"I've been expecting them every day for a week," said Emson, rather dolefully. "But, look here, little un: if you took Jack with you, do you think you could manage the journey yourself?"

Dyke turned on his horse and looked quite startled.

"There's the driving."

"Jack would drive," said Emson hastily.

"And the inspanning and outspanning."

"Which he could see to."

"And camping out in the wagon alone."

"Yes: you'd want good fires every night; but I can't help it, old fellow. Only one could go, and you'd be happier with the work and excitement than you would be moping at the house, all alone, and watching for me to come back."

"But that would be just as bad for you, Joe; and you'd be thinking that the lions had got me."

"No, I shouldn't; but I should be trembling for the oxen, my boy. There, I've made up my mind to send you, and you'll go."

"Oh, I'll go," said Dyke sturdily; "but why not go to Oom Schlagen? it's twenty miles nearer. He has a much better lot of things and is more civil than Morgenstern."

"Yes, I know all that, little un," said Emson; "but Morgenstern is honest. He charges well for his corn and meal, but he'll give you just measure, and will deal with you as fairly as he would with me. Old Uncle Schlagen would, as soon as he saw you—a boy—coming alone, set to work to see if he couldn't rob you of a span of oxen, saying they were his, and trick you over the stores in every way he could."

"Then I'll go to old Morningstar's."

"You won't mind going?"

"Oh yes, I shall, because it will be so lonely; but I'll go."

"I don't like sending you, little un; and there's another difficulty."

"Oh, never mind that; it's all difficulties out here."

"True; but some are bigger than others."

"Well, what's the big one now?" said Dyke contemptuously, as if he had grown so hardened that he could face anything.

"Jack," said Emson laconically.

"What! Jack? Yes, he'd better be," cried Dyke. "If he gives me any of his nonsense, he'll have a rap over the head with the barrel of my gun."

"How much of that is honest pluck, old chap, and how much bunkum?" said Emson, speaking very seriously.

"I don't know," cried Dyke, colouring; "I don't think there's any bounce in it, Joe. I meant it honestly."

"But he is a man, and you are a boy."

"Oh yes, he's a man, and he bullies and threatens Tanta Sal, and makes believe that he is going to spear her, and directly she rushes at him, he runs. I don't think I should be afraid of Jack."

"Neither do I, little un," cried Emson warmly. "That will do. I was nervous about this. I felt that he might begin to show off as soon as you two were away from me, and if he fancied that you were afraid of him, he would be master to the end of the journey."

"But if it came to a row, Joe, and I was horribly afraid of him, I wouldn't let him see it. Perhaps I should be, but—Oh no, I wouldn't let him know."

"That'll do, old fellow," said Emson, looking at his brother proudly. "You shall go, and I'll take care of the stock and—Here! Look, look!"

This last in a tone of intense excitement, for a herd of zebra seemed suddenly to have risen out of the ground a couple of miles away, where nothing had been visible before, the beautifully striped, pony-like animals frisking and capering about, and pausing from time to time to browse on the shoots of the sparsely spread bushes. There were hundreds of them, and the brothers sat watching them for some minutes.

"Not what I should have chosen for food," said Emson at last; "but they say they are good eating."

"There's something better," said Dyke, pointing. "I know they are good."

"Yes, we know they are good," said Emson softly, as he slipped out of the saddle, Dyke following his example, and both sheltered themselves behind their horses.

"They haven't noticed us," said Emson, after a pause. "Mixed us up with the zebras, perhaps."

"They're coming nearer. Why, there's quite a herd of them!" cried Dyke excitedly.

They stood watching a little group of springbok playing about beyond the herd of zebra—light, graceful little creatures, that now came careering down toward them, playfully leaping over each other's backs, and proving again and again the appropriate nature of their name.

And now, as if quite a migration of animals was taking place across the plain, where for months the brothers had wandered rarely seeing a head, herd after herd appeared of beautiful deer-like creatures. They came into sight from the dim distance—graceful antelopes of different kinds, with straight, curved, or lyre-shaped horns; fierce-looking gnus, with theirs stumpy and hooked; ugly quaggas; and farthest off of all, but easily seen from their size, great, well-fed elands, ox-like in girth.

"I never saw anything like this, Joe," said Dyke in a whisper.

"Few people ever have in these days, old fellow," said Emson, as he feasted his eyes. "This must be like it used to be in the old times before so much hunting took place. It shows what an enormous tract of unexplored land there must be off to the north-west."

"And will they stay about here now?"

"What for? To starve? Why, Dyke, lad, there is nothing hardly to keep one herd. No; I daresay by this time to-morrow there will hardly be a hoof. They will all have gone off to the north or back to the west. It is quite a migration."

"I suppose they take us for some kind of six-legged horse, or they would not come so near."

"At present. Be ready; they may take flight at any moment, and we must not let our fresh-meat supply get out of range."

"'Tisn't in range yet," said Dyke quietly.

"No, but it soon will be."

"What are you going to shoot at?—the springbok, and then mount and gallop after them and shoot again, like the Boers do?"

"What! with big antelope about? No, boy; we want our larder filling up too badly. Look: impalas; and at those grand elands."

"I see them; but they must be a mile away."

"Quite; but they are coming in this direction. Dyke, boy, we must make up our mind to get one of these."

"But we could never get it home. They're bigger than bullocks."

"Let's shoot one, and then talk of getting it home. What about a span of oxen and a couple of hurdles! We could drag it back, and it would make biltong, and so last us for weeks."

"Ugh! Leather!" cried Dyke.

"And give us plenty of fresh meat for present eating, and fat to cook for months."

"Don't make my mouth water too much, Joe."

"Hush! Be quiet now; move close up to your horse's shoulder, rest your gun across it, and then you will be better hidden. Are you loaded all right?"

"Bullet in each barrel."

"That will do. Now mind, if we do get a chance at one, you will aim just at the shoulder. Try and don't be flurried."

"All right."

"Give him both barrels, so as to make sure. Try and fire when I do."

Dyke nodded, and they waited for fully two hours, during which time zebras, quaggas, and various kinds of antelopes charged down near them, startled by the sight of the two curious-looking horses, standing so patiently there in the middle of the plain, and after halting nervously, they careered away again, the trampling of their feet sounding like the rush of a storm.

Again and again the hunters had opportunities for bringing down goodly, well-fed antelope, when a herd bounded up, wheeled, halted, and stood at gaze; but there in the background were the great eland, each coming slowly and cautiously on, as if they had also been surprised by the aspect of the horses, and were curious to know what manner of creatures these might be.

Dyke wanted to say "Let's shoot;" but his lips did not part, and he stood patiently watching at one time, impatiently at another, feeling as he did that his brother was letting a magnificent chance go by.

Twice over the position was startling, when first a herd of quaggas and then one of gnus charged down upon them, and Dyke felt that the next minute he would be trampled under foot by the many squadrons of wild-eyed, shaggy little creatures. But the horses stood fast, comforted and encouraged by the presence of their masters, while the fierce-looking herds halted, stood, stamped, and tossed their heads, and went off again.

At last, when hundreds upon hundreds of the various antelopes had passed, the elands were still browsing about, nearly half a mile away, and seemed not likely to come any nearer. A herd of smaller antelopes were between them and the hunters, and there appeared to be no likelihood of their firing a shot.

"I'll give them a few minutes longer, Dyke," whispered Emson, "and then we must, if they don't come, go after them."

"Wouldn't it be better to pick off a couple of these?" said Dyke softly.

"No; we must have one of those elands. We shall have to ride one down, and when we get close, leap off and fire. Be ready for when I say 'Mount.'"

Dyke nodded smartly, and waited impatiently for a full quarter of an hour, during which they had chance after chance at small fry; but the elands still held aloof.

All at once Emson's voice was heard in a low whisper: "Do you see that fat young bull with the dark markings on its back and shoulders?"

"Yes."

"That is the one we must ride for.—Ready! Mount, and off."

They sprang into their saddles together, and dashed off to follow the elands, while at their first movements the whole plain was covered with the startled herds, one communicating its panic to the other. There was the rushing noise of a tremendous storm; but Dyke in the excitement saw nothing, heard nothing, but the elands, which went tearing away in their long, lumbering gallop, the horses gaining upon them steadily, and the herd gradually scattering, till the young bull was all alone, closely followed by the brothers; Emson dexterously riding on the great brute's near side, and edging it off more and more so as to turn its head in the direction of Kopfontein; hunting it homeward, so that, if they were successful at last in shooting it, the poor brute would have been helping to convey itself part of the way, no trifling advantage with so weighty a beast.

On and on at a breakneck gallop, the horses stretching out like greyhounds in the long race; but the eland, long and lumbering as it was, kept ahead. Its companions were far behind, and the plain, which so short a time before had been scattered with herds of various animals, now seemed to have been swept clear once more.

At last the tremendous pace began to tell upon both horses and eland, while the difficulty of driving it in the required direction grow less. But all at once, rendered savage by the persistency of the pursuit, the great antelope turned toward the horses and charged straight at Dyke.

The boy was so much astonished at this sudden and unexpected attack that he would have been overturned, but for the activity of Breezy, who wheeled round, gave one bound, and just carried his rider clear.

It was no light matter, and Dyke wondered that, in the sudden twist given to his loins by the cob's spring round, he had not been unhorsed.

But the eland did not attempt to renew the attack, gathering up its forces and bearing away for the distant herds, with Duke snapping at its flank; and the chase was again renewed, with Emson's horse beginning to lose ground, while Breezy seemed to have been roused to greater effort.

Emson shouted something to Dyke, who was some distance to the left, but what it was the boy did not hear. He had one idea in his mind, and that was to secure the game so necessary to their existence, and to this end he urged his cob on, getting it at last level with the great antelope, which was a few yards to his right.

It was all a chance, he knew, but Emson was beaten, and the antelope seemed ready to go on for hours; so, waiting his time, he checked his speed a little, and let the animal go on while he rode to the other side and brought it on his left.

There was good reason for the act. He could now let the barrel of his heavy piece rest upon his left arm, as he held it pistol-wise, and at last, when well abreast, he levelled it as well as he could, aiming at the broad shoulder, and fired.

