Chapter V: Part 5

"Now then--confound it all, are you fellows going to stand jawing all day?" said Jim, testily. "Off you go," and the Kafirs gathering up their kerries--a few of them carried assegais as well--moved off in twos and threes, still chattering volubly. "Jeffreys," he went on, "take Arthur where he'll get a shot; better go on to that open place yonder, that'll be exactly where I shall be driving down, and a buck always runs out there. Naylor, you put Allen up somewhere, better go the other side. The rest of you can _voerlay_ [lie in wait] anywhere down in the bottom. Thorman, you know the place as well as I do, so can go where you like."

"Ik zal mit you ryd, ou kerel," (I shall ride with you, old fellow), said Isaac van Rooyen. "The younger ones want all the shots."

"All right, Oom Isaac," replied Jim. "Now then, look sharp and get to your places, and we'll begin."

All move off as directed, making a detour to get well round the tract to be driven, so as not to alarm the quarry; and at length, now cantering, now scrambling down some awfully steep and stony bit of ground, they reach a tolerably open space about one thousand yards from where they started. Here they leave the horses, and, descending the steep hillside, they separate. A cordon of shooters is thus formed across the valley, each man ensconcing himself in some snug ambush, where he lies in wait with piece cocked and ready, silent and alert, waiting for the quarry to break cover.

And now the whole ravine echoes with loud and discordant voices, the yelling of the native curs in full cry mingles with the deeper bay of the larger dogs; and the shouts of the Kafirs and the crashing of the underwood as they force their way through it, beating to right and to left with their sticks, draw nearer and nearer. Bang! The report of a gun in the thick of the scrub is answered by a terrific yell from the dogs, who rush to the spot. A buck has got up in front of Jim, who, with the Dutchman, is riding through the bush, hounding on his pack. The path here is fairly open, consequently the animal has not gone many yards before it falls in a heap, for an unerring eye is behind the barrels that covered it.

"Got him," says Jim, putting a fresh cartridge into his smoking barrel. "Bring him on, some of you fellows, I must go on driving;" and the Kafirs, beating the dogs off the fallen animal, perform in a trice the necessary preliminaries, while a loud exultant whoop, from one to the other of them, tells that blood has been drawn.

"Look out, Allen," says Naylor, in a quick warning whisper, "there's something coming out by you." They were about a dozen yards apart, Allen being of the two far the better placed, as his range commanded a large open space, a clear sixty yards beneath him, across which something was almost sure to run, while Naylor's only covered a higher bit of ground where a snap shot was all he could hope for; but like a good-natured fellow he had placed the other in the better position.

Allen starts, rigidly grips his gun in his excitement, and eyes the brake in front of him. The crashing of the underwood draws nearer and nearer, and a large bushbuck ram breaks cover. As it does so it catches sight of Naylor half hidden behind a tree, shears off at a tangent, and comes charging down nearly on the top of Allen, whose heart is in his mouth, and he wildly bangs away with both barrels point-blank, as the animal bounds past him within a yard, missing it clean. In a moment it will have reached covert, the dread open safely crossed, when--Crack! the buck rolls over and over with three or four loopers from Naylor's shot barrel fairly in his carcase. But "many a slip"--he recovers himself, leaps up and bounds away into the bush.

"He's hard hit," says his slayer, running to the spot; "it was a devil of a long shot, though. Look what a lot of blood he's dropped! We'll put the dogs on him directly. He's a gone coon, anyhow."

"I can't make out how I managed to miss him," is Allen's doleful remark. He is terribly mortified, poor fellow.

"You didn't get a fair shot at him. I thought he was going clean over you. Never mind, you'll get a better chance soon," says good-natured Naylor. He thought the other rather a muff, but was too good a fellow to say so.

Bang! Bang!

Who is in luck's way now? Bang, bang! again. A couple of bucks have dodged the ambushed shooters, and are making off along the high ground outside the line, making for the adjacent kloof, and Armitage and the younger Dutchman, who are nearest to them, are having rifle practice at long range. Four hundred yards--then the sights are altered to five. Bang! bang! the animals still keep on, though the last shot has thrown up a cloud of dust perilously near the hinder one. Then the six hundred yards is reached. Another minute and they will be over the hill and safe, at any rate for the present, when a ball from young Van Booyen's rifle strikes the hindermost, which halts in mid course with a spring and a shudder, and rolls over, dead as a door-nail.

"Well done, Piet. By George, that was a good shot!" exclaimed the unsuccessful competitor.

"_Ja, kerel_," replied the Dutchman, with a complacent grin, as he fished out his tobacco-pouch.

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Claverton is standing where he and Jeffreys had been directed to. He has refused to avail himself of his privilege of guest and to take the best place, so they have split the difference by standing near each other. It is a fine open bit which promises two or three shots at least, for whatever comes out on that side of the kloof is bound to break cover there. At last Jeffreys gets tired of waiting; he is of opinion that everything has run across, and all the fun is on the other side, so he makes for his horse and announces his intention of waiting up above for Jim. Claverton however, remains. He is standing under a mimosa tree and is partly sheltered from view by a large stone, and has a beautiful clear space for at least eighty yards on either side of him.

Haow!--ow--ow! The shouts of the Kafirs come nearer and nearer, and the loud-mouthed chorus of the dogs in one incessant clamour which is never suffered to die, so quickly is it taken up by fresh throats, rings from the steep hillsides as the rout sweeps down the kloof. A gentle rustling approaches, and a graceful animal bounds into the open, and its ambushed foe can mark the glint of its soft eye and the shiny points of its straight horns. It is a young bushbuck ram, and as it crosses the open Claverton waits till it has just passed him and fires. It is scarcely twenty-five yards from him, yet it is unharmed, and disappears in the opposite cover with a rush and a bound.

