The Vee-Boers Part 4

A HORSE CHASED BY WILD HOUNDS.

That night there were sore hearts in the camp under the mowana, and eyes that closed not in sleep. A mother lay awake, thinking apprehensively about her son; sisters in like manner were in fear for the fate of a brother; while a young girl, not sister, but sweetheart, was no less uneasy about the absence of a lover.

Perhaps had Piet Van Dorn, the object of this concentrated solicitude, been only sure of its being shared by Katharina Rynwald--for she was the waking sweetheart--the long, unhappy hours he was constrained to pa.s.s upon the veldt would have seemed shorter, and been less irksome. As it was, he too slept little, in part kept awake by the pain of his wounds, and partly by torturing thoughts. Withal, he took steps for pa.s.sing the night, in the best and safest way possible under the circ.u.mstances.

Antic.i.p.ating a heavy dew,--which indeed, had already begun to fall--with that raw chilliness, as much the accompaniment of a tropical night as of one in northern climes, he had need to take precautions against it.

Thinly and lightly clad, just as when interrupted at target-practice, ever since hotly engaged, and all over perspiration, experience told him there was danger from this alone. So, warned by it, soon as he had made up his mind to remain there he dropped down from the ant-hill, and bethought himself of kindling a fire. But for this the luck was against him. There was no wood near, nor anywhere within sight; not a stick.

All around the veldt was treeless, and alike bare of bushes; the only relief to its monotonous nakedness being some score or two ant-hills, like hayricks scattered over it.

Yes, there was something more, which after a time came under his eyes; some tall bunch gra.s.s growing at no great distance off, or rather had grown, for it was now withered and dead. True, it would not make a fire that could be kept up; but the young hunter saw it might be utilised in a way almost as good, by making a warm bed of it. Soon as thought of, he unsheathed his hunting-knife, and set to cutting the gra.s.s, as reaper with "hook and crook." Nor stayed he his hand, till several large armfuls lay along the earth. These, one after another, he carried up to the ant-hill he had first stopped at, and which, as already ascertained by him, had been abandoned by its insect builders.

It was but the task of a few seconds to form the dry gra.s.s into a rough, but fairly comfortable couch; upon which he lay down, drawing the straggled selvedge over him, by way of blanket and coverlet. Thus snugly ensconced, he took out his pipe, with flint, steel, and tinder, struck a light, and commenced smoking.

One pa.s.sing near, and seeing a red coal glowing in that heap of haylike gra.s.s, with smoke rising in curls over it, might have wondered at the gra.s.s not catching fire, and blazing up. But there was no one pa.s.sing near, or likely to pa.s.s; and Piet Van Dorn continued puffing away in solitary silence.

After a time the tobacco in his pipe was burnt to the bottom; but finding it had given him some relief from the stinging of his sores, he refilled the pipe bowl, and went on smoking.

At length the narcotic property of the weed produced a soporific effect; Morpheus demanded his toll; and the wearied hunter, despite pain of wounds, and mental anxiety, sank into sleep, meerschaum in mouth.

Luckily, he lay on his back, and the pipe from habit was held tight between his teeth, till the ashes in it became cold. Had it been otherwise, he might have soon and suddenly waked up, to find himself as a rat in the heart of a burning hayrick.

As it chanced, he slumbered long, though how long he could not tell.

Dreamt also; in his dream, fancying himself still charged upon by the buffalo and that he heard its heavy tread on the firm turf as it came thundering towards him! But was it fancy? Was the thing all a dream?

Questions he put to himself, when at length awakened by the visionary scene, he lay listening. No, not all. The trampling sound was real and recognisable; not as made by a buffalo, but the hoof strokes of a galloping horse! Had there been any doubt about this, what instantly succeeded would have solved it--a neigh ringing clear and shrill on the calm night air.