A miss, certainly, and then he galloped on for another hundred yards before he ventured to draw trigger again, this time watchfully, for fear of a sudden turn and charge, and not till he was pretty close and perfectly level.

Breezy was in full stride, and going in the most elastic way in spite of the long run, but the eland was labouring heavily, as Dyke drew trigger, felt the sharp, jerking recoil shoot right up his arm to the shoulder; and then to his astonishment, as he dashed on out of the smoke, he was alone, and the eland lying fifty yards behind, where it had come down with a tremendous crash.



CHAPTER NINE.

A QUEER PREDICAMENT.

"Bravo! splendid!" panted Emson, as he and his brother met by the side of the dead eland, upon whose flank Duke had mounted, and stood with his red tongue out, too much run down to bark. "Why, Dyke, lad, how did you manage it? Right through the shoulder. You couldn't have done better at a stationary target."

"All chance," said the boy, panting as heavily as the dog; and lowering himself off his nag, he loosened the girths, and then sank at full length upon the sand.

"Tired?"

"Thirsty," replied the boy.

"That you must bear, then, till I come back."

"Where are you going?"

"To fetch Jack and a span of bullocks. I won't be longer than I can help. Keep Duke with you, but don't leave the game. One moment: make a fire, and cook yourself a steak."

"Stop and have some, Joe."

"No time," said Emson, and he strode away, leaving his brother alone with the great antelope and his two dumb companions.

"Well, I didn't reckon upon this," said Dyke, as he lay upon his side watching his brother's figure grow slowly more distant, for he was walking beside his horse, which hung its head, and kept giving its tail an uneasy twitch. "Not very cheerful to wait here hours upon hours; and how does he know that I've got any matches? Fortunately I have."

There was a pause during which his cob gave itself a shake which threatened to send the saddle underneath it, an act which brought Dyke to his feet for the purposes of readjustment.

This done, and feeling not quite so breathless from exertion and excitement, he walked round the great antelope.

"Well, it was all chance," he said to himself. "The first shot was an awful miss. Good job for us there was so much to shoot at. I could hardly miss hitting that time. What a bit of luck, though. A big bit of luck, for we wanted the fresh meat very badly."

After scanning the goodly proportions of the animal for some time, it struck the boy that he had not reloaded his rifled gun, and this he proceeded to do, opening the breech, taking out the empty brass cartridges, carefully saving them for refilling, and then putting his hand to the canvas pouch in which the cartridges were packed.

His hand stopped there, and, hot as he was, he felt a shiver pass through him.

There was not a single cartridge left.

Dyke stood there, half-stunned.

Had he forgotten them? No, he had felt them since he started; but where they were now, who could say? All he could think was that they must have been jerked out during the violent exertion of the ride.

How his heart leaped. They were in the leather pouch, which he had slung from his shoulder by a strap, and the excitement had made him forget this. "What a good—"

That pouch was gone. The buckle of the strap had come unfastened, and it was lost, and there was he out in the middle of that plain, with the carcass of the antelope to act as a bait to attract lions or other fierce brutes, and he was without any means of defence but his knife and his faithful dog.

The knife was sharp, so were Duke's teeth, but—

Dyke turned cold at the thought of his position, and involuntarily began to sweep the plain for signs of danger, knowing, as he did full well, that beasts of prey always hang about the herds of wild creatures in their migrations from feeding ground to feeding ground; the lions to treat the strong as their larder when on their way to water; the hyaenas and jackals to pick up the infirm and tender young. Then the boy's eyes were directed to the distant figure of his brother, and his first thought was to shout to him and ask for ammunition.

But no cry, however piercing, could have reached Emson then, as Dyke well knew, and acting upon sudden impulse, he ran to his horse to tighten the girths of his saddle to gallop off after him.

"And if I do," he said to himself, "the minute I am gone, the sneaking jackals and vultures will appear as if by magic, and begin spoiling the beautiful meat; Joe will laugh at me first for being a coward, and then turn angry because I have left the eland for the animals to maul."

Dyke stood with his forehead puckered up, terribly perplexed. He did not mind the anger, but the thought of Emson thinking that he was too cowardly to stop alone out there in the plain and keep watch for a few hours was too much for him, and he rapidly loosened the girths again.

Then came the thought of a family of lions, which had perhaps been unsuccessful, scenting out the eland, and coming up to find him in that unprotected state.

It was horrible, and, with a shiver, he tightened up the girths, sprang upon the cob, pressed its sides, and went off after Emson at a gallop, followed by Duke, who barked joyously, as if applauding his master's decision.

Dyke felt lighter hearted and as if every stride took him out of danger, and he gave a glance round, saw dots here and there in the sky which he knew were vultures hurrying up to the banquet, and drawing his left rein, he made Breezy swing round, and rode in a semicircle back to the eland with teeth set, a frown on his brow, and determination strong: for he had mastered the feeling of panic that had assailed him, and though he did not grasp the fact himself, he had made a grand stride in those few minutes toward manhood.

"Let 'em come," he said bitterly; "I won't run away like that. Why, I could only have done this if a lion as big as that one we shot were already here."

In another five minutes, with the dots in different parts around growing plainer, Dyke was back by the eland, and hobbling his horse's forefeet, he loosened the girths again with almost angry energy; then unstrapping the bit, left the cob to crop such green shoots as it could find.

As the boy performed these acts, he could not help stealing a glance here and there; and then standing on the eland, so as to raise himself a little, he shaded his eyes and carefully swept the plain.

He could see distant patches, which he made out to be herds, gradually growing fainter, and several more dots in the sky, but no sign of danger in the shape of lions; but he derived very little comfort from that, for he knew well enough that the tawny-hided creatures would approach in their crawling, cat-like fashion, and a dozen might be even then hidden behind the bushes, or flattened down in the sand, or dry, shrubby growth, with which their coats so assimilated as to make them invisible to the most practised eye.

Dyke's teeth were pressed so hard together that they emitted a peculiar grinding sound with the exertion as he leaped down, and the dog looked up in a puzzled way, and uttered an uneasy bark.

Dyke started. The dog must scent danger, he thought, and the next glance was at Breezy, whose instinct would endorse the dog's knowledge; but the cob was blowing the insects off the tender shoots at every breath, and browsing contentedly enough.

It was fancy. The great, foul birds were coming nearer, but Dyke knew that he could keep a thousand of them away by flourishing his empty gun.

Then a sudden thought occurred to him, and he turned excitedly to the dog, taking off his canvas pouch the while, and shaking it.

"Hi, Duke! Hey there, good old boy! Lost—lost! Seek them! Good dog, then! Seek—seek! Lost!"

The dog barked excitedly, sniffed at the pouch, looked up at his master, whined and barked, sniffed again at the pouch, and finally, in answer to Dyke's shouts and gestures, took another sharp sniff at the canvas, and bounded away, head down, and following the track made by the eland, the horses, and his own feet.

"What an idiot I was not to think of that before!" said the boy to himself. "He'll find it, as sure as sure."

Then he gave another glance round, to stand repentant as he followed the figure of the retiring dog, and felt ready to call it back, for he was increasing the terrible loneliness by sending away his dumb friend, one who would have instantly given him warning of the approach of danger.

Once more Dyke went through a mental battle. He was mastering the strong desire to call back the dog, and forcing himself to take out his knife and use it as a bill-hook to cut a quantity of the dry, short bush, piling it up until he had enough to make a fire. This he started, and felt better, for the flame and smoke would keep off animals, show where he was, and cook his dinner, about which he had begun to think eagerly, as well as of his position.

"I wonder whether other fellows of my age are so ready to take fright at everything. It's so stupid, just because the place is open and lonely. Fancy wanting to keep Duke back when he is pretty well sure to find my cartridge pouch, and bring it here. It's a good job no one knows what we feel sometimes. If any one did, how stupid we should look."

The fire burned briskly, with the white smoke rising steadily up in the still air, as, after trying whether the edge of his sheath-knife had been blunted by cutting the bush wood, he attacked the great antelope to secure a good steak to broil.

"Plenty to cut at," he said with a laugh; and his mouth watered now at the thought of the juicy frizzle he could make on the glowing embers, which would soon be ready for his purpose. But he went to work judiciously. His experience in the lonely, wild country had taught him a little of the hunter's craft, and he knew the value of the magnificent skin which covered the eland; so making certain cuts, he drew back the hide till a sufficiency of the haunch was bared, and after cutting a pair of skewer-like pieces from a bush, he carved a good juicy steak, inserted his skewers, spread out the meat, and stuck the sharper ends of the pieces of wood in the sand, so that the steak was close to, and well exposed to the glow. Then leaving it to roast, Dyke carefully drew the skin back into its place and set to work washing his hands.

Only a dry wash in the soft reddish sand, but wonderfully cleansing when repeated two or three times, and very delightful as a make-shift, where there is no water.

By the time Dyke's hands were presentable, and he had piled-up some more bush where the fire had burned into a hole, the meat began to sputter, and drops of fat to drip in the hot embers, producing odours so attractive to a hungry lad, to whom fresh meat was a luxury, that Dyke's thoughts were completely diverted from the loneliness of his position, and he thought of nothing but the coming dinner as he took from his pocket a lump of heavy mealie cake which had been brought by way of lunch.

"Wish I'd brought a bit of salt," he said to himself and a few minutes later, as he saw the full pound and a half steak beginning to curl up and shrink on one side, another thought struck him. Wasn't it a pity that he had not cut a bigger slice, for this one shrank seriously in the cooking?

But concluding that it would do for the present, he carefully withdrew the sticks from the sand, and turning them about, replaced them so as to cook the other side, congratulating himself the while upon the fact that the meat tightly embraced the pieces of wood, and there was no fear of the broil falling into the sand.

"Don't want that kind of salt peppered over it," he said in a mixed metaphorical way, and after a look at Breezy, who was browsing away contentedly, Dyke smiled happily enough. Then inhaling the delicious odours of the steak, he knelt there, with the fire glancing upon his face and the sun upon his back, picking up and dropping into places where they were needed to keep up the heat, half-burnt pieces of the short, crisp wood.