Claverton shakes his head and whistles softly. "_What_ a shot!" he says. Then he looks up and catches sight of Will Jeffreys watching him with a sneering smile upon his face, and the sight angers him for a moment.

"Look out--look out, Arthur," sounds Jim's voice close at hand. "There's a buck coming out, right at you."

He starts, throws open the breech of his gun, but the cartridge jams half-way, and will neither come out nor go in again, and at that moment another antelope breaks cover and crosses the open, if anything rather nearer than the first. It is a female and hornless, and its dappled skin gleams in the sun like gold as it bounds along. Immediately afterwards Jim emerges from the bush.

"How is it you didn't shoot?" he asks, wonderingly, reining in his horse. "Why, the buck ran right over you."

"Look at that!" showing the state of the defaulting piece, in which the cartridge was yet jammed.

"Oh! What a nuisance! And didn't you get the first one?"

"No. Missed him clean. You see, Jim, you build all your bucks eighteen inches or so too short hereabouts."

Jim laughed. Jeffreys, who had also come up, did likewise, but sneeringly. "Well, you've had the two best shots of the day," said the former.

"My dear fellow, I'm aware of the fact. Spare my blushes," answered Claverton, nonchalantly.

And now dogs and beaters straggle out of the bash, the latter vehemently discussing the ins and outs of the recent undertaking. Kafirs are inveterate chatterboxes, and when a number of them get together the amount of promiscuous "jaw" that goes on is well-nigh incredible--and the shooters assemble, preparatory to making a fresh start.

"How many came out?" says Jim. "Let's see--two went up above, one of them we got--two passed Claverton--one I got inside, and one went out by Naylor--six. Not bad for the first draw. How is it Naylor didn't get his?"

"He did," said the voice of that maligned person at his elbow. "Just bring some of the dogs up--there's a blood spoor as wide as a footpath. It's a thundering big old ram, too."

They put the dogs on the track and followed as quickly as they could, for the bush was thick, but before they had gone far an awful clamour and a frenzied scream told that the quarry had been found. The bushbuck is the largest of the smaller antelopes, the male standing higher than a large goat. When wounded and brought to bay he is apt to prove dangerous, as his long, nearly straight horns, from twelve to fifteen inches in length, can inflict an ugly enough wound. This one was striking right and left with his horns as they came up, but being weakened by loss of blood was soon pulled down, though not before he had scored the sides of a couple of his canine foes with a nasty gash.

"By Jove, that is a fine fellow," said Jim, as he surveyed the brown-grey hide with its white specks, and measured the long, pointed horns. "Who hit him first?"

"I didn't hit him at all," said Allen, somewhat ruefully.

"Never mind. We've got him, anyhow. Let's get on again."

On the ridge, overlooking the next large kloof which is to be driven, Hicks joins them. He isn't best pleased, isn't Hicks, for the simple reason that he has seen nothing to empty his piece at, which to his destructive mind is a very real grievance indeed. It is quite likely that, had he seen anything, the animal or animals in question would have passed him unscathed, albeit rather startled by a double detonation; but he has not had the chance, and meanwhile is dissatisfied, wherefore he makes up his mind to strike out a line for himself. Again the bush is alive with the sinuous red forms of the Kafirs, and the dogs thread through the underwood, giving tongue and rushing hither and thither as they strike upon a passing scent, and the shooters ride off to _voerlay_ at their various posts, but Hicks quietly slips away from them all and makes for a point far below, where the kloof merges into a number of others. It is a narrow defile, overhung with _krantzes_ on either side; forest trees twined with monkey creepers rise apace, and beneath their shadow, in the gloom of the thick scrub, a tiny stream trickles along. Whatever leaves the kloof will pass this way, and our friend knows that he is likely to get several shots in the ordinary course of things.

He conceals his horse, fastening him up among the bushes, then, with piece all ready, he takes up his position in a cunning ambush, and waits for whatever may appear. At present all is still as death, except where the whistle of a spreuw sounds from the overhanging cliffs; but the sunbeams are focussed into the hollow as through a burning-glass, and the distant shouting of the beaters, and an occasional shot, now and again breaks the silence. Nothing moves in grass or brake, and at last Hicks begins to wax impatient.

"Whew! how hot it is!" he exclaims, taking off his hat to wipe his forehead. "They'll be a long while yet. I'll have a drink so long."

He finds out a place where the stream runs through a deep, limpid basin, and lying flat on the ground, takes a long and refreshing pull at the cool water. Then he rises, and something on the ground catches his eye.

"By Jove! Wild pig, I do believe;" and he examines the furrows and ruts in the grass, which has been rooted up by the tusks of something, and not long ago either. "Wild pig or baboons? No, it's pig all right; there are two distinct spoors. If only I could get quietly among them."

By this time he has worked his way through the bush about a dozen yards, following up the spoors, and finding fresh "sign" at every step. "If only I could get in among them," he repeats, bending over the traces.

His wish is gratified. A fierce grunt right at his elbow makes him look up, startled by its unexpected proximity; and within six paces, half out of a bush, are the head and shoulders of a huge old boar, who, with every hair of his dirty red-brown hide erect and bristling, and his wicked little eyes scintillating, stands fearlessly confronting the intruder, while on each side of his hideous snout his great white tusks are champing and churning in an unpleasantly suggestive manner.

