A Dash from Diamond City Part 44

"What's the matter? Can he hear a lion?" whispered West.

"Here, stop, stop!" cried Ingleborough. "Finish your job!--We've paid him too well and too soon. He's off to run amok among the brandy and blanket dealers."

For the black had darted outside, but in the gloom they saw him suddenly throw himself down and lay one ear to the ground.

"Yes, he can hear a lion," grumbled Ingleborough; "but the ponies haven't caught it yet."

He had hardly finished speaking before the Kaffir sprang up again and dashed into the shed, where he reached up and dragged something from the rafters which proved to be an elephant-hide s.h.i.+eld with three a.s.segais secured to the hand-hold inside.

"Baas hold this!" he said excitedly. "Boer coming. Olebo hear horses!"

Half throwing the weapons to Ingleborough, who caught them, and leaned them against his side while he examined the charges of his rifle, an action imitated by West, the Kaffir rapidly unfastened the reins, setting the ponies' heads free, and then darted at the lantern, opened the door, and blew out the light.

"Now come 'long," he whispered, and taking the ponies' heads he placed himself between them and led them along, stopping the next moment to hold them steady while their riders mounted.

"Olebo run 'long with two baas show the way," he said. "Basuto ponies tumble over ostrich pens."

"Hah! Good idea!" said West, and, listening now, he fancied he made out the sound of a troop of horse in the distance; but Ingleborough said he could hear nothing yet.

Leaving themselves to the guidance of the Kaffir, they found to their surprise that, instead of striking straight off, he led them to the house, and then round to the back, where the little window by whose means he had stolen close to where they lay and given the alarm stood open.

"Here, take your s.h.i.+eld!" said Ingleborough.

"Wait a bit!" replied the black, chuckling.

"Hist! You'll have the old vrouw hear."

"No," said the black confidently; "fast asleep. Wicked old witch!

Throw kettle at Kaffir, hot water burn back! Wait a bit; you see!"

Dependent as they were on the man's guidance through the darkness amongst the enclosures, the fugitives left him to himself for a few moments, wondering what he was about to do.

They soon knew, for he stopped the ponies close to the little window, left their heads, and went close up, to begin fumbling about his spare garments, whence came the c.h.i.n.k of the coins he had just received.

"Matches," he said, and West made out that he took a few from the box he held in his hand, and then reached in at the window, chuckling softly.

"Ingle," whispered. West, with horror in his voice. "What's the matter?"

"Do you know what he's doing?"

"n.o.bbling a couple of the blankets because he isn't going to stay for his wages?"

"No; I'm sure he has emptied the match-box on the straw mattress, and is going to burn down the house."

"Nonsense!"

_Crack_! went a match by way of endors.e.m.e.nt of West's words, and the next moment the little flame began to burn inside the Kaffir's hands, lighting up his exulting countenance as he waited till the splint of wood was well alight.

"What are you going to do?" said West hoa.r.s.ely, as he leaned forward and laid his right hand upon the black's shoulder.

"Don't shake light out!" was the answer. "Olebo going make big fire, roast Tant' Ann! Big fat witch, soon burn!"

As the Kaffir finished he lowered one hand, leaving the match blazing brightly, and he was in the act of leaning in to apply it to the little heap of matches he had placed upon the loose straw mattress, when a sharp s.n.a.t.c.h at his shoulder jerked him back, and the burning splint dropped to the ground.

"Ah-h-ah!" growled the man savagely, and he drew another match across the box he still held.

"None of that!" growled Ingleborough sternly.

"Wicked old witch!" said the black, in remonstrance. "Burn Olebo!

Don't give him enough to eat! No good!"

"You come along," cried West. "I can hear the Boers coming fast. Now then, lead the horses clear of the pens!"

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

NIGHT ON THE VELDT.

The Kaffir grunted, and began what Ingleborough afterwards called "chuntering," but he obeyed at once, leading the ponies at a quick walk in and out amongst several ostrich enclosures, till they were quite a quarter of a mile from the farm, from which there came the buzz of voices and the occasional stamp of a horse on the still night air.

"No more wire fence!" said their guide, and indicating that they should urge the ponies forward he took his s.h.i.+eld and spears from Ingleborough, caught hold of the mane of West's pony, and then as they broke into a canter, ran lightly by the animal's side, talking softly, and now and then breaking out into a merry laugh.

"Ought burn Tant' Ann!" he said. "Wicked old witch! Very fat! Make her good vrouw!"

"I'm afraid Jack's morals are sadly in need of improvement, lad," said Ingleborough at last.

"What a horrible idea!" replied West, with a shudder; "and the worst of it is that the fellow seems to consider that it would have been a good piece of fun."

"Yes, it is his nature to, as we are told of the bears and lions in the poems of Dr Watts. I dare say the old woman had been a horrible tyrant to the poor fellow!"

"But the hideous revenge!"

"Which hasn't come off, my lad! But the black scoundrel's ideas are shocking in the extreme, and I would not a.s.sociate with him much in the future. Here! Hi! Olebo, stop!"

The young man drew rein, and the black looked up enquiringly.

"Lie down and listen for the Boers!"

The Kaffir nodded, and trotted a dozen yards away from the side of the ponies, threw himself down, listened, jumped up, and repeated the performance three times at greater distances before returning.

"No hear!" he said. "Gone other way."

"It would be safe then to strike a match and look at the compa.s.s,"

suggested West, and, taking out his box, he struck a light, shaded it in his slouch hat, and then held the little pocket compa.s.s to it.

"Well, which way are we going?"

"Due east."