It was so pleasant and suggestive an occupation that Dyke forgot all about danger from wild beasts, or trampling from a startled herd coming back his way. For one moment he thought of Duke, and how long he would be before he came back with the cartridge pouch. He thought of Emson, too, in regard to the steak, wishing he was there to share it, and determining to have the fire glowing and another cut ready to cook.

Then, springing up, he ran to where Breezy raised his head with a pleasant whinny of welcome, took the water-bottle he always carried from where it was strapped to the back of the saddle, and returned to the cooking.

"Done to a turn," he cried, as he caught up the two pieces of wood which held the steak, bore his dinner away a few yards from the fire, sat down holding the skewers ready, and then placing his cake bread in his lap, he began to cut off pieces of the meat.

"De—licious!" he sighed, "but a trifle hot," and then everything was resolved into the question of meat—rich, tender, juicy meat—glorious to one whose fare had been dry, leathery, rather tainted biltong for a long while past.

Dyke ate as he had never eaten before, till the last fragment was reached—a peculiarly crisp, brown, tempting-looking piece adhering to one of the skewers. This he held back for a few moments in company with the last piece of mealie cake, wishing the while that he had cooked more, and brought a larger piece of the cake.

"Roast beef's nothing to it," he said softly. "Wish old Joe had been here to have a bit while it's so tender, and poor old Duke, too. Never mind, he shall have double allowance when he does come—triple if he brings my pouch. I wonder whether he has found it. It's wonderful what he can do in that way."

He raised his eyes to gaze in the direction taken by the dog as he sat there near the fire, and the huge carcass of the eland behind him, and then he seemed to have been suddenly turned into stone—sitting with the bit of cake in one hand, the skewer in the other, staring, with white rings round his eyes, straight at a full-grown, handsomely maned lion, standing about twenty yards away, gazing at him straight in the face.



CHAPTER TEN.

THE HUNTER HUNTED.

Dyke was completely paralysed in body, but his mind was wonderfully active, and he noted that the horse even had not divined the approach of the great beast, but was puffing away with snorting breath at the insects upon the tender shoots, and browsing contentedly enough, while the lion had stolen softly up nearer and nearer, without a sound, after perhaps following on the track of the antelopes for weeks, and taking toll from time to time, which might have accounted for its sleek condition and glistening hide.

In spite of the feeling of horror which chilled the boy, he could not help admiring the beauty of the magnificent beast before him, with its full flowing mane, and sunny, yellowish eyeballs intently watching him, as the long lithe tail, with its black tuft of long hairs at the tip, swung to and fro, now seen upon the left side, now upon the right, in other respects the great animal being as motionless as the boy.

For many moments Dyke could not even breathe, but at last he uttered a gasp, followed by a sharp, catching sound, as he inspired with a sob, and the lion raised the hair about his ears, as if to frown, and uttered a low, deep, growling noise.

Dyke's heart seemed to stand still as, with his eyes still fixed upon those of the beast, he waited for it to spring upon him, and drive him back. What then?

He shuddered softly, trying hard not to move, and irritate the lion into hastening its aggression at a time when life was so sweet, and every moment was greedily grasped before the end. He was horribly frightened, but this did not trouble him so much, for he felt stunned, and a great deal of what passed was dreamy, and seen as if through a mist. But one thing he knew, and that was that he would have some little warning of the attack, for the lion would crouch and gather its hind-legs well under it before it made its spring.

Then a wave of energy ran through Dyke, who, though still motionless, felt his heart throb with greater vigour as he began to think of self-defence. There was his gun close at hand, so near that he could have reached it; but it was useless. He might make one bold stroke with it; but the stock would only snap. Any blow he could deliver would only irritate the beast. And now a dawning feeling of admiration began to broaden as he gazed at the great, massive head and the huge paws, recalling the while what he had seen since he had been in South Africa— a horse's back broken by one blow, the heads of oxen dragged down and the necks broken by another jerk; and he felt that he would be perfectly helpless when the brute made its first spring.

And still the lion stood, with the tail swinging in that pendulum-like motion; the great eyes gazing heavily at him; while during those painful minutes Dyke's brain grew more and more active. He thought of mice in the power of cats, and felt something of the inert helplessness of the lesser animal, crouching, as if fascinated by the cruel, claw-armed tyrant, waiting to make its spring. And he knew that at any moment this beast might come at him as if discharged from a catapult. But all the same the brain grew more and more acute in its endeavours to find him a way of escape. If he had only had a short bayonet fixed at the end of his gun, that he might hold it ready with the butt upon the ground, and the point at an angle of forty-five degrees, so that the lion might at its first bound alight upon it, and impale itself, just as it had been known to do upon the long, sharp, slightly curved prongs of the black antelope, piercing itself through and through, and meeting the fate intended for its prey.

But then he had no bayonet at the end of his gun, and no weapon whatever, but his strong sheath-knife. He could hold that out before him; but he knew well enough that he could not hold it rigid enough to turn it to advantage against his foe.

It might have been so many seconds only, but it appeared to Dyke a long space of time numbered by minutes, as he waited there, expecting the great animal to crouch and spring, making short work of him before going on to gorge itself upon the carcass of the eland. There was no possibility of help coming, for it must be hours before Emson could return, and then it would be too late.

At last the power to move came back, and Dyke's first thought was to turn and run, but second thoughts suggested that it would be inviting the great active beast to spring upon his back, and he remained firm, never for a moment taking his eyes off those which stared so fixedly into his, although he was longing to look wildly round for the help that could not be at hand.

Then his heart gave one great leap, for he saw a quiver run through the lion, which crouched down, gathering its hind-legs beneath it, and outstretching its fore; but it was some moments before the boy grasped the fact that the brute's movement was not for the purpose of making a tremendous bound, but only to couch, as if it would be easier and more comfortable to gaze at him in a seated position after making a very long stalk.

"He can't be hungry!" came to Dyke's brain on the instant, and then boy and lion sat opposite to each other, gazing hard, till the great cat's head and mane seemed to swell and swell to gigantic proportions before the boy's swimming eyes, and they appeared misty, strange, and distant.

Then came another change, for the animal suddenly threw itself over, stretched, and turned upon its back, patted at the air with its paw, and gazed at the boy in an upside-down position, its lower jaw uppermost, but keeping a watchful eye upon him, as if expecting an attack. A moment or two later it was drawing itself over the sand to where Dyke sat, and made a quick dab at him with one paw, striking up the sand in a shower; and as the boy started away, the brute sprang to its feet, shook itself, and with two or three bounds plumped itself down upon the eland, and buried its teeth in the dead antelope's throat.

Dyke uttered a hoarse sigh of relief, and rested himself by pressing his hands down beside him, breathing heavily the while.

It was a temporary reprieve, but he dared not move for fear of drawing the attention of the lion to him, and clung to the hope that perhaps the great creature might be content to glut itself upon the game.

The beast was well-fed and not savage, that was plain enough, but its action might change at any moment, and, worse still, there was the prospect of others arriving at any moment to join in the feast.

For a full hour Dyke sat there, watching the great animal, and listening to it as it tore off pieces of the neck from time to time, the crack of a bone every now and then making him start violently, and shudder at the thought of certain possibilities connected with himself. And all this time the beast was in such a position that one eye was toward him, and a gleam therefrom made it apparent that he was carefully watched the whole time. But at last the lion turned itself more away to get at a more meaty portion, and a thrill of excitement ran through Dyke.

Grasping his knife firmly in one hand, his gun in the other, he turned over, and fixing upon one of the low bushes a short distance away, beyond which was other good cover, he began slowly and silently to crawl sidewise away, keeping a watchful eye the while upon the lion, so as to stop short at the slightest movement on the part of the great beast.

It was an exceedingly difficult mode of progression, and it was hard work to keep to it, for with every yard the desire to get up and run toward where Breezy would be grazing increased. Once he could reach the cob, take off the hobbles which confined its forefeet, tighten the girths, and slip the bit between its teeth, he did not care. But there was a great deal to do, he knew, before he could achieve this.

Yard by yard he crept on, the sand hushing every sound, and he had nearly reached the low bush cropped short all over the top by the horse or some passing animal, when there was a quick movement and a low growl which made him feel that all was over.

But a sharp crick, crack of a broken bone nipped in the powerful jaws reassured him, and after waiting a few minutes, he crept sidewise again a little farther, and he was behind the bush, which shut out all view of the lion and smouldering fire, and of course hid him from his enemy.

He could now make better progress, for if the lion turned, he would be invisible; and taking advantage of this, he crept on from bush to bush, till he was quite a hundred yards away. And now the longing was intense to stand erect and look out for Breezy, but the bushy growth had been so closely cropped that it was nowhere a yard in height, and to stand up might have meant to bring him full in his enemy's sight.

There was nothing to be done, then, but to crawl on to a more open spot, and as he was going in the direction taken by the horse in feeding the last time he saw it, the boy felt not the slightest uneasiness, being sure that he should come in sight of it directly.

Still the minutes glided on as he made for the more open part where the sand lay bare, and he began now to grow uneasy at not seeing the cob, and at last, like a crushing disaster, he saw that the poor animal must have scented the lion, or been alarmed at the cracking of the bones, and, in consequence, it had quietly shuffled as far away as it could in the time. There it was, a couple of miles away, right in the open plain, and though at that distance its movement could not be made out, it was in all probability shuffling its way along to save its life.

Dyke's heart sank in his breast as he knelt there in the sand, feeling as if his case was as hopeless as ever, and for the moment he felt disposed to creep right into the densest place he could find, and lie there till darkness set in, when he would take his bearings as well as he could from the stars, and then try to reach Kopfontein. But at that moment there came to him his brother's words, and the little absurd story about trying till to-morrow morning. A trifling thing; but at that moment enough to make Dyke sling his gun over his back, thrust the knife into its sheaf, mark down the position of the fire by the faint smoke, and then start off crawling on all-fours straight away, not after the horse, but so as to keep the bushes well between him and the lion.

The exertion was great and the heat terrible. Never had the sand seemed so hot before, nor the air so stifling to breathe; but he crept on silently and pretty quickly, till, glancing back over his shoulder, he found that he might move straight at once to where he could see Breezy looking distant and misty through the lowest stratum of the quivering air. For the low bushes hid him no longer; there was the faint smoke of the fire still rising, and just beyond it the big carcass of the eland, made monstrous by the great maned lion, crouching, tearing at the neck.