Hicks just has time to bring his gun to his shoulder; but the suddenness of the encounter has a trifle thrown him off his equilibrium, and as he discharges his piece, point-blank, instead of rolling the animal over, the ball--for he has fired with his rifled barrel--merely scores its flank, and with a scream of fury it comes at him. Dropping his gun he swings himself into the branches of a small tree under which he is standing, as the ferocious brute rushes by, snapping viciously at empty air, which within a fraction of a second ago was occupied by our friend's legs.

Hicks draws a long breath of relief. "Sold again, old _Baas_," he says, derisively, contemplating the infuriated boar, who is running backwards and forwards beneath the tree, the blood flowing freely from his wounded flank. "Only stay there a little longer, and I'll use your tusks for a hat-peg yet."

The brute shows no signs of leaving him, for it charges the tree in which he has found refuge, ripping off great pieces of bark in its fury; and from his vantage ground, Hicks can see other wild swine making off in the distance through the bushes. And now the voices of men and dogs are drawing near--very near--and the old tusker, wise in time, throws up his head, sniffs the air a moment, and makes off into the cover with a disappointed grunt, while Hicks shouts lustily for assistance.

"Here--Tiger--Punch--Erdwacht--Sah! Sah--in, boys--Sah--Sah!" he calls out, descending from his prison, as several of the larger dogs come running up. Then as they strike the scent of the wild pig, they rush off on the spoor with full-throated chorus.

"What is it, Hicks?" sings out Jim, riding slowly through the bush.

"Pig--pig--He's hit, too!" replies Hicks, wild with excitement, as he drags out his horse and springs into the saddle.

"Pig! Come along; we'll have him," says Jim, spurring up; and the two dash off in the wake of the dogs, whose clamour may be heard far ahead. The bush is thick, and here and there they meet with a check; but thorns and brambles are nothing when such quarry is in view, and Hicks hardly notices a gash left in his ear by a specially wicked _wacht-am-bietje_ spike as he is half dragged through the thicket by his horse.

"He's at bay, by Jove!" says Jim, as the clamour becomes stationary just in front of them. "Come on; here he is!" And in an open glade, in an angle formed by two bushes of bristling thorns, stood the boar, the dogs springing and snapping around him, but none of them quite liking to tackle him.

"Wait! I can get a good shot at him now," said Jim, dismounting. "Better let _me_ do it; it's a ticklish shot, and you might hit one of the dogs. Besides, it's all the same; he's yours anyhow. You drew first blood."

The creature is hard pressed now, and the foam lies on him in flakes as he chums with his tusks and snaps at his crowding, yelling foes. Crack! He sinks lifeless, the blood pouring from a hole in his forehead where Jim's bullet has found its mark; and then the dogs throw themselves on the carcase, snarling and tearing in their excitement.

"Off, you brutes, off!" sings out Jim, coming up.

"Off! You're plucky enough when the pig's dead. Maarman--Spry--you _schelms_! What's come over you?" And dispersing them with a kick or two, he and Hicks proceed to inspect the quarry.

"I'll make something out of those tusks," says Hicks. "No, I won't, though; I'll keep the whole skull."

"It's devilish lucky you had that tree handy," says Jim. "He'd have cut you to ribbons."

"Hullo! Where's the pig?" asks Armitage, who, with the others, appear on the scene; and the Kafirs, standing round the defunct animal, fire off a volley of astonished "whaows," and Thorman is heard to mutter something about "not having got a shot the whole damned morning, and that the damned Britishers seem to get all the fun."

"By Jove! Those brutes of dogs have wallowed in all the water!" exclaimed Jim, in consternation, as the party arrived at their midday halting-place. "Faugh! It's quite spoilt," he added, surveying the fluid in question, which at no time specially inviting to any but a very thirsty man, was now positively nauseous, as the tired animals had rolled and splashed in it before any one had come up. "What will we do? Wait--there may be a little in the hole higher up; let's go and see. Ah! it's all right?" he called out, his exploration having proved satisfactory. "Jolwane, keep the dogs away from this, whatever you do."

"That's fortunate," said Claverton. "On a day like this, brandy without water is pretty much the same as mustard without beef."

They sat down to eat their lunch in true hunter fashion. Mighty sandwiches, hastily rolled in a bit of newspaper, strips of _biltong_ [Note 1], and hunks of cheese, began to make their appearance from the capacious pockets of shooting-coats, while the contents of the spring were rendered more palatable by the addition of those of sundry flasks which passed from hand to hand.

It was a picturesque scene enough. The roughly-clad group lying and sitting about in various attitudes, their guns resting against a tree, and in rows upon the grass were the spoils, prominent among which was the huge carcase of the boar. Dogs lay panting in the shade, a few of them sitting on their haunches behind the hungry sportsmen, waiting for stray scraps which might be thrown them, and in the background squatted the red forms of the Kafirs, whose deep voices kept up a continual hum as they chattered among themselves and smoked their quaint, angular pipes, or devoured a mess of cold mealies, while their kerries and assegais lay on the ground beside them. Above, a great cliff towered in rugged masses; around stretched the evergreen bush.

"Have a _sopje_ (dram), Oom Isaac?" said Naylor, holding up a big flask, and filling out a substantial measure, as the Dutchman replied in the affirmative.

"Ach! Det is alto lekker," (that's awfully good), said old Van Rooyen, drawing his sleeve across his mouth, and Naylor replenished the cup for the benefit of the youthful Piet.

