Chapter VII: A Weird Adventure

For a couple of miles Jack rode hard across the veldt--not without risk, for several rifle shots rang out, and bullets whizzed perilously near his ears. His escape had evidently been discovered.

When he pulled up his panting steed, he had completely lost his bearings. All that he could do was to wait for the rising of the moon, when he trusted to his knowledge of veldtcraft to guide him to the Kopje Farm.

The horse which he rode was flecked with foam, and the poor brute trembled in every limb.

"Well, I reckon I'm in a fine pickle now," muttered Jack, as he dismounted. Slipping his arm into the horse's bridle, he led the animal towards a small kopje, whose summit was indistinctly lined against the dark sky.

He had an idea that he had seen the kopje before, but was not sure. He would wait a little longer.

The base of the kopje was fringed with a growth of various kinds of bushes, and the fear of tumbling into unseen depressions on the veldt, and prospective chances of broken limbs, made him very cautious.

The welcome light of the moon soon spread over the veldt, and Jack examined the saddlery on the back of his newly acquired steed.

To his great joy, he found a holster-case attached to the saddle, and inside the case was a revolver loaded in every chamber. He was now provided with a means of defence, if attacked by man or beast.

Once or twice, he had heard what seemed to be low rumblings of thunder; but the sky was clear, and the wonderful stars glittered with a brightness only seen in Southern latitudes.

He tried to locate his position, but had to dolefully confess to himself that he was lost, and that he could not recognise any spot on the landscape.

The horse was still trembling in every limb, as though some unknown terror were creeping over it. He tried to drag the beast forward, but it refused to budge, and a strange fear crept through Jack's mind.

He had had a little experience of the king of beasts, and he came to the conclusion that the horse had scented danger in the shape of lions.

His fears were soon realised, for a loud roar burst upon his ears, and two pairs of shining yellow eyes peered at him from beneath a big mimosa bush.

His heart sank as it were into his boots, and he dragged his horse's head round. His first thought was to mount and make all haste from the spot, but his limbs seemed temporarily paralysed.

The growling increased, beginning with a blood-curdling wail that ended in a terrific roar.

The ground seemed to tremble beneath Jack's feet, and he gave himself up for lost. The opposition of armed men had no terrors for Jack Lovat, but he could not contemplate with equanimity the probability of being devoured piecemeal by infuriated lions.

He retreated slowly, still leading the horse, but keeping his eyes fixed on the globes of fire which seemed to advance.

Two long tawny forms began a crouching march towards the ostrich farmer's son, and Jack clutched the revolver with a nervous grip, his forefinger pressing lightly on the trigger. If the horse should happen to break away, all would be up.

The tawny forms were but a few paces away, crouching low down, as though about to make a spring, so grasping the pommel of the saddle, with an energy born of despair, Jack vaulted into the seat, and set forth at a rapid gallop.

His spirits rose as he sped onwards, and he was congratulating himself upon his very narrow escape, when his horse stumbled and fell on the veldt, with a terrible crash, throwing Jack over its head.

Our hero thought that every bone in his body had been broken, but he managed to stumble to his feet.

To his horror, he found that his horse's right fore-leg was broken, and the poor beast unable to stand.

The two hideous forms were following, and even now were only a few yards distant.

Jack prayed fervently for deliverance, and before he could realise what was happening, the fierce brutes had sprung upon the horse, which was screaming in agony.

He could hear a terrible crunching sound as the lions began munching their yet alive prey.

He dared not expend a shot, and deeming prudence to be the better part of valour, he left the unfortunate horse to the cruel mercies of the lions, and ran as fast as he could across the veldt, trusting that the savage beasts would satiate their hunger upon the horse's carcass, and refrain from pursuing him.

He felt sick and weary. His wound had induced a fever, which made him somewhat light-headed. He stopped running, and trudged doggedly along, in what direction he knew not.

How long he wandered he never knew, but he halted when he came to a donga; for a fire, burning brightly, pulled him up.