At the sight of this, Dyke dropped down flat, and lay panting and motionless for a few minutes. Then he began to crawl straight for the horse, grovelling along upon his breast. But this soon proved to be far too painful and laborious a mode of progression, and he rose to his hands and knees, feeling that it must be that way or nohow, though fast growing desperate enough to rise to his feet and run.

A minute's anxious reflection brought the feeling that this would be a mad act, and might rouse the lion into following him, so he kept steadily getting farther and farther away, and more and more foreshortened, as the artists term it, till he was pretty well end on to the lion, and he felt that he must present a singular aspect to the monster if it looked across the plain.

"I shall never do it," muttered Dyke. "Poor old Breezy! he was frightened. I can't blame him, but I don't get any nearer. He's going on as fast as I am, and I shall be obliged to get up and run."

But he did not. He kept up the uneasy crawling, putting hundred-yard space after hundred-yard space between him and the fire, while, when he did glance back, it was after dropping flat behind some bush and raising his head till he could see the eland lying like a low hummock or patch of bush, and with the lion growing less distinct.

On he went again, refreshed by the trifling rest, but far more by the fact that he was really getting more distant from the great danger. For it was in vain to try to assure himself that as the lion did not molest him before it had fed, it was far less likely to do so now.

As he crawled onward, wishing he could progress like the baboons which haunted some of the stony kopjes in the neighbourhood, he tried to think how long it would be before he overtook the cob, and in spite of the danger and excitement he could not help smiling, for his position reminded him of one of the old problems at school about if A goes so many yards an hour and B so many, for twenty-four hours, how long will it be before B is overtaken by A?

"A fellow can't do that without pen, ink, and paper," he said to himself. "It's too big a sum to do on sand, and, besides, I don't know how fast I am going, nor B for Breezy either. But oh, how hot I am!"

At last he could bear it no longer; he was apparently getting no nearer the cob, but he certainly must be, he felt, sufficiently far from the lion to make it safe for him to rise and trot after the nag. He had his whistle, and if he could make Breezy hear, the horse would come to him. But he dared not use that yet; besides, he was too far away.

At last he did rise, gazed timorously back, and then started onward at a steady trot—a means of progression which seemed quite restful after the painful crawl, and gaining spirit by the change, he went on with so good effect that he saw that he was certainly gaining on the cob. This infused fresh spirit within him, and congratulating himself on the fact that he must soon get within whistling distance, he had another glance back to see that eland and lion were an indistinct mass, or so it seemed for the moment. Then he turned cold again in spite of the heat, for there, moving slowly over the sand, about a quarter of a mile back, was a tawny, indistinct something which gradually grew clearer to his startled eyes, for unmistakably there was a lion stealthily stalking him, taking advantage of every tuft to approach unseen, and before many minutes had passed he felt that it would be within springing distance, and all would be over in spite of his almost superhuman toil.

There was only one chance for him now, he felt, and that was to run his best.

He did not pause to look, but began to run over the burning sand, his breath coming hot and thick; but he must go on, he knew, for at every affrighted glance behind, there was his enemy keeping up its stealthy approach, and the cob was still so far away.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

BEING STALKED.

Those were minutes which would have made the stoutest-hearted man feel that his case was hopeless; and Dyke struggled along, feeling his legs grow weaker, and as if his feet were turned to heavy weights of lead. Still he kept on at what was no longer a good run, for his pace had degenerated into a weary trot, and there were moments when he fancied that the cob was disappearing in a mist of distance, while at the same time he felt a constant inclination to check his speed, so as to be able to gaze back at his pursuer, which every now and then sent his heart upward with a tremendous throb, as it made a few rapid bounds to gain the shelter of bushes, and disappeared, but, as the boy well knew, to come into sight again much nearer.

The later part of that terrible flight was dreamlike in its strange, wild confusion, and was dominated by a despairing feeling that he had now done all that was possible, and must throw himself down and yield to his fate.

But the instinctive desire for life, the horror of being seized by the monstrous beast, and the thought of Emson and their home, which, shabby and rough as it was, now seemed to be a glorious haven of refuge, kept him struggling on in spite of his exhaustion. Life was so sweet; there was so much to do; and poor Joe would be so lonely and broken-hearted when he found out his brother's fate. It would be, he knew, the last terrible blow of all to the expedition. For himself, he was so stunned by horror and exertion that he could not feel that there would be much pain; all he hoped for was that the seizure would be sudden and the end instantaneous; but still he kept up that slow, steady double over the burning sand, with his heavy gun going jerk, jerk, giving him, as it were, regular blows across the loins to urge him on.

Another wild glance back, and the lion growing bigger; and another weary stare in advance, and the cob still so distant, but clearer now to his vision, though certainly shuffling away.

Again he looked back, to see the savage beast grovelling itself along, with its lower parts almost touching the sand, and seeming more than ever to keep up that stealthy, cat-like approach, so as to get within springing distance.

And now a reaction began to take place, and through his teeth Dyke's hot breath panted out:

"I don't care; I'll die game. He shan't kill me for nothing."

His hand went to his belt, and he snatched out his keen sheath-knife, determined to hold it with both fists before him, and face the lion when the beast sprang. It would not save his life, he felt; but the brute would suffer, and that was some consolation, even then. Then his left hand went to his throat, to tear open his collar, so that he could breathe more freely; but it did not reach the button, for it struck against the big metal whistle which hung from his neck by a twisted leather thong.

His next act was almost involuntary. He placed the metal to his lips, and blew with all his might a long, trilling whistle, despairing as he blew, but still with a faint hope that the shrill sound would reach through the clear air to where the cob was labouring along with its hobbled feet.

The result sent a thrill through the boy, for to his great joy he saw that the cob had stopped.

No: it was fancy.

No: it was no imagination, no fancy of his disordered brain; for the moment before, the horse was end on to him; now, it had turned broadside, and was gazing back; and in his excitement Dyke whistled again with all the breath he could put into the act.

The horse still stared back. It had heard the familiar call, and Dyke felt another thrill of hope, for on looking back he saw that the whistle had had a double effect: the lion had stopped short, sprung erect, and stood at gaze with bristling mane, staring after him, its head looking double its former size.

But Dyke did not pause; he ran on, dragging his leaden feet, till he saw that the cob was once more moving away, and the lion crawling rapidly along in his track.

Another shrill, trilling whistle with the former effect, and the animals in front and rear stopped again, giving the boy a few yards' gain.

But the reprieve was very short. The lion soon recovered from its surprise at the unwonted sound, one which might mean danger, and resumed its stalk, while the cob again went on.

How long that terrible time lasted Dyke could not tell, but the whistling was resumed over and over again, always with the same effect, and with the hope growing that perhaps at last he might reach the horse, Dyke toiled on.

Despair came, though, in company with the hope; for at any moment the boy felt that the cob might wildly rush off as soon as it realised how near the lion was behind its master—fear getting the better of the long training which had taught it to obey its master's call. But still Dyke was getting nearer and nearer, and the whistle did not seem to lose its effect, always checking horse and lion as well, till to Dyke's great joy the cob uttered a loud whinnying sound, answered by a deep muttering growl from the lion.

"I can go no farther," panted Dyke at last, and his run degenerated into a weary stumble, as he raised the whistle once more to his lips, blew with all his feeble might, and then began to walk.

Hope once more, for the whinnying sounded loudly now; and in spite of the presence of the lion a couple of hundred yards behind its master, Breezy suddenly came toward where Dyke stood, advancing in a stumbling canter. Dyke tried to call to it, but no words would come; and he glanced back to see the lion gliding over the ground nearer and nearer.

How long would it be before it was near enough to make its bound?

Long before he could get down by the cob's forelegs to loosen the hobbles from its fetlocks, and mount.

Dyke felt that as he staggered to meet the cob, and the beautiful little animal stumbled toward him, whinnying joyfully, seeing for the time nothing but its master, to whom it looked for protection.

"I shall never do it! I shall never do it!" he panted, and he glanced back to see the lion stealing on, with its eyes glaring in the sunshine. And there was no friendly, playful look here, for now Dyke noticed that this was not the lion which he had encountered by the eland, but another, evidently one which had been following the droves of antelopes, and, fierce with hunger, had turned aside after the first object that it had seen.

At that moment Dyke dropped upon his knees, throwing one arm round the fettered legs of his favourite, which had ceased its whinnying, and began to tremble violently, snorting and starting, and, yielding to its panic at the sight of the approaching enemy, threatened to bound away.

To get the hobbles undone was impossible, for Dyke's hands trembled from weakness and excitement; but spurred again by despair, he made a couple of bold cuts, severed the leather thongs, and sprang to his feet.

But there was much yet to do: the bit to fasten, and how could he get it into the mouth of the horrified beast?—the girths to tighten, while the cob backed away.

Neither was possible, and glancing once over his shoulder, Dyke snatched at the mane, but missed it, for the cob started violently, but stopped a couple of yards away, paralysed with horror at the approach of the great, stealthy beast.

Another clutch at the mane, and the cob started again; but Dyke had seized it fast, and was dragged a few yards before Breezy stopped, trembling in terror; as making one last effort, the boy made a leap and scramble to mount, dragging the saddle half round, but getting his leg over, clinging now with both hands to the mane.

Nothing could have been narrower.

The lion had given up its stealthy, creeping approach, and risen at last to commence a series of bounds, ending with one tremendous leap, which launched it through the air, and would have landed it next upon Dyke and his brave little steed; but horror drove off the trembling, paralytic seizure, and Breezy made also his frantic bound forward, with the result that the lion almost grazed the horse's haunches as it passed, and alighted upon the sand. The beast turned with a savage roar; but, urged by fear, and spurred by its master's hoarse cries, the cob was galloping, with its eyes turned wildly back, and every breath coming with a snort of dread.

Certainly nothing could have been narrower, for, enraged by its failure, the lion was in full pursuit, keeping up bound after bound; but swiftly as it launched itself forward, its speed fell short of the pace at which the brave little cob swept over the sand, spurning it at every effort in a blinding shower right in the lion's face, while Dyke, lying prostrate, clinging with hand and knee, was in momentary expectation of being thrown off.