"So you got a buck after all, Arthur?" said Jim.

"Yes, just now--up there."

"He thinks the bucks here are all eighteen inches too short," struck in Jeffreys, with half a sneer.

"That was only in the first kloof, Jeffreys. They're longer about here, you see," replied Claverton, filling his pipe. "Give us a light, Jack."

"Here you are, old Baas. One good turn deserves another, so just throw that flask at me--thanks. Fancy Hicks treed by a pig--eh!"

"You shut up," called out that worthy. "Didn't I see you turn tail when that buck ran right over you?"

"No--you didn't--so help me Moses. But Hicks, you ought not to have missed the pig at no yards."

The other retorted, and so they went on, bandying chaff and fighting the morning's battles over again, till at length it became time to resume operations. Horses were caught and saddled, and the Kafirs calling their curs, started off to beat the bush again--but not with the same spirit as before, for the day was piping hot and the dogs were beginning to flag--some would hardly be induced to enter the bush at all, but trotted along with lolling tongue, panting in the heat, and by the time they had swept down a couple of bits of bush it became obvious that most of the sport was already behind their backs.

"We'll just drive this kloof through and then knock off," said Jim. "Now then, here's every one's last chance. Allen, you haven't got your buck yet."

They resumed the drive, and the slumbrous calm of the quiet valley was broken now and again by a ringing shot, and the blue smoke curled up through the golden haze in the still, summer afternoon; and every living thing was routed out of its hitherto secure retreat before the advancing line of beaters, to run the gauntlet for its life, to fall before its ambushed foe, or haply to escape until some future field day.

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Note 1. Biltong is meat which has been dried in the sun till it is quite hard. It is usually made of venison or beef.

VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER TWELVE.

A WILD NIGHT.

The morning after the hunt was gloomy and dispiriting, for the weather had undergone a complete change daring the night, and now, instead of blue sky and a sunny landscape, a dense vaporous curtain hung over the kloofs, everywhere thick, heavy and impenetrable, while from the dull grey sky fell a continuous and soaking drizzle.

"I say, but it'll be poor fun riding back in this," exclaimed Hicks, contemplating the spongy ground splashed by the drippings from the iron roof. "We shall have to wait until it clears."

"Shall we? Speak for yourself, Mr Hicks. _We_ are not made of sugar," said Ethel, mockingly. She was in high spirits this morning and brimming over with mischief.

"Now that _is_ rational," put in a voice behind her. "Hadn't we better start at once?"

She turned. "Oh, so you are afraid of the elements, too. Then out of consideration for you two, we shall have to wait. Or shall we go on and leave them, Laura?"

"They deserve it," said Laura. Then dubiously: "It's a nuisance, though, because I know aunt will be expecting us back."

"Now look here," rejoined Claverton, quietly. "Your aunt specially authorised me to see that you did nothing rash. Getting wet through under circumstances totally unnecessary is an eminently rash proceeding. Wherefore I am constrained to lay an embargo on anything of the kind. More especially as by two o'clock there will not be a cloud in the sky."

"Won't there? Two to one there will. What shall it be?" cut in Armitage.

"Jack never bets. At least I heard him not many days ago striving hard to convince a Methodist parson of that fact," said Claverton, appealing to the company in general.

"Wanted to throw him off his guard and book the devil-dodger for a venture. Besides, it wasn't a parson, it was only that humbugging old Garthorpe, who goes about preaching, and--"

"I should have thought you had found out he wasn't such an ass as he looked, Jack," said Naylor, significantly.

Armitage looked rather foolish at this; and one or two who knew the joke tittered slightly.

"Hallo, what's the jest? Trundle it up, Naylor, we don't often catch Jack napping," said Claverton.

"Oh, I'll tell you myself," exclaimed the victim of it, airily. "Well, you know, I was down at Thorman's place one evening, and old Garthorpe came jogging up on that spindle-shanked nag of his. It was just about feeding time, so he off-saddled and got his head well into the trough in no time. Daring the evening we were talking a lot about the war scare, and the old chap stuck out that it was all bosh, in fact insinuated that we were a pack of funks. _He_ wasn't afraid of the Kafirs, he said, not one of them would hurt him, and so on. This rather put our backs up, you know; there was myself, and Johnson, and Gough, and a couple of Dutchmen, so we hit upon a little scheme to give the old fellow a bit of a funk when he left. It was as dark as pitch--"

"`And smelt of cheese,'" put in Claverton. "Why not do justice to the quotation?"

"Confound it, if you can spin the yarn better than I can, do so, by all means," retorted Armitage, in mock dudgeon.

"He wants to get out of it," said Ethel. "It won't do, though, we insist upon hearing it."

"Well, then, as I was saying, when that fellow interrupted me, it was as dark as pitch, but the moon would soon be up. I and Johnson laid our heads together, and arranged that we two and Gough should blacken our faces and go and waylay old Garthorpe in the drift about half a mile from the house. Well, we slipped out one by one and got ourselves up in style, red blankets and all, looked as thorough-paced cut-throats as ever you clapped eyes on--"

"Can quite believe it," murmured the former interrupter.