Quick as a Jack-in-the-box, Piet Van Dorn was upon his feet; and with like alertness leaped up to the top of the ant-hill. The moon had meanwhile risen, and her light flooded the veldt all over, making objects distinguishable on it at far distance, almost as by day. But it did not need looking far for him to see the horse, nor an instant of time in recognising the animal as his own. Not much longer, either, was he in learning why it galloped and screamed--for it was more scream than neigh that had waked up the echoes of the night: still waking them, in quick successive bursts, as the horse rushed affrightedly to and fro.

No wonder at his fright with such a following; full a hundred other animals flecked and spotted, as seen under the clear moonlight: to all appearance a pack of hounds in pursuit of him! And hounds were they, but such as never came out of kennel; far fiercer than these, for they were the _wilde-honden_ [Note 1] of South Africa. They were scattered over the veldt, in squads here and there, with the horse careering from point to point between them; and go in what direction he would, it was to get headed off by one group or another.

At a glance the young hunter took in the situation, and trembled for his steed. The poor animal was black with sweat, and evidently far exhausted. No doubt it had been running thus pursued for hours, and at any moment now might be pulled down, and torn to pieces. How was such a fate to be averted? How could the horse be saved.

The first impulse of its master, so interrogating himself, was to catch hold of his gun, and rush out to the rescue. The gun he caught hold of; but then came the thought, that instead of saving the horse, he would be himself sacrificed. Well knew he the habits of the wilde-honden with their fierce, savage nature, and that, in their then excited state, man would be no more feared by them than horse, or any other animal. It would be like bearding a pack of hungry wolves; in fact, flinging away his life. But what ought he to do? What could he? Nothing.

"Ah! yes; something!" he exclaimed, hope returning with a thought that had flashed across his brain. "There may still be a chance, if I can make him hear me."

Saying which, he thrust the tips of three fingers between his lips, and blew a whistle that went screeching across the veldt, repeating it several times. But much repet.i.tion was not necessary.

At the first note of it reaching his ears, the horse was seen to give a start of recognition; then, as the second was sent after, the sagacious animal, trained to the signal, answered it with a joyous neigh, and came galloping up to the ant-hills. In half a minute more he was among them; and now guided by a well-known voice, soon stood by his master's side, panting, quivering in every fibre of his frame, but confidently whimpering, as if at length a.s.sured of safety.

But he was not safe yet; neither he, nor his master, as the latter well knew. If he did not, it was instantly made known to him, as he saw the wilde-honden gather in from all sides trooping after. In a trice they too had entered among the ant-hills, and were still coming on for that beside which he and the horse stood. To the young hunter it was a crisis, dangerous as when being charged by the buffalo, and equally slight seemed his chance of escape. He had dropped back to the ground-- knowing he would be no safer on the ant-heap, which the clawed creatures could easily scale--and stood holding his horse in hand. The animal was still under saddle and bridle, as when it ran away from him. Should he spring upon its back, and attempt to escape by flight? Impossible. The horse was already tottering on his legs; another mile, perhaps half that with a rider on his back, and he would surely go to gra.s.s.

Piet Van Dorn was left no time for deliberation. What he did after was done in hottest haste, unreflectingly, almost despairingly. Yet were its results of the best; could not have been better, if planned deliberately and in coolest blood. He first discharged his roer at the nearest and foremost of the honden, which went rolling over with a howl.

The report of the gun--noise so unexpected--caused the rest to falter and hang back; then, before they had recovered confidence, they were saluted by a second clap of that thunder, so new to them, with its blaze of lightning, which still further cowed them. For all, they did not yet seem inclined to retreat; and Piet Van Dorn, fancying the flash more frightened them than the crack, suddenly bethought him of a way to make it more effective. Quickly striking a light, he set fire to the withered gra.s.s, on which he had lately been lying. It caught at once, flaring up with a flame that mocked the moon. And to keep it ablaze he employed the long barrel of his now empty gun, fork fashion, tossing the tufts of burning gra.s.s high in the air, all the while shouting at the loudest pitch of his voice. Continuing to shout so, he would soon have been hoa.r.s.e. Fortunately he was spared this infliction; for the wilde-honden, at first sight of the conflagration, which they doubtless believed to be the veldt on fire, took to their heels, and scampered off in every direction; leaving the young hunter, and his newly-recovered horse, masters and sole possessors of the field.