The pursuit was not kept up for more than three hundred yards. Then the lion stopped short, and sent forth a series of its thunderous, full-throated roars, every one making Breezy start and plunge frantically forward, with the sweat darkening its satin coat.

But the danger was past, and for the next ten minutes Dyke strove hard to master a hysterical sensation of a desire to sob; and then gaining strength, and beginning to breathe with less effort, he drew himself up erect, and tried by voice and caress to slacken the frightened animal's headlong speed.

"Wo-ho, lad! wo-ho, lad!" he cried, and the speed slackened into a canter.

"My word!" muttered the boy to himself, "I don't know how I managed to stick on!"

Ten minutes later he managed to stop the cob, and sliding off wearily, he stroked and patted its reeking neck, unbuckled and slipped in the bit, attached the reins to the loose side, and arranged them ready for mounting. Then dragging the saddle back into its place, he properly tightened the girths, and gave two or three searching glances backward the while.

But the lion, far or near, was well hidden, and they were well out in one of the barest parts of the plain, which now spread tenantless as far as eye could reach, while the eland was quite out of sight.

And now, as he proceeded to mount, Dyke awoke to the fact that his back was bruised sore by the gun, which had beaten him heavily; he was drenched with perspiration; and it was an effort to lift his foot to the stirrup, his knees being terribly stiff. He was conscious, too, of a strange feeling of weariness of both mind and body, and as he sank into the saddle he uttered a low sigh.

But he recovered a bit directly, and turning the cob's head, began to ride slowly in the direction of Kopfontein, whose granite pile lay like an ant-hill far away, low down on the eastern horizon.

He was too tired to think; but he noted in a dull, half-stunned way that the sun was getting very low, and it struck him that unless he hurried on, darkness would overtake him long before he could get home.

But it did not seem to matter; and though it hurt him a little, there was something very pleasant in the easy, rocking motion of Breezy's cantering stride, while the wind swept, cool and soft, against his cheeks.

Then he began to think about the events of the day—his narrow escape, which seemed to be dreamlike now, and to belong to the past; next he found himself wondering where the dog was, and whether it had found his cartridge pouch. Lastly, he thought of Emson, and his ride back to fetch Jack and the oxen—a long task, for the bullocks were so slow and deliberate at every pace.

But it did not seem to matter, for everything was very restful and pleasant, as the golden sun sent the shadow of himself and horse far away along the plain. He was safe, for the lion could be laughed at by any one well mounted as he was then. At last the pleasant sensation of safety was combined with a dull restfulness that grew and grew, till, moving gently in that canter over the soft sand, which hushed the cob's paces to a dull throb, the glow in the west became paler and paler, and then dark.

Then bright again, for Dyke recovered himself with a jerk, and sat upright, staring.

"I do believe I was dropping off to sleep," he muttered. "That won't do. I shall be off.—Go on, Breezy, old boy. You had a good long rest, and didn't have to crawl on your knees. How far is it now?"

Far enough, for the kopje was only just visible against the sky.

But again it did not seem to matter, for all grew dull again. Dyke had kept on nodding forward, and was jerked up again, but only for him to begin nodding again. Soon after he made a lurch to the left, and Breezy ceased cantering, and gave himself a hitch. Then followed a lurch to the right, and the cob gave himself another hitch to keep his master upon his back, progressing afterwards at a steady walk, balancing his load: for Dyke was fast asleep, with the reins slack and his chin down upon his chest, and kept in his place by the natural clinging of his knees, and the easy movement of the sagacious beast he rode. But all at once he lurched forward, and instinctively clung to the horse's neck, with the result that Breezy stopped short, and began to crop the shoots of the bushes, only moving a step or two from time to time.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

DYKE IS AGGRIEVED.

"Fine chance for a lion," said Emson, as at dusk he left the oxen, being slowly driven by Kaffir Jack, and cantered off to his left to draw rein in front of Dyke, the boy sitting upright with a start.

"Eh?"

"I say a fine chance for a lion," cried Emson again.

"No: couldn't catch,"—snore.

"Here! Hi! Little one. Wake up!" cried Emson.

"Yes; all right!—What's the matter?"

"Matter? why, you're asleep, you stupid fellow: a lion might have come upon you in that state."

"Lion? Come upon? Did—did you speak to me?" said Dyke thickly.

"Speak to you? of course. Why, you foolish, careless fellow, what was the matter? Afraid to stay by the game?"

Dyke looked at him drowsily, striving to catch all that had been said, but only partially grasping the meaning.

"Don't know—what you mean," he said thickly.

"I mean it was very cowardly of you to forsake your charge, boy," said Emson sternly. "It's vital for us to save that meat, and I trusted you to watch it. Now you've come away, and it will be horribly mauled by the jackals; perhaps we shall find half a hundred vultures feeding upon it when we get there. Hang it, Dyke! you might have stayed till I came back."

Dyke was too much confused to make any reply. Utterly exhausted as he had been, his deep sleep seemed to still hold him, and he sat gazing vacantly at his brother, who added in a tone full of contempt:

"There, don't stare at me in that idiotic way. Come along; let's try and save something. Look sharp! One of us must ride on, or we shall not find it before it's dark."

Dyke rode beside him in silence, for Breezy eagerly joined his stable companion, and in a short time they were up to, and then passed Jack with his plodding oxen, which were drawing a rough sledge, something similar to that which a farmer at home uses for the conveyance of a plough from field to field.

The angry look soon passed away from Emson's face, and he turned to Dyke.

"There, look up, old chap," he said; "don't pull a phiz like that."

Dyke was still half stupefied by sleep, but he had grasped his brother's former words, and these were uppermost, rankling still in his mind as he said heavily:

"You talked about the jackals and vultures, Joe."

"Yes, yes; but I was in a pet, little un—vexed at the idea of losing our stock of good fresh meat. That's all over now, so say no more about it. Began to think I was never coming, didn't you? Well, I was long." Emson might just as well have held his tongue, for nothing he now said was grasped by Dyke, who could think of nothing else but the former words, and he repeated himself:

"You talked about the jackals and vultures, Joe."

"Yes, yes, I did; but never mind now, old chap."

"But you didn't say a word about the lions."

"What?" cried Emson excitedly. "You have had no lions there, surely?"

"Yes," said Dyke, bitterly now, for he was waking up, and felt deeply aggrieved. "Two great beasts."

"But in open day?"

Dyke nodded.

"Then why didn't you fire? A shot or two would have scared them away."

"Yes," continued the boy in the same bitter tone; "but you can't fire when your gun's empty, and you have no cartridges."

"But you had plenty when we started. I filled your pouch."

"Yes, but it came undone in the ride after the eland. It's lost. I sent Duke to try and find it, and he didn't come back."

"My poor old chap!" cried Emson, leaning forward to grasp his brother's shoulder. "I did not know of this."

"No, you couldn't know of it, but you were precious hard upon me."

"My dear old chap, I spoke to you like a brute. I ought not to have left you, but I was so delighted with the way in which you had brought down the game, and, as it were, filled our larder, that I thought you ought to have all the honour of keeping guard, while I played drudge and went to fetch the sledge to carry the meat home. But tell me: the lions came?"

"One did," said Dyke, "and gave me turn enough, and when I got away from him to try and catch Breezy here, another savage brute hunted me and nearly struck me down. Oh, it was horrid!" he cried, as he ended his rough narrative of what he had gone through.

"Dyke, old chap, I shall never forgive myself," said Emson, grasping his brother's hand. "I'd do anything to recall my words."

"Oh, it's all right," cried the boy, clinging to the hand that pressed his; "I'm better now. I was so exhausted, Joe, that I suppose I couldn't keep awake. I say, how was it I didn't fall off?"

"The cob was standing quite still when I came up, and looked half asleep himself."

"Poor old Breezy! He had such a fright too. I thought I should never catch up to him. But I did."

"Can you forgive me, old fellow?"

"Can I what? Oh, I say, Joe! Don't say any more, please. Here, give me some cartridges to put in my pocket. I'm all right now, and there are sure to be some more lions there. But, I say, I don't think I should like to shoot at that first one."

Emson handed a dozen cartridges, and then shouted to Jack to stop, which the Kaffir and his two dumb companions willingly did.

"What are you going to do, Joe?"

"Discretion is the better part of valour," said Emson quietly. "It would be dark by the time we got there, and on your own showing, the field is in possession of the enemy. Why, Dyke, old fellow, it would be about as mad a thing as we could do to drive a couple of bullocks up to where perhaps half-a-dozen lions are feasting. I ought to have known better, but it did not occur to me. These brutes must have been following the herds. There's only one thing to do."

"What's that? Go near and fire to scare them away?"

"To come back again, after they had left us the mangled remains of the eland. No good, Dyke: we shall be safer in our own beds. It's only another failure, old chap. Never mind: we may get game to-morrow."

Dyke tried to oppose this plan of giving up, but it was only in a half-hearted way, and they rode back slowly towards Kopfontein, pausing from time to time for the oxen to catch up, Jack growing more and more uneasy as the night came on, and running after them and leaving the oxen, if they came to be any distance ahead.

The result was that he was sent on first with the slow-paced bullocks, and Dyke and his brother formed themselves into a rearguard, necessitated from time to time to come to a full stop, so as to keep in the rear.

It was nearly morning when they reached home, and after fastening their cattle safely behind fence and rail, they sought their own beds, where Dyke sank at once into a heavy sleep, waking up when the sun was quite high, with some of the previous evening's confusion left; but the whole of the day's adventure came back in a flash as his eyes lit upon Duke, fast asleep upon a skin, and with the lost cartridge pouch between his paws.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

JACK BEHAVES HIMSELF.

The necessity for providing fresh provisions took the brothers out again next day, but there were no more herds visible, as far as their glass would show, anywhere out upon the plain; but at last they caught sight of half-a-dozen of the graceful little springboks, and after a long gallop got close enough to try a couple of shots, which proved successful; and a little buck was borne home in triumph, a portion cooked, and Dyke sat watching his brother eat that evening, till Emson looked up.