"There he is again," exclaimed Armitage, wrathfully. "Well, we got down into the drift and soon we heard the horse's feet, and old Garthorpe came mooning along, concocting some sermon or other for the next day, which was Sunday. The moon had just risen, but was not bright enough to betray our identity. We jumped out of the bush. Johnson collared the bridle, and the other two of us drew up in line across the path. What does the old chap do, but quick as lightning pull out a revolver and poke it into Johnson's face. He dropped the bridle like a hot potato and skipped into the bush, and then old Garthorpe levels it dead at us. We looked sharp to follow Johnson's example, and then the old chap rode quietly on, chuckling to himself. Gough swears he heard him say `somethinged scoundrels,' but that may have been part of the sermon he was concocting. Anyhow, he turned the tables on us most completely."

"Probably the revolver wasn't loaded," suggested Claverton.

"Revolver! Sorra a bit. It was a pipe-case. We three skedaddled for our lives before a preaching old humbug at the fag-end of an old pipe-case."

A roar went up from his auditors at the picture.

"Fact," repeated Armitage. "Tell you what, though; that thing looked plaguey like a pistol in the moonlight. Besides, it's just the sort of thing a fellow would bring out, you know, under the circumstances. Old Garthorpe went bragging about it all over the shop, and very soon the joke got wind. But this is all very well. How about our bet, Claverton?"

"Oh, all right, I'll take you. Two to one in half-crowns there won't be a cloud in the sky by two o'clock."

"Done," said Armitage. "Any one else game?"

But no one was. "We are not going to encourage anything so disreputable as that betting mania of yours," said Ethel.

"Well, good people," called out Jim's jovial tones, as he swung himself out of his dripping mackintosh, and stamped and scraped to rid his boots of the mud before entering, "how about a start this morning? Not much chance of it, is there, unless you are ready to swim for it."

"Well, _we_ must," said Naylor; "I must be home to-day. I'm expecting Smith round my way about those slaughter-oxen this afternoon, and if I'm not there, away goes a good bargain."

"Besides, we shall be all right in the trap," said his wife. "Laura, why not come with us, if you are in a hurry to get back? We could manage to make room for you and Ethel, and your horses could be led."

"Thanks; but I don't think we ought to desert our escort in that way," she answered. The plan suggested in no wise fell in with her views-- nor, we may add, with those of Ethel.

"It'll be outrageously shabby of you if you do, and in fact we shan't allow it," said Claverton.

"The damned Britishers are made of salt--afraid of a little rain," growled Thorman, in a low tone, at the other side of the room.

Jeffreys, to whom the remark was addressed, and who had reasons of his own for abhorring the "imported" element, acquiesced in the sneer, and just then they were summoned to breakfast. It cleared in the afternoon with startling suddenness, and as the equestrians started for home, the blue sky was without a cloud.

"This is lovely," exclaimed Ethel, as they cantered along; "but,"--and the bright laughing face clouded--"isn't it a nuisance? Will Jeffreys is going back with us."

"What, all the way?" said Claverton. "I thought we were going to choke him off at Van Rooyen's, where we picked him up."

"No such luck. He's going back to Seringa Vale; at least, so Mr Armitage says."

"Oh, that may be only Jack's chaff; but--"

He checked himself as something seemed to strike him. "Bosh!" he thought, "Jack only sees that she rather hates the bullet-headed fool, and is trying to take a rise out of her." Then aloud: "That fellow Jack is a confounded nuisance at times, and yet on the whole I think he's an acquisition."

"Oh, yes; he makes one laugh so often, which is a great thing. Just look at him now, for instance."

Both turned to watch the interesting object of their discussion, who was evidently about to keep up his reputation--for Allen, whose decrepit steed had gone dead lame, and was incapable of carrying him, had received the loan of the volatile Waschbank, which sprightly quadruped was evidently rather more than a handful to him. Armitage perceiving this, delighted to get behind and by dint of sundry clicking noises, softly articulated, to induce the already excited animal to plunge and shake his head frantically, and make violent attempts at bolting, to the dire discomfiture of the rider, who clutched the bridle spasmodically with both hands, holding on, as it were, "by the skin of his teeth."

"It's rather a shame," mused Claverton, as they contemplated the performance. "Why can't he let the poor devil alone, even for half an hour? Allen isn't a bad fellow, although he's an ass in some things."

"Look out, Allen. Hold on, pay out your rein, or, by George, he'll have you off!" Armitage was saying, while Jeffreys rode behind sardonically enjoying the other's discomfiture. And the warning came none too soon, for Waschbank, finding the increased pressure of the rather sharp curb, which his rider was bearing on more and more heavily, defied his frantic attempts at a bolt, sought to vary the entertainment by suddenly rearing. Then as Allen, in a panic, quickly slackened the reins, grasping at the same time a bit of the mane, away went Waschbank with a rush and a snort, his rider still clinging on like grim Death. But this was not to last long, for one of the said rider's long spurs digging violently into his flank, the animal put down his head, and springing into the air, all four feet at once, promptly shot the hapless Allen into space and a thorn-bush which grew handy. Then after vainly endeavouring in the course of half-a-dozen more "bucks" to rid himself of his saddle, the amiable brute gave a loud snort and started for home at a hand gallop.

"Hallo, Allen!" cried Claverton, dismounting to haul him out of the bush. "Jump up, old man. Not hurt, are you? That's it?" as the other staggered to his feet groaning and wincing; as well he might, for his "continuations" were stuck as full of thorns as a well-stocked pincushion is of pins. "Better thorns than broken bones, you know. What's to be done? At the rate that brute's going he'll be within a hundred yards of Buffel's Kloof by now, or we might have exchanged. Sticks is as quiet as a village scold on board the ducking-stool."

