicory in the least, for the boy held on to a strap at the pummel of the saddle as before, and there being no ant-bear hole in the way, or, the horse having learned better through his fall, they rapidly neared the little herd, which began the antics peculiar to these animals, till the lad was getting close up, when they began to flee at a tremendous rate.

Quick as thought, Jack had sprung from his saddle, and sent a bullet after the herd; then another, and another; but all apparently without result. Then disappointed and vexed, Jack turned to Chicory as if it was his fault. But the boy had climbed an old ant-hill, and was watching the flying herd with his eyes shaded by his hand.

"One down--two down," he cried, sending joy through Jack's breast; for, on galloping after the herd, it was to find one bok lying dead, and another so badly wounded that it became an easy capture.

It was with no little importance then that Jack rode back with his two bok, ready to receive the congratulations of his father, for his manifest improvement in handling his rifle, and in hunting the bok according to the accepted plan.

At last their guide, after looking-on with something almost supercilious in his face at this, to him, puny style of hunting, and contentment with such small game as birds, springbok, and the like, announced that the next day they would be entering upon what he termed his hunting country.