"Why, hullo!" he cried; "not well?"

"Oh yes, I'm quite right," replied Dyke hastily.

"Then why don't you eat?"

"Because I wanted you to make up for the past," said the boy, laughing. "I'm a meal ahead of you. I had such a splendid dinner yesterday off the eland."

Next morning, upon their visit to the ostrich-pens, Emson's face brightened, for there was excitement among the birds, the great hen having hatched every egg of those they had brought home in the net; and for the next few days everything possible was done in the way of feeding, so as to help the young brood on into a state of strength.

"Oh, it's all right, Joe," said Dyke; "all we've got to do is to keep on scouring the plain and finding nests. We shall succeed after all."

"Yes, but you must scout off after some meal and coffee; we can't get on without those."

"And sugar."

"And sugar. What do you say to starting to-morrow?"

"I'm ready," said Dyke; and after warning Jack, and making the necessary preparations over night, they sought their couches, and rose before daybreak to go and rouse up the Kaffir and his wife.

The latter soon had her fire glowing; Jack grumpily fetched water, and then proceeded to yoke the bullocks to the wagon, after which he settled down to his breakfast; and after feeding his stock, Emson mounted his horse to ride a few miles with his brother, both keeping a sharp lookout for game; while Duke, who was of the party, kept on hunting through the hushes, and now and then starting a bird.

It was getting toward mid-day before anything was shot, and then another little springbok fell to Emson's piece, just as they reached the water where they were to make their first halt.

The buck was divided, part to go back to Kopfontein and some to form part of Dyke's provision, while another portion was cooked at once and eaten.

"There," said Emson at last, "I don't think I need say any more to you, old fellow. Jack knows the way well enough. Set him to drive the bullocks, and you ride beside and drive him. Keep a tight rein, and if he shows his teeth and isn't obedient, tell him you'll shoot him, and take aim at once, or he won't believe you."

"Rather sharp practice, Joe, isn't it?"

"Not with a man like that. He'll be ready to play upon you in every way, and you must let him see that you do not mean to be imposed upon. Sounds harsh, but I know Master Jack by heart."

"You do think he'll take me straight to all the water?"

"I haven't a doubt about it, old fellow," said Emson, smiling. "Jack isn't an ostrich, and must drink at least once a day, so you need not be nervous about that.—There," he continued, mounting; "I must be off. Good-bye."

"Not yet; I'm going to ride a little way back with you," cried Dyke.

"No, you are not, lad. Rest yourself and your horse.—Here! Hi! Jack!"

The Kaffir came from under the wagon, grinning.

"Drive your bullocks carefully, and bring them back in good condition."

The man smiled and showed his teeth.

"That's right. Go along and have your sleep."

The Kaffir went back and crept under the wagon, and Emson clasped his brother's hand.

"Take your time, but don't lose any, old fellow," he said; "for I shall be glad to see you back. Take care of yourself. I wish I were going with you, but I can't. There, you are man enough to manage everything, so good-bye."

He urged his horse forward and went back swiftly along the trail, his nag cantering steadily along one of the broad ruts made by the wagon wheels in the sand, while Dyke went and seated himself just under the wagon-tilt, and watched him till he was out of view.

"Six days and nights at the least," said Dyke to himself with a sigh, "and perhaps a fortnight, before I get back. Never mind; every day will be one less, and I don't suppose I shall mind its being lonely, after all. Duke's good company, and so is Breezy, without counting Jack, and it isn't so very bad after all to go riding through the country with one's own tent on wheels. Why, some fellows at home would be mad with joy to get such a chance. Ah, look at that. Why, if I'd been ready, I might have got a couple of Guinea-fowl for the larder."

For a flock of the curious speckled birds came and settled amongst the bushes on the other side of the water pool, but catching sight of visitors, went off with a tremendous outcry.

"Don't matter," said Dyke; "there's plenty of the buck."

The sun was sinking low in the west, as after a long, toilsome journey from the last water, Dyke, with the great whip held aloft like a large fishing-rod and line, sat on the wagon-box shouting to the weary oxen from time to time. He was apparently quite alone, save that Breezy was tethered by a long leathern rein to the back of the wagon. There was no Kaffir Jack, no Duke; and the boy, as he sat driving, looked weary, worn out, and disconsolate.

For days past he had been upon a faintly-marked track leading south-west—a track in which hoof-marks and the traces of wagon wheels having passed that way were faintly to be seen, quite sufficient to show him that he was on the right track for civilisation in some form, and he felt pretty certain that sooner or later he would reach Oom Morgenstern's store and farm.

But it had been a terrible task that managing of the team alone, and urging the sluggish animals to drag the wagon when they reached heavy patches of sand. Then, too, there was the outspanning—the unyoking the often vicious animals from the dissel-boom or wagon pole and trek chain, when he halted by water, and let them drink and feed. Then the inspanning, the yoking up of the oxen again, and the start once more.

That huge whip, too, had been such a clumsy thing to handle, but highly necessary, for without it he would never have reached the end of his journey. Then at night there had been the same outspanning to see to; the feeding of the bullocks; the collection of wood and lighting of as big a fire as he could contrive, to cook his food, boil his coffee, and, finally, make up to scare off wild beasts. In addition to this, a thorn protection ought to have been made to keep off danger from Breezy, but that was impossible; and hour after hour Dyke had sat in the darkness, where the cob's rein was made fast to the wagon tail, and, gun in hand, had watched over the trembling beast, keeping him company when the distant roaring of lions was heard on the veldt, and the bullocks grew uneasy.

Little sleep fell to Dyke's lot by night; but in the daytime, when the bullocks were going steadily along the track, which they followed willingly enough for the most part, the boy's head would sink down upon his breast, and he would snatch a few minutes' rest, often enough to start up and find the wagon at a standstill, and the bullocks cropping some patch of grass or the tender shoots of a clump of bushes.

Then on again, with at times the great whip exchanged for the gun, and some bird or another laid low, so as to find him in extra provisions by the way. Once, too, he managed to hit a little buck.

A long, doleful, and weary journey, without meeting a soul, or being passed. On and on, over the never-ending plain, often despairing, and with the oxen groaning, empty as the wagon was, for the sun flashed and was reflected up with blinding force, and there were moments when Dyke grew giddy, and felt as if he must break down.

But those were only moments. He set his teeth again, and trudged on or rode, thinking of Joe waiting patiently away there in the lonely, corrugated iron building, tending the ostriches, and feeling in perfect confidence that the journey would be achieved, and the necessary stores brought back.

There were moments, though, when Dyke brightened up, and told himself that he would do it if he tried till to-morrow morning; and at such times he laughed—or rather tried to laugh—for it was rather a painful process, his face being sore and the skin ready to peel away.

But at last, after escaping danger after danger by a hair's-breadth, the great weariness of the almost interminable journey was coming to an end, for, far away in the distance, there was a building visible through the clear air. He could see a broad stretch of green, too, looking delightful with waving trees, after the arid wilderness through which he had passed; and now, in spite of his great fatigue, Dyke plucked up courage, for the building must be Oom Morgenstern's farm, and in an hour or so the traveller felt that the first part of his journey was at an end.

Once or twice a feeling of doubt troubled him, but that soon passed off, for reason told him that he could not be wrong—this must be the point for which he had been aiming.

The bullocks began to move more briskly now, for they could see green pasture in the far distance, and there was a moister feeling in the air, suggestive of water not far away.

So Dyke's task grew lighter, and an hour or so later he could see a big, heavy, grey man standing outside an untidy-looking building, littered about with cask and case, and who saluted him as he halted his team:

"Ach! das is goot. How you vas, mein bube?"

"Here, I say," cried Dyke, as the big German shook hands with him, "who are you calling a booby, Uncle Morgenstern?"

"Hey? You vas bube. Not gall yourself mans, long time ago to gom. Bube ist poy, goot poy. Zo you gom vrom Kopfontein all py youzelf to puy mealies and dea, and goffee and sugars?"

"Well, not quite all alone; I've got our Kaffir with me."

"Ach! ten: why you not make him drive die pullock? Lazy tog!"

"He's in the wagon, bad. I've had to drive the bullocks, and inspan and outspan all by myself."

"Ach! wonterful! All py youself. Goot poy. Ant you are hot, und sehr dursty."

"Oh yes, horribly thirsty."

"Goot! Die Frau shall make you zom of mein beaudiful goffees. Das is good vor dursdy.—Hi!" he shouted; and a couple of Kaffir boys came from behind a rough shed, to whom he gave instructions to outspan the oxen and drive them to the abundant pasture by the river side.

"Goot! Now led me see der pad mensch. Zo you haf put you Kaffir in you wagon, and give him a pig ride."

"Yes; I thought he was going to die."

"Zo? Ah! zom beebles would haf left him oonter a dree, und zay do him: 'Mein vrient, you had petter make youself guite well as zoon as you gan. I muss nicht shtop. Goot-bye.' But you did bring him in dem wagon, hey?"

"Oh yes: I could not leave him."

"You are a goot poy, my young vrient. And how is der big bruder?"

"Quite well," said Dyke, looking uneasy as the big, frank-faced, fat, German Boer questioned him.

"Why did he not gom too? I like den big bruder."

"Too busy minding the young ostriches."

"Ach zo! Of goorse. Ant you make blenty of money—you gut off der vedders, and zend dem to der Gape?"

"Oh no. We're doing very badly: the young birds die so fast."

"Zo? Das ist sehr, very bad. You had petter zell mealie und gorn, und dea und sugars. It ist mooch petters as neffer vas, and you not haf to gom five, zigs, zeven days to me. Now let us zee den Kaffirs."

The old man had approached the back of the wagon as he spoke, and now drew the canvas aside, to be greeted by a low growl which made him start back.

"Tunder!" he cried. "Der Kaffir tog is gone mad!"

"No, no; that is our dog Duke."

"Ah! Und is he pad too?"

"Yes: a leopard came and seized him one night and carried him off from under the wagon; but I ran out and fired, and I suppose I hit the beast, for there was a lot of snarling and Duke got away; but I thought he would have died."

"Ach! boor togs den. What you do to him?"

"Bathed the places with water."

"Goot!"