"Plenty more thorn-bushes," sneered Jeffreys, in a load aside. "But it's a safe enough offer now that Waschbank's gone home."

"I say," began Jack, in mock concern, "what are we to do? Toss up who shall pursue the absconding Waschbank with a pinch of salt, eh?"

"Humbugging apart, though," said Claverton, "we are only about a mile from Van Rooyen's; the best thing for Allen to do will be to walk on there, and the Dutchman will be able to rig him out with some sort of a mount to take him home."

This was arranged, and they rode on.

"I think Jack carries his jokes too far sometimes," remarked Claverton. "He'll find his level some day."

They soon arrived at Van Rooyen's, and the Dutchman, having enjoyed a hearty laugh over poor Allen's mishap, sent for the steadiest old roadster in his paddock and mounted the dethroned hero thereon; and after resting an hour, which somehow had nearly dragged itself out to two, the party were in the saddle again, bound for their respective homes. But it is the Seringa Vale quartette--for the obnoxious Jeffreys had, after all, left them at Van Rooyen's--whom we shall now follow. It was late when they left Buffel's Kloof, and now, as they rode over the rising ground which shut the Dutchman's farmstead from sight behind, the very short gloaming of a South African day was already drawing in.

"I don't know how it is; as a rule I enjoy a ride at night," said Ethel, "but this evening I can't help wishing we were safe at home, I feel quite low and nervous;" and she shivered.

"I know how it is. You've caught cold," replied her companion. "It's a particularly warm evening, and you're shivering as if it were mid-winter. Here--wait a bit--and put this on."

In a trice he had unstrapped an ample waterproof cloak from his saddle, and, dismounting, wrapped it twice round her, tightly and securely, yet so as not to impede the management of the reins.

"Thanks. No, I wasn't cold--it's very absurd--but I feel as if something dreadful was going to happen. A kind of presentiment."

"Nonsense, child. You have been catching cold; but we shall both be catching it hot soon for being so outrageously late. Come along, here's a nice level bit, and those two are a good mile ahead."

"Yes, it's too absurd of me," she said, as they cantered on; "but--I felt a drop of rain."

They looked up. Sure enough the sky had suddenly clouded over, and several large raindrops splashed down upon the road.

"We are in for a shower, I'm afraid," said Claverton. "Nothing for it but leg-bail. However, that ancient garment will keep you as dry as a chip, unless it has suddenly performed the feat in physiology which Holy Writ associates with the Ethiopian."

They rode on with heads bent forward, for a fierce gust drove the rain, which had now increased to a deluging shower, right into their faces.

"Look at that!" exclaimed Ethel, in a terrified voice, as a vivid flash played around them, causing the horses to start and swerve. It was followed by a deep roll of thunder--long, loud, and startlingly near.

"Who'd have thought it?" said her companion. "It may be just a passing flash or so, and we shall ride through it in a minute." He spoke cheerfully; nevertheless, there was anxiety in the quick, half-furtive glance which he cast upwards and around.

"Do you think so? It may not be much, after all; and I'm an awful coward," she answered, trying to laugh; but her voice shook with apprehension, and her face was pale in the vivid gleam which fell around them, and faded, leaving the gathering gloom almost pitchy from contrast. "Do let's go back," she added.

"Too late. It would take almost as long to get back to Van Rooyen's, as to reach home. Besides, we should get into the thick of it--it's all behind us."

They rode on. The path lay along a high ridge, and the surrounding _veldt_ looked indescribably desolate as a furious blast tore and howled over the wild waste, driving the rain into their eyes. But suddenly wind and rain alike ceased; and lo! a great stream of jagged fire shot down upon the road in front, accompanied by a terrific crash--a crash as though the earth had yawned asunder and they were floating in a sea of flame. The horses, affrighted by the appalling sight and the strong smell of burning which was plainly perceptible, snorted and plunged, and then stood still, trembling in every limb.

"We had better leave the road," said Claverton. "We shall be safe enough down in the kloof; though here it _is_ a trifle nasty."

"Shall I dismount?" she asked.

"No; sit still and follow me. Can you steer your horse all right, or would you rather I led him?"

"Oh, no; I can manage."

They went down and down, deeper and deeper through the long, wet grass and dripping bushes; and now and again a flash would light up the far depths of the great, dark kloof with a blue gleam, and the thunder roared and reverberated among the rocks and krantzes beyond. Before they had gone far, Claverton dismounted and kept a firm hand on his companion's bridle, for the horse slipped and stumbled over the wet stones on the steep side of the kloof. Ethel did not speak, but her lips would convulsively tighten with fear as each vivid lightning-flash played around them, with its terrific accompaniment. She was horribly afraid of thunderstorms, even when safe at home, but to be benighted thus in the open _veldt_, in the midst of such a one as this, was simply appalling.

"At any rate we are safe enough here, though it is infamously wet," said her escort, reassuringly; "and--by George, we are in luck's way--there's a house!"

A roof became apparent at the bottom of the ravine, and in a few minutes they had reached it. But disappointment was in store, for the welcome haven of refuge turned out to be an old disused shanty, formerly run up for the accommodation of some road party, or possibly had served as an out-station for those in charge of grazing stock. Nevertheless, though a tumble-down and sorry-looking tenement, yet it would afford a tolerably substantial shelter from the drenching fury of the storm. Claverton lifted his companion from her saddle, and pushing open the mouldering door, which creaked with an unearthly noise on its rusty hinges, they stood inside.