He saw the glare of the fire when some distance from it, and conjectured that a party of Boers or British Irregulars on trek had encamped for the night in the donga.

The figures of several men, evidently asleep, were seated round the fire, while some distance away from the latter, a number of horses were picketed, and grazing upon the sparse grass.

Jack's eyesight was good, despite the rough experience he had recently gone through, and lying flat on his stomach, he watched the strange spectacle.

An uncouth-looking figure emerged from the gloom, and going towards the sleepers, awakened two of them.

"Changing sentries," soliloquised Jack. "They are not our fellows--Boers, without a doubt."

And Boers they were. Jack had stumbled across a patrol of the enemy, and a fear of again falling into their hands crept across his mind.

Fear soon gave way to certainty, for one of the lately aroused Boers--a thick-set, unwieldy man--came stalking towards the place where Jack was lying.

A Mauser rifle reposed in the hollow of the Boer's left arm, and gleams of light played on the barrel.

The Dutchman nearly stepped upon Jack, before he saw our hero; then bringing his rifle to the present, the Boer cried, "Who goes there? Speak, or I'll fire!" This was said in deep guttural Dutch, and the next moment Jack found himself again a prisoner.

Our hero felt thankful that he had not fallen into the hands of Transvaalers, who, justly or unjustly, bore a shady reputation for cruelty.

"Who and what are you?" demanded the Boer. "A rooinek?" The tones of the Free Stater were not unkind.

"Are there any more of you?" the sentry continued, glancing warily around.

"I am alone," replied Jack, who when he saw the Boer advancing towards him, threw his revolver away.

"Alone?" said the Boer. "And why are you prowling about here at this time of the night? You speak our language well. Are you one of us, or what?"

Jack made no reply, and the Boer commanded him to move towards the camp-fire, bringing up the rear.

Here the Boer roused up a man, dressed in somewhat superior clothing to his fellows, and whom he addressed as Veldt-cornet.

"A prisoner, Veldt-cornet," said the Boer.

The officer rubbed his eyes and said somewhat sleepily, "A rooinek, Maartens?"

"He is an Englishman, I think, Veldt-cornet," answered the Boer; but no amount of questioning could elicit from Jack his proper name and place of residence. If this were part of Christian Uys's commando, his identity would soon be discovered, and then good-bye to life itself.

"Keep an eye on him, Maartens," said the veldt-cornet, with a yawn; and the officer rolling himself up in his blanket, sank back on the veldt, and was soon wrapped in a profound slumber.

The fire was now burning low--a lucky circumstance for Jack Lovat, or his wounded condition would have been seen, and unwelcome inquiries made.

"Lie down and rest, youngster," said the Boer sentry; and Jack obeyed.

Our hero's mind was now running on horses, but that another chance of escape would present itself seemed impossible.

Dawn would soon break, and he knew that if the other portion of Christian Uys's commando should come up, all would be over, and a Mauser bullet would end his cares and sufferings.

Several of the Boers were awake and glancing at Jack with looks of wonderment. Their curiosity, however, had evidently been appeased by Maartens, and seated round the smouldering embers of the fire, they began to converse in low whispers, and Jack overheard such words as "drift," "kloof," and "schantze"; and when the words "New Zealanders" were pronounced he knew that the patrol were on the look-out for the Auckland Rangers.

The cold was intense, and Jack began to shiver violently. One of the Boers seeing this, kindly handed our hero a blanket and told him to make himself comfortable.

An hour before dawn the whole party were astir, and the grateful aroma of freshly made coffee filled Jack's nostrils.

Additional fires had been lighted, and over these several Boers were busily engaged in grilling strips of biltong.

Jack's appetite for the moment had left him, and he turned away from the roughly cooked beef which was offered him. The odour was nauseating to Jack's hypersensitive olfactory nerves.

He did not, however, refuse the coffee, which imparted a welcome warmth to his chilled frame.

The veldt-cornet was wide enough awake now, and after the hastily prepared meal had been discussed, he turned to Jack, whom he cross-examined very closely.