"And he licked the wounds himself."

"Besser."

"And curled himself up, and went to sleep."

"Das vas der best of all, mein young vrient. Aha! Goot tog, den. You let me zee how you vas pad. I am your master's vrient; das ist zo."

He advanced his hand to where Duke lay just inside the canvas, and the dog gave the skin on which he lay two thumps with his tail.

"Das ist goot," said the old German trader. "Ach! yaas; you haf been pite on dem pack, und scratch, scratch along bofe your zides; boot you are a prave tog, and zoon be guite well again."

Duke's tail performed quite a fantasia now, and he uttered a low whine and licked at the great, fat, friendly hand which patted his head.

"Und now vere is der poy?"

"Get into the wagon," said Dyke; and the German climbed in, followed by Dyke, and stooped down over the figure of Kaffir Jack, who lay on a blanket, with his head toward the front part of the wagon, through which opening the evening light still streamed.

The Kaffir's head was tied-up with a bandage formed of the sleeve of a shirt cut off at the shoulder, split up lengthwise at the seams, tied together so as to make it long enough, and this was stained with blood, evidently days old.

The Boer gazed down at the Kaffir, and Jack gazed up at him, screwing up his face in the most piteous fashion.

This scrutiny on both sides went on for some time in a silence which was at last broken by the Kaffir uttering a dismal groan which went right to Dyke's heart.

"Ah," said the trader softly, "boor vellow! How you vas?"

Jack uttered a more dismal groan than before.

"Ah, vas it den? Boor mans! you zeem as bad as neffer can be. You doomble off dem vagon, und dread on your vace like dot?"

"Oh!" groaned Jack. "Baas killum."

"Did he den. Der baas kill der boor vellow dead?" Then suddenly changing his tone from one full of soft sympathy to a burst of fierce anger, he roared out: "Dunder und lightning! You get oot of dis, you oogly black, idle tog. You got sore head, und lazy as big bullock. Out you vas!"

He accompanied the fierce words with a sharp kick, and Jack bounded up and sprang clear over the wagon-box, to stand out on the trampled ground, staring wildly.

"Ah, you vait till I gom und get das 'noceros whip, und make you tance, you lazy tog. You go take den pferd to water, or you haf no zopper to-night. Roon!"

Dyke stood staring at the change that had come over the Kaffir, who ran to where the horse was tied, unfastened the rein, and led him off without a word.

The old trader chuckled.

"I know whad is der madder mit dose poy. He is guide well as neffer vas, und lie und shleep and say he gannod vork a leedle pid. How game he do domble und gut den kopf?"

Dyke coloured.

"He did not tumble," said the boy. "I hit him."

"Zo? Mit dem shdick?"

"No," faltered Dyke; "with the barrel of my gun."

"Ach! das ist not goot. You mide break den gun. Der whip handle is der bess. Why you vas hit him on dem het?"

"He would not see to the bullocks. Almost directly after we had started—I mean the next day—he got at the meat and ate all there was."

"Ach! yas. He look as if he had den gros shdomach. And zo he eat him all?"

"Yes; everything."

"Und what den?"

"Then he went to sleep and wasted a whole day, and I had to do everything, and cut wood for the fire, and watch to keep off the wild beasts."

"Ach! boor vellow! he vas shleepy, after eat himself so vull."

"Yes."

"Und der next day?"

"The next day he said it was too soon to start, and that I must go and shoot something for him to eat, while he kept up a good fire."

"Zo? He is a glever vellow," said the Boer, nodding his head, and with his eyes twinkling. "Und did you go and shoot zom more meat vor den boor poy?"

"No. I told him he must get up, and help to get the wagon along."

"Und he said he vould not move?"

"Yes," said Dyke; "and at last I got angry, and kicked him to make him get up and work."

"Ah zo; und what den?"

"He jumped up, and threatened to spear me with his assegai."

"Zo; und what den?"

"I hit him over the head with the gun barrel, and he fell down, and has not been up since. I was afraid I had killed him, for he lay with his eyes shut."

"Und you goot oop your shirt to die oop his het, und you veed him, und drink him, und waid upon him effer since as neffer vas."

"Yes; I've had to do everything," said Dyke sadly; "but I ought not to have hit him so hard."

"Vot? My goot younger vrient, you should, und hit him more hart as dot. A lazy, pad tog. He is a cheating rascal. A man is neffer bad when he look guide well as dot. I know dot sort o' poy, und he shall pe ferry sorry when he go pack, or I keep him here. Now you gom und wash, and meine alt voman shall give you blendy do eat und drink, und den you shall haf a creat big shlafen, und wake oop do-morrow morning as guide well as neffer vas. Gom along. Und zo die ozdridge birds go todt?"

"Go how?" said Dyke wonderingly.

"Todt, dead—vall ashleep, and neffer wake oop no more. Ah, vell, I am zorry for den pig bruder. He ist a ver goot mans. He bay for all he puy at mein shdore, und dot is vot die oder beobles do not alvays do.— Frau," he continued, as they entered the homely and rather untidy but scrupulously clean house, "dis ist mein younger vrient: you dake him und wash him, und make him a pig evening's eating, vor he has gom a long way do zee us, und he will shday as long as he like."

Frau Morgenstern, a big, fat woman, greeted him warmly, and confined her washing to giving him a tin bucket, a lump of coarse yellow soap, and a piece of canvas perfectly clean, but coarse enough to make a sack.

That bucket of water was delicious, and so was the hearty meal which followed, and after being assured by the hearty old German that the cattle were properly tended, and seeing to Breezy himself—an act which brought the old trader's fat hand down upon his back with "Goot poy: alvays dake gare of your goot horse youzelf,"—the house was re-entered, the door shut, and the host stood up, closed his eyes, and said a prayer in his native tongue, ending by blessing Dyke in true patriarchal fashion.

That night Dyke slept as he had not slept for weeks, and woke up the next morning wondering that he could feel so fresh and well, and expecting to see Kaffir Jack at the other end of the wagon, curled up in a blanket; but though the dog was in his old quarters, Jack was absent, and Dyke supposed that he was asleep beneath.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

A RESTING-PLACE.

"You are petter as offer you vas, heh?" cried the old trader, thrusting his face in between the canvas curtains of the wagon end. "Yes, quite well. Good-morning."

"Ach zo. It is a goot mornings. Ant how is der tog? You vill say how to you are to dem alt Oom Morgenstern. He is goot tog ten, and getting himself mended ferry quickly. How vas it he shall pe scratch and pite all ofer hims, heh?"

The old man patted and stroked the dog with his big fat hand, as he spoke in a soft soothing tone, which had the effect of making him the best of friends with Duke, who whined and licked at the hand, and kept up a regular throbbing pat-pat-pat upon the floor of the wagon.

"Ach yes, ten, he is a ferry goot togs, and he shall pe effer zo much petter zoon. Ant zo der pig spotty gat gom und dake him, heh?"

"Yes, poor fellow, one of the great brutes pounced upon him suddenly, and fetched him from right under the wagon," said Dyke. "You were bad, weren't you, Duke, old chap?"

The dog threw up his head and uttered a loud howl, and then began to lick the cuts torn by the leopard's sharp claws.

"Ach! he vas pad, den," said the old man. "But das ist goot vizzick for goots und pites. Der tog's tongue ist as goot as his tooses ist pad. Ant zo you zhoot hims, heh?"

"What!—the leopard?" said Dyke. "Yes, I shot and hit him, I suppose; but I was afraid of hitting the dog. I fired, though, as a last chance."

"It was guide right," said the old man, nodding his head. "You do not shoode—you do noding, and der leopards garry away den hund. You do shoode, und if you shoode him, it is petter than for hims to be eaten oop alife, und you may shoode den leopard. Zo! I am happy das you hafe zave den tog. He is a goot tog, und a goot tog ist a goot vrient out in der veldt. Now you gom mit me, und die alte voman give us bode zom fruhstuck. You know what ist das?"

Dyke shook his head.

"Das ist goot Deutsch for breakfass, mein young vrient."

"Oh, I see," cried Dyke. "I never learnt Dutch."

"Nein, nein, nein, goot bube. Not Dutch. I did say Deutsch—Sharmans."

"But you are a Boer, are you not?"

"Nein. I did gom ofer from Sharmany dwenty year ago. Dere ist blendy of Dutch Boer varder on. I am Deutsch."

"I'll recollect," said Dyke eagerly.—"But how is Jack the Kaffir? Is he lying down under the wagon?"

"Nein," cried the old man sharply. "As zoon as he zee me gom, shoost when it ist morgen, und he zee mein big shdick, he shoomp oop und go und veed den pferd horse, as he know he should. He's guide well, dank you, now, and work ferry hart, like a goot poy."

The old man wrinkled up his face, shut his eyes, and indulged in a hearty, silent laugh.

"I am zorry," he said, suddenly growing serious; "und I veed and nurse a boor mans, und I zay to him: 'Lie you there und go to sleep dill you are besser.' Boot Meinheer Jack he ist a pig hoomboogs, and I gan zee all froo him. Dunder and lightning! I gif him der shdick. Now gom und haf den breakfast, und den you shall gom indo mein shdore, und puy die mealies, und gorn, und dea, und goffee, und rice, und zhugars, und bay me den money, und we will load den wagon. Den der vorks is done, und you shall gom und sit und dalk do me about die osdridge birds, while I shmoke mein bibe und you rest yourself, und resht die bullocks for two day. Den you go pack to your pig bruder, who want to see you ferry pad."

"Yes, I want to get back again," said Dyke.

"Das ist goot, bud you moost haf a goot long resht, und go guide well again. Und now, my younger vrient, I will dell you zomedings to dell dem bruder. You dell him der osdridge ist no goot. I haf dried, boot dey go zick, und guarrel, und fight, und ghick von anoder und efery bodies, und preak die legs; und die hens lay dere nests vull of pig eggs, und die ghocks gom und shoomp upon 'em, und make der feet all ovaire gustard und shell, und den no jickens gom. You dell dem bruder dot your beebles haf been vinding die diamonds in der veldt, und he had petter go und look vor die brescious shdones, und nod preak hish hart like der gock osdridge preak die eggs his weibs lays."