"Not exactly the marble halls of the poet's dream--deuced cold they must have been at times--but it's wet outside and dry in here, which makes all the difference," he remarked, as he struck a match and surveyed the interior of the sorry apartment. The dilapidated thatch hung in cobwebbed festoons, throwing out ghostly, waving shadows in the flickering light; and a cockroach or two, alarmed by this sudden intrusion, scurried along the worm-eaten beams. "Wait half a second," he went on, "while I just go and hitch up the horses, and then we'll proceed to make ourselves as comfortable as circumstances will allow."

"Oh, Arthur, don't leave me alone, even for a moment! I am so frightened!" she exclaimed, clinging to his arm. The name slipped out in her terror, but she was quite unhinged, and noticed it not.

"Frightened? You foolish child," he answered, reassuringly; "there's nothing to be afraid of now--Look. We can afford to laugh at the storm here, and will be as snug as anything directly."

"But it's so dark, and--"

"Dark. Well, yes; unfortunately the last tenant forgot to leave any candles for our benefit, which was uncivil of him, to say the least of it. However, `the Heaven above' is kindly doing its best to supply the deficiency, and we'll meet it half-way by starting a famous blaze."

So saying, he gathered together some old bits of board which lay about, and, chipping them into small fragments, built up a fire well in the middle of the room--for the fireplace was choked up with dust and fallen bricks--and, lighting it, the flames darted up, crackling and sputtering, and diffusing a genial and revivifying warmth.

"There. The smoke will go out through the thatch, and at any rate it won't be worse than in a Kafir hut. You're not very wet, are you? No, I thought my old poncho hadn't lost its cunning. And now you won't be afraid to stay by yourself a minute while I look after the horses. It's dark as pitch outside, and the brutes will be wandering Heaven knows where if I don't make them fast at once."

He went out, and leading the horses round to the back of the house proceeded to secure them in a sheltered place. While thus engaged a low scream, emanating from the room he had just quitted, fell on his ear.

Left alone, Ethel drew the cloak tighter round her, and crouched over the bright, dancing flames; but in spite of their cheery glow she shivered. How long would it be before he came back? He had hardly been gone a minute, and it seemed an age. Then a flash and a loud thunderpeal made her start, and her face blanched, and she hid it in the ample cloak, and cowered down in mortal dread. How long would he be? Supposing the horses had strayed, and he had gone after them, and had lost his way, and should be unable to find the hut again. Oh, horror of horrors! if she were to be left alone there all night, alone, in the silence of that deserted place--a silence only broken by an occasional and mysterious rustle or creaking--and at the very thought of it her brain reeled and sickened, and the muffled patter of the rain upon the thatch sounded like the dull roar of many waters, and--Oh, Heavens! what was that?

For a growl, as of some wild beast, fell upon her terrified ears. She dared not raise her head, and again that grisly sound arose--long, low, and menacing.

Opposite to where she sat was a doorway leading into another compartment of the hovel. This was nearly concealed when the door by which they had entered stood open, being behind it; but now that the entrance was shut the gap yawned, dark and shadowy. And as Ethel glanced towards it, her gaze fell upon two glaring eyes in the blackness beyond. Was she dreaming? No, there they were--two scintillating green stars--their awful gaze fixed upon her with a terrible stare. The blood curdled in her veins; she tried to scream, but her tongue refused to fulfil its office; her limbs shook, and had she been standing she would have fallen to the earth prone as a log. And still that piercing, baleful stare shone through the blackness--and--God!--was she going mad? Her heart beat as if it would burst; every second was a lifetime; every pulsation of her throbbing temples seemed like the blow of a sledge-hammer, and her glance was fixed upon those terrible orbs with basilisk fascination. Then the sound of Claverton's voice outside apostrophising the horses, broke the spell, and she uttered the scream of helpless terror which caught his attention.

Quickly, yet quietly, the door was opened, and he stood beside her.

"What is it?" he asked, in the calmest of tones.

"Look!" was all she could reply; but there was no necessity for following the direction of her dilated eyes, for at that moment the dreaded sound came through the doorway louder than ever.

"Oh!--That all?" he said. "Now, look here, child, don't be in the very least afraid, there's nothing to be afraid of, and we'll soon put an extinguisher on that. It's only some half-starved Kafir mongrel that's got in." His ear detected fear rather than rage in the snarl which to her overwrought senses had sounded so dread and menacing. He stretched out his hand towards the gun, which he had placed against the wall on entering. "Now, sit still, and don't be afraid," he reiterated; but before he could bring it to bear, there was a loud yell and a rush; something large and heavy sprang into the room, cannoning against his legs, and nearly overturning him, then sped out through the half-open door into the rain and the darkness, while poor Ethel, who had had as much fright as she could stand, fell backward in a dead faint.

Quickly he held his handkerchief beneath the dripping thatch before the door, and in a moment it was soaked through and through. Then, supporting her head, he placed the cold wet bandage upon her temples, and drawing forth his pocket-flask, which was about a third full of brandy and water in equal proportions, he poured a little of the potent mixture between her lips. A deep sigh of returning consciousness, the long lashes unfolded, and the blue eyes looked wonderingly into his. Then, with a start, she made as if she would rise, but he restrained her.

"Don't be in a hurry," he said. "Take it easy for a little while longer--there's lots of time."

She shivered. "Oh, I've had an awful fright! What was it?" she said, with a shudder.

"Nothing. Nothing whatever, except that your too-lively imagination ran riot with you. Anyhow, it's all right now, so what you've got to do is just to keep perfectly still until I tell you to move. By-and-by I'm going to read you a lecture."