"You come from this neighbourhood?" queried the veldt-cornet.

Jack shook his head; and the Boer officer went on--

"Have you been serving against us in the field?"

"I am not a soldier," answered Jack. "I am a settler's son. All that we desire is peace; we want nothing more."

The veldt-cornet laughed as he said, "There will soon be peace, boy, when all the rooineks have been kicked into the sea. You are wounded, I see. Where did you receive your wound? In a fight?"

"It is nothing--a mere scratch I managed to get in an accident," replied Jack, assuming a cheerful air.

"Then you will join us, youngster?" queried the Boer leader.

"I would rather be excused," answered Jack. "I want to get to Springbokfontein."

"You will reach there in good time," said the veldt-cornet. "In the interval you might do worse than see a little service under the vierkeleur. What say you? We can give you a mount and a rifle. Maartens, how are we off for horses?"

Maartens shrugged his shoulders as he replied, "We have a couple of led horses, Veldt-cornet, the roan mare, and the young horse."

"Then let him take the roan," observed the officer.

"By the way, youngster," he continued, "have you seen anything of a troop of rooineks--New Zealanders--in the district?"

"I understand that some are in this part of the country," answered Jack.

"Well, if you will go along with us, you shall see them before long," said the veldt-cornet. "We want to catch a fellow named Morton. The commandant will give a thousand pounds for the fellow, dead or alive."

Jack laughed to himself as he thought of the New Zealander's narrow escape, and wondered what the latter was doing, and whether he had made good his escape from the Diamond Valley or not.

"You know Springbokfontein, I suppose?" asked the Boer officer, after a pause.

"I have been there several times," was Jack's reply.

"Is the place strongly guarded?" queried the veldt-cornet, who was a namesake and relative of President Steyn.

"You ask me a question that I cannot answer," replied Jack. "There is certainly a town guard, but whether they are any good or not is more than I can say. However, you had better try your luck against the town."

"That is just what we are going to do, after we get hold of these New Zealanders. You know the Bank at Springbokfontein?" queried Steyn.

"I know very little about banks," answered Jack somewhat brusquely; and then he nearly made an ass of himself by blurting out the fact that his father had been robbed of five hundred pounds intended for deposit in the bank under discussion.

"It is said that a hundred thousand sovereigns are reposing in the Bank," said the veldt-cornet, with a laugh, "mostly belonging to the people who asked us to come to their help and then showed the white feather."

"White flag, did you say?" asked Jack grimly. "I thought only Boers were addicted to that practice."

"Have a care, youngster," said Steyn warningly, as he tapped the butt end of his rifle with a meaning glance in his eyes. "It is the rooineks, not Free Staters or Transvaalers."

Jack felt that metaphorically speaking he was putting his foot in it, and intimated he was only having a joke.

"A delicate subject to joke about, youngster," observed Steyn. "You know the countryside?" he added.

"Not this immediate neighbourhood," replied Jack.

"And what takes you so far from home?" queried the veldt-cornet.

"We settlers hunt sometimes," suggested Jack.

"But not without weapons. Where is your rifle?" demanded Steyn.

"The country is under martial law," replied Jack.

"The rooineks' law," sneered Steyn.

"As you say," observed Jack diplomatically.

"You mean that you have lost or mislaid your rifle?" queried Steyn.

"I had an adventure with lions," said Jack. "I----" Our hero hesitated, and then added, "I will join you."

"Spoken like a man!" cried the veldt-cornet. "Maartens, the roan mare and a Mauser for the youngster, before he changes his mind."

"The mare is quiet, I trust?" asked Jack.

"You shall try her. See, it is nearing daybreak. At sunrise you shall satisfy yourself as to your mount."

The sounds of clattering hoofs arrested the officer's attention, and a Boer presently rode up.

"The veldt-cornet?" inquired the new-comer.

"I am here," said Steyn. "You have ridden over from the commandant, Du Plessis?"