Note 1. "Wilde-honden" (_Canis picta_). These wild dogs of South Africa have some affinities with hyenas. They are sometimes called the hunting hyena (_Hyena venatica_). They are as large as stag-hounds, and flecked and spotted in a similar manner, black and white blotches on a ground colour of reddish brown. But for their erect ears, which are large and black, they would bear a still greater resemblance to hounds.

There is this also in their habit of pursuing their prey in packs, which renders them much more formidable than the hyena. They have little fear of man, and men have been often killed by them.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

TRACKING BACK TO CAMP.

His lost steed, thus strangely, as it were miraculously, restored to him, gave Piet Van Dorn gratification in more ways than one. The thought of his horse reaching the camp before himself, and so causing keenest alarm, had been his major trouble. But there was a minor one, far from insignificant, affecting his skill as an equestrian. Of his hunter-prowess he had the proof; but who would know how the horse had got away from him, save those who might put faith in his own account of it? That there would be some to discredit him, he knew; Andries Blom would take care of that. But now he would ride back to camp with the buffalo's tail flouted triumphantly at the muzzle of his gun, as flag captured from an enemy; instead of sneers, or sympathy, to receive congratulations.

Under the excitement of this pleasant antic.i.p.ation, that night he could sleep no more, nor did he try. And there was enough to keep him awake, in caring for his horse, the poor animal needing all the attention he could give it. Having cut some wisps of the withered gra.s.s, he rubbed its coat dry, which greatly refreshed it; while the gra.s.s itself proved a fodder not unpalatable. But the horse suffered more from want of water than food, as he could see; and there was no water near, an added reason for making quick departure from the place. He would have started away from it at once, but the sky had become suddenly overcast, the moon obscured by thick c.u.mulous clouds, and the night darker than ever. He could barely see the white ant-hills close around him, and of course the trail he had needs still follow would be undistinguishable. So he must wait for the morning's light.

But light came sooner, and from a different source--out of the clouds themselves. They were rent by forks of lightning, and illumined by its flashes, with an accompaniment of thunder. Rain followed, descending in sheets, as if emptied out of dishes--true storm of the tropics.

There was water now for a hundred thousand horses, yet how was he to catch enough for one? He had no vessel, or aught else, to collect as much as a mouthful, though his animal was in a very agony of thirst, himself the same. He looked around in hopes of seeing a puddle, but there was none. Soon as it fell the water filtered into the loose sandy soil, as if poured into rat-holes. What was to be done?

"Ha! A happy idea; the very thing itself!" So soliloquised he at sight of the rain running down the sloped sides of the ant-hills in rivulets.

Drawing knife again, he commenced delving into the firm tough compost, and kept at it till he had hollowed out a trough capable of containing a gallon. Then making some diagonal scratches to guide the water into it, he had the satisfaction of seeing it soon fill, while he and his horse drank their fill also.

The downpour was not of long continuance, though long enough to leave him without a dry rag on his body. Little recked he of that now, being far more solicitous about another effect it might have produced, and which he feared it had. Nor was his fear groundless; for when day at length dawned, and he rode out to get back upon the trace hitherto guiding him, not a sign of it was to be seen, neither track of horse nor buffalo. They had been all filled up by the rain wash--completely obliterated--and once more he was a lost man!

This time, however, he was less dismayed, from having his horse under him. The sun had not yet risen, but the aurora, its precursor, told him which point was east; and, believing this to be the right direction, he took it. But long after the sun was up, he found himself wandering on the veldt, as much puzzled about his course as ever. The points of the compa.s.s he knew well enough, but the belt of timber was still invisible, and he may have gone too far eastward.