"But you won't leave me alone again," she entreated.

"No, not as long as you do what I tell you!"

She was silent, for she felt very weak and helpless after her fright.

"Take some more of this," he said.

"No, thanks."

"But you must."

She obeyed him passively. Then revived by the invigorating spirit, she sat up.

Her companion looked at her.

"Ethel," he said, "you're an awful little coward. You're worse than any town-bred English girl, getting into such a fright about nothing-- absolutely nothing--upon my word you are. I shouldn't have thought it of you, you know, I shouldn't, really."

He spoke in a serio-jesting tone of expostulation, not actually meaning what he said, or that she had had no real cause for alarm. But he did not want her mind to revert too much to what had happened; wherefore he treated the occurrence as a mere hallucination. The line he adopted had the desired effect, for a gleam of her old self shot from the blue eyes as she answered:

"You had no business to leave me all alone, then. And, do go and see that there's nothing in that other room."

"All right," and he got up to comply; but she followed him.

"I can't remain here by myself," she pleaded.

"Can't you? Well, but you see, you can't go with me. So we'll solve the difficulty by fastening up both doors, and we'll make ourselves comfortable here till that jolly old sun sneaks up again;" and in a moment he had secured the doors, and was beside her again.

"But--I am so hungry," she laughed.

"H'm, that's unfortunate, because there's nothing to eat unless we fall to on the stirrup-leathers. Wait a bit, though. By Jove!" He fumbled in one of the numerous pockets of his shooting-coat, and produced a packet done up in whitey-brown paper, which being unfolded, disclosed a large and somewhat demoralised sandwich, considerably the worse for wear. "Not a very inviting morsel," he remarked, surveying the battered comestible. "Yet it may do at a pinch to keep the wolf from the door. Though,"--he added to himself--"that amiable quadruped is likely to give the door a deuced wide berth considering the mortal funk he was in when he shot through it just now."

The girl laughed, quite in her old joyous, light-hearted way. "I should think so," she cried. "We'll go halves."

"We'll do nothing of the sort," said her companion. "I'll give you ten minutes, and if there's a crumb left of that antique sandwich by then I'll--well, I'll go out again and see how the horses are getting on."

"But--"

"No `buts.' Really I'll go."

This awful threat was effective, and being ravenously hungry, Ethel speedily made short work of the sandwich, protesting to the last against the other's decision. But he was firm.

"Two people under one umbrella, both get wet," he observed, sententiously. "What will feed one will starve two. I'm going to have a pipe instead. Lucky that greedy beggar Jack didn't know I had any more provender yesterday, or he would inevitably have cadged it. I had forgotten it myself till this moment."

"I wonder what has become of the others," said Ethel.

"Safe at home, long ago. They'll think we went back to Van Rooyen's," he replied.

"But we might, you know; the storm seems to be over now."

"Not to be dreamt of," answered he, decisively. "It's pitch dark, and raining in a way that would set the patriarch Noah spinning yarns about old times if he were with us. We should be wandering about the _veldt_ all night, instead of being snug by a good fire."

"I suppose so," acquiesced the girl, "and, do you know, I'm getting so sleepy."

"Glad to hear it," was the reply; and placing one of the saddles near the fire, Claverton arranged a corner of his ample cloak over it so as to form a pillow. "Lie down here," he said, "you can imagine yourself in a railway carriage or anywhere else that's infamously uncomfortable;" and as she obeyed he wrapped the cloak well round her, and returned to his former place.

Presently she opened her eyes--"Arthur."

"Well?"

"Promise you won't leave me--or I shan't be able to sleep a wink."

"Why, I thought you were fairly off. It's twelve o'clock."

"No--I'm not--Promise!"

"All right--I won't budge."

"Thanks;" and in a few moments her regular breathing told that she had forgotten her troubles in sleep.

Claverton piled some more wood on to the fire and drew in closer, shivering slightly, the fact being that he was nearly wet through-- having given up his cloak as we have seen. Then he proceeded to fill his pipe.

"Poor little thing," he mused, contemplating the slumbering form of his companion in adversity. "What a fright she was in--and small blame to her. Wonder what the beast could have been," and getting up, he went and examined the soft ground by the door to see if it had left any spoor. "Yes--I thought so: a wolf, and a damned big wolf, too." [Note 1.]

He returned to his seat by the fire and sat dreamily smoking. "What a pretty picture she makes," he thought; and in good truth she did, as the long lashes lay in a dark semicircle on the rounded cheek, while the full red lips were parted ever so lightly, and the firelight danced and flickered with a ruddy glow on the golden head of the sleeper.

"Very good fun now, no doubt, that is if it were not so infernally cold," he went on, "but the situation may begin to look awkward in the morning, when we are besieged by the kind inquiries of friends. However, the gentle sex knows devilish well how to take care of itself, that's one comfort. `Self-preservation is the first law of woman,' I truly believe to have been the original rendering of the proverb--the reason of its alteration is but too obvious. But assuredly the child would have been dead, or deuced near it, by morning if we hadn't found this place, whereas now, in half-a-dozen hours' time she'll wake up fresh as paint, and probably abuse me like the prince of pickpockets, and swear it would have been much better to have slept out in the _veldt_ all night. That's the way of them."

A flash of lighting lit up the room with a fitful gleam, and a loud roll of thunder shook the old house to its very foundations. The storm, as frequently happens in those regions, had been travelling in a kind of circle, and was now returning in all its former fury.