"I have ridden on the spur, Veldt-cornet," answered the Boer. "Du Boisson was stabbed last night by a young rooinek whom we caught yesterday, just as you marched out of camp. The rooinek has escaped, and----"

"He is here," said Steyn, and he looked round for Jack; but the ostrich farmer's son was already on the roan mare's back and scudding like the wind down the donga.

"The devil!" cried Steyn. "No, don't shoot; it might bring a hornet's nest around our ears. He has gone in an opposite direction to that from which we expect the New Zealanders. Maartens, you were too premature in bringing the mare;" and Maartens had the good sense to look abashed.

"He is the rooinek who killed Du Boisson," said Du Plessis. "Van Donnop knows him well. He is the son of an ostrich farmer named Lovat."

"The man from whom the five hundred sovereigns were taken?" exclaimed Steyn excitedly.

"The same, Veldt-cornet," replied the Boer scout.

"And it was at this brat's father's farm where some of our men were repulsed only two nights ago," said Steyn, with growing excitement. "I wish Maartens had shot him as he lay on the veldt."

"I had rather he belonged to us, Veldt-cornet," observed Maartens. "He is a slim youth, and, if his heart had been in the right place, would have been of great service to the cause."

"Yes, maybe, Maartens," growled the officer. "Now that he has got away, he will alarm the whole country."

"Van Donnop says that the New Zealanders will come this way," said Maartens, pointing to the upper end of the donga. "The rooinek must move on his left flank, as the country is very broken and cut up. However, you will see. We shall catch them in a trap, and then march straight for Springbokfontein and Port Nolloth. I am quite right."

"You always had good sense, Maartens; but if we catch this young Lovat, a bullet will be too good for him; a piece of stout rope and a tree--the aasvogel shall do the rest. The men have all breakfasted?"

"All have had coffee and biltong, Veldt-cornet," answered Maartens, who was acting as second in command of the patrol, which as things went, might have been termed a reconnaissance in force.

Let us follow the fortunes of Jack Lovat, the daring boy-fighter of the Kopje Farm.

While the veldt-cornet was talking to Burgher Du Plessis, Maartens brought up the roan mare, and acting on the spur of the moment, Jack, while pretending to examine the horse's head-gear, sprang on its back, and as narrated, sped like the wind to the other end of the donga.

His breath came hard and fast, and every moment he expected being struck by a bullet. He wondered what the sensation would be like if a missile hit him, but luckily he was spared the experience.

No sooner did he reach the entrance to the donga than something seemed to whisper to him, "You must keep to the left, for there lie home and safety."

The mare was a gallant one, and full of mettle, for with long strides she rushed gamely forward, widening the gap between Jack and her late owner.

The ostrich farmer's son never drew rein until a couple of miles distant from the Boer laager, when he eased up, and after glancing round, dismounted--taking care to retain a firm grasp on the reins.

"Thank Heaven, I am free once more," said Jack to himself. "And now for the Kopje Farm!"

Several landmarks seemed familiar to him. One of the kopjes he remembered as being a spot much favoured by baboons, ugly grinning apes that lived in the caves with which the kopje abounded.

The Kopje Farm he knew lay some few miles to the south of the hill, so he moved forward towards a donga which skirted the right base of the kopje.

His attention was arrested by a sight which sent the blood rushing to his heart, causing a choking sensation that almost stifled him.

About a mile distant he discerned a troop of mounted men advancing in his direction.

"They are Boers!" ejaculated Jack aloud. "I've escaped from one fire only to fall into another."

He was in the middle of the donga when he first caught sight of the strangers who were advancing over the open veldt.

Jack watched the progress of the horsemen, who suddenly halted.

Evidently a fresh order had been given, for presently they wheeled to the right and moved on in an oblique direction.

"They are going straight towards Langeman's Nek," thought Jack; but his quick eyes detected something he had not seen before.

"They are our fellows!" cried he,--"the Auckland Rangers. I know them by the feathers in their slouch-hats;" and without more ado he rode forward, and clearing the donga, galloped forward at full speed in the direction of the horsemen.