He was about reining round to try another slant, when again tracks came under his eye--hundreds of them. All buffalo tracks these were, the hoof-prints well defined and easily recognisable. For the ground was different from that by the ant-hills, a firm, stiff clay, which had resisted the beating down of the rain. He had little doubt of their being made by the drove of yesterday's chase, and less after riding in among them, and making note of their number; the buffaloes had been close to the camp-ground, and it only needed proceeding along their trail to reach it.

Once more was Piet Van Dorn full of confidence. But only for a very few seconds, when uncertainty again took possession of him. In what direction had the buffaloes been going when they pa.s.sed that point?

Towards the camp, or from it, after being met and turned by the marksmen? He was unable to answer this question, and its answer was of absolute necessity ere he could proceed a step farther. Without it he knew not which was his way, and would be as likely to take the wrong as the right one. It might be of serious consequence if he went wrong-- indeed fatal--so what he should do next needed deliberation.

What he did do was, first to make more careful examination of the hoof-marks, hoping from them to draw deductions that would serve him.

Not as to time; in that respect there could not be any great difference between the tracks going toward the camp and those from it. Even if there had, the rain would have rendered it imperceptible. But there might be a difference in the stride: animals pursued would make longer bounds than if running at will.

His new inspection, however proved of no avail; nor could it, as he now bethought himself, recalling the fact that the buffaloes were in full run when first seen, and likely long before.

He was about raising his eyes despairingly, when something on the ground caught his glance, and kept it rivetted. It was only a little pool of water--rain that had fallen still lying--but water dyed red, and with blood, beyond a doubt! Of this he was confident; and equally sure it was blood from one of the buffaloes that had been wounded when the volleys were fired into the drove.

Hitherto he had been rather inclined to go as they had gone, still thinking his proper course lay eastward. Now he knew better; and without further delay, wheeled his horse round, and struck along the trail backward.

Thenceforth it was all plain sailing, the track easily distinguishable, in places as if a steam-plough had pa.s.sed along turning up the soil. He could have gone at a gallop, and would but for sparing his horse, which still showed signs of suffering from the terrible strain late put upon it. Withal, he made fair way, and in another hour came upon familiar ground, where the buffalo-bull he had himself pursued separated from the herd. Without seeing its tracks, or those of his horse, he could not have mistaken the place. There lay the carcases of two other buffaloes, the pair killed by Rynwald and Blom. They were little more than skeletons now; for as he rode up to them nigh a score of jackals went scampering off, while twice that number of vultures rose sluggishly into the air.

At this point, for the first time since leaving it, Piet Van Dorn caught sight of the timbered belt, to comprehend why he had not sooner sighted it. The reason was, the river, with some miles breadth of the adjacent terrain, being below the general level of the plain. He saw the mowana, too, under which was the laager, perceiving that he was even yet leagues from it. But distance no more troubled him; his thoughts, as his glances, being now given to two hors.e.m.e.n who were coming in quick gallop towards him. On their drawing nearer he recognised one of them as Hendrik Rynwald; the other not Andries Blom, but his own brother.

They had come in quest of him, sent by anxious friends, themselves as anxious as any. Rejoiced were they at the encounter, and not less he, though his joy in part proceeded from another and different cause.

Never listened he to sweeter words than those blurted out by Hendrik Rynwald, a generous, guileless youth, who said, grasping his hand--

"I'm so glad, Piet, to see you safe! And won't Sis Kattie, too! I don't believe she slept a wink, all of last night."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

A FORMIDABLE OBSTRUCTION.

Explanations having been hastily exchanged, the trio of young Boers turned face toward the camp. Burning to make known the joyful news, Rynwald and Piet's brother would have gone back at a gallop, and so Piet himself. But there was something to delay them: this the horse late chased by wilde-honden. The rain, at first refreshing the animal, had afterwards produced an opposite effect, and the result of the sudden change from heat to chill was a founder, the creature being now barely able to keep on its legs. As it could not carry him further without cruelty, its merciful master, dismounting, led it along.