"Yes, I'll tell him, Herr Morgenstern. I did want him to come and look for gold."

"Ach! der golt ist no goot, bube. Effery potty goes to look for den golt. You dell him to go und look for die diamonds."

"Yes, but where?" said Dyke drily.

"Dunder und lightning! If I know, I should dake two pig wagon to dem place, all vull of mealies und goot dings, und dell die beebles die diamonds vas here; und vhen dey gom to vind, I should zell mein goot dings und go und vetch zom move. You must go und vind die places everyvere all ofers, und dell me. I ken not, bood der are diamonds to be found. Now you shdop dat ruck a dongue of yours, und do not dalk zo motch like an old vool, und gom und hafe zom breakfast, or the old frau vill gom after us mit a shdick."

He winked comically at Dyke, and led the way to the house, where there was a warm welcome, and a delicious breakfast of bread and milk and coffee waiting, with glorious yellow butter and fried bacon to follow.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

OOM MORGENSTERN'S SERMON.

Duke was fed directly after the meal, and curled up afterward to "ged himselfs guide well again as effers." Soon after Dyke came across Jack, who was returning from driving the bullocks down to the stream for water, and now carefully saw to their being in the best bit of the old man's pasture for a good feed and rest.

"Ach zo!" cried the old man, "he ist a creat deal potter, mein young vrient.—You Shack, you hafe work well. You gan go to mein haus, und die frau will give you blenty of mealie gake und zom milk. You don't eat doo motch, or you will pe pad again, und want dem shdick. You oontershdant?"

Jack, whose face had been very pitiful and pleading, brightened up at this, and ran toward the house, while old Morgenstern turned and favoured Dyke with one of his winks.

"You zee now, my younger vrient, he ist like a pig shild dot has been oop der shimney. You must hid him hart negs dime. You did hid doo zoft."

"Soft!" cried Dyke. "Why, I thought I had killed him."

"Ach, yes, you dought zo; but der plack man's het is sehr dick. You hid an Englishman, or a Deutschman, or a Boer, and his het ist tin; but a plack man's het is dick. I dink zomdimes ven he ist so shdupid dot it ist all hart bone right froo. But it ist not zo; it is only dot dey are shdupid liddle shildren, und dink of noting bud eat und drink und shleep demselfs as long as ever dey gan; dot is all. You can neffer make a whide man oud of a plack man, if you wash him mid all der zoap in der world. Now den, der tog is right, und der horse, und die pullocks, so you shall gom to my shdore."

He led the way to a barn-like building, where he kept the supplies he dealt in and prospered over, settlers and travellers coming from far to purchase of the old fellow again and again, for he bore the proud title of honest man—a title that is known abroad as soon as that of rogue. And here Dyke produced his list, and corn, meal, bacon, tea, sugar, coffee, and salt were measured and weighed out by the help of a Kaffir boy, and set aside till all was done, when the old man, who had kept account all through with a clean, smooth box-lid and a piece of chalk, seated himself on a cask, added up and presented the wooden bill to Dyke.

"There," he said; "it is a creat teal of money, und I feel ashamed to jarge so motch; but you dell der pig bruder it gost me as motch as effer vas to get die dings oop to mein haus. I zend dwo wagon all der vays do der down, und dey are gone for months, und die men und die pullocks all haf to cad, und zomdimes die lions ead die oxen, und zomdimes die wheels gom off, und dere is vloods und die wasser, und I lose a creat deal. I gannod jarge any less for mein dings."

"My brother knows all that, sir," said Dyke frankly, as he paid the money at once. "He said he would send me to you instead of to Oom Schlagen, because, he said, you would be just."

"Did your pig bruder say dot?" cried the old man eagerly.

"Yes. He said I should come to you, though it was twenty long miles farther."

"Ach! den now I shall go und shmoke mein piggest bibe for a dreat. Dot does me goot. Oom Schlagen is a pig fool; zo ist effery man who does not lofe his neighbour and zay his brayers effery night. You oondershtand, mein younger vriend."

Dyke nodded, feeling at first half amused, then impressed by the simple-hearted old German's manner.

"Zom men gome out here into die veldt and zay: 'Ach! it is a pig open blace, und nopody gan zee me here, und I zhall do whad I like,' und den dey rob und sheat, und kill die plack poys, und drink more as ist goot for demselfs, und all pecause they are pig fools. For you haf read for youselfs, mein younger vrient, dot God is effery where und zees effery dings, und you gannot hide youselfs, or what you do. Und dot's mein sermon, und it is a goot one, hey? Pecause it is zo short. Bud dot's all. Now den," he continued, as he took down a great pipe, and began to fill it from a keg of tobacco, "I am going to shmoke mein bibe, pecause I veel as if I vas a goot poy."

He struck a match, lit up, and as he began to emit great clouds of smoke, he carefully stamped out the last spark from the splint of wood, reseated himself, and chuckled.

"You wait dill I haf finish mein bibe, und we vill all go to vork, und pack dese dings in dem wagon. Now you look here. I dell you about die diamonds—und der is hartly any potty yet as know—und as zoon as I haf dell you, I zay to myselfs: 'Ach! Hans Morgenstern, you are not a man: you are chattering old frau, who gannot keep a zecret. You go dell effery potty.' Und I vas ferry zorry pecause I vas soch an old dumkopf—you know what dot is?"

"Something head," said Dyke, smiling.

"Yaas, it ist your thick head, poy, shdupid head, und I vas gross mit myzelf, bud now I am glad. Der pig bruder zaid I vas honest mans, und just. I am a magistrate, und I dry to be, und I vall out mit den Boers, und zom oder white men, pecause I zay der Kaffir is a pig shdupid shild, und you must make him do what you want; but you shall not beat und kill him for nodings. Ach! you laugh yourselfs pecause I use den shdick. Neffer mind. I am just, und die Kaffirs know it, und gom und work for den alt man, und gom pack again. I am glad now I did dell you about die diamonds. Your bruder ist a gendlemans, und you dell him not to wasde his dime over die long shanks, and to go for die diamonds, und if he wands shdores, to gom mit his wagon, und get all he wands, und if he gannot bay me, id does not madder. Zom day he will ged das money, und he gan bay me den. Ach! he zaid I vas a honest man, und he is mein vrient, und dot is der zweetest bibe of dobacco I ever shmoke. Now gom und help load den wagon, like a goot poy, and zom day, when you grow a pig man, you may learn to shmoke doo. Boot it ist not goot for poys."



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

A DEAD CHECK.

Two pleasant, restful days under the green leaves at old Morgenstern's farm and store, and he was pressed to stay another; but Dyke was anxious to get back to his brother, and with Duke limping about, the horse and bullocks looking quite fresh and well, everything loaded up carefully, and a cask of sweet, pure water slung at the back of the wagon, Dyke stood at early dawn ready to start.

The oxen were yoked and hitched on to the dissel-boom and trek tow, breakfast was over, and all was ready, with Jack flourishing his great long whip of hippopotamus hide, eager to start.

Just then the hospitable old German signed to the Kaffir to come alongside, and a chirrup brought up the dog as well.

"Now, mein vrient," said the old man, "you gan oondershtand goot Englisch, if you gannot shpeak him zo vel ash me, zo you listen. I am a creat magistrate, und know a lot. I am going to dalk to dot tog, und you are to hear.—Now, my goot tog, you are better as effer you vas, heh?"

Duke barked.

"Das ist goot. Now you are going to Kopfontein."

The dog barked loudly.

"Das ist good, too. Now I dell you dis: if Kaffir Jack—you know Kaffir Jack—dot is him."

He clapped his hand on the black's shoulder, and the dog barked excitedly.

"Yaas, you know him; und I dell you dot if he does not work, you are to bide him."

The dog's hair rose up, and Jack made a movement to run, but the big fat hand held him fast.

"Und then, mein goot tog, if you do dot, he vill be ferry pad, und perhaps go mad. I mean, if you bide him, hey?"

The dog barked furiously, and Jack's blackish face turned of a horrible dirty grey as he stood shivering, having pretty well understood every word.

"Dot is right; und now Kaffir Jack will drive die oxen, und pe a goot poy. Now you go. Trek!"

The Kaffir sprang away, whip in hand, the willing oxen began to pull, and the wagon went off through the soft sand, Duke hurrying to his place beneath, just in front of the water cask, while Dyke stood, rein in hand, waiting to shake hands with his host, who laughed softly.

"I dalk all dot nonsense do vrighten him like a shild," he said. "He vill pe a goot poy now till he begin to forget, und den you must vrighten him doo. Now goot-pye, und der goot God bless you, mein sohn."

Dyke shook hands warmly with the friendly old man, sprang upon Breezy, and soon overtook the wagon, which was going steadily along the faint track.

He glanced back several times, seeing the old trader standing in front of his house smoking his big pipe, but at last he was invisible, and the boy set himself to achieve his long, slow, five or six days' journey, hopeful, rested, and ready, feeling as if all was going to be right, and more happy in his mind than he had been for days.

As he went on and on, fresh, light-hearted, and bright, every place made familiar by halts as he came, wore a very different aspect, and there were times when he smiled at some of the petty vexations, though others were serious enough. For instance, by this water, where he had had so much difficulty in getting wood, for the day's journey had been very long, and it was growing dark when he halted, and a distant roar told of the possibility of a visit from lions, and perhaps the loss of one of the bullocks. But now all was smooth and pleasant, the evening was glorious, the oxen not too weary, and Jack soon collected enough wood for cooking and keeping up a roaring blaze.

The next day, too, was hot and pleasant. Several guinea-fowl fell to Dyke's gun, and he shot a dangerous viper which raised its head sluggishly from the sandy track, threatening, with gleaming eyes and vibrating tongue, the barking dog, which kept cautiously beyond striking distance. There were lions heard in the night, making the cattle uneasy, but they were not molested.

It was wonderful as a contrast that journey back, and Dyke often asked himself, as he cantered about, sometimes to the side, sometimes letting the wagon go for some distance forward, whether he had not been of poor heart, and had made too much fuss over his troubles; but second thoughts convinced him that he had had a terrible task, and he almost wondered that he had been able to reach Morgenstern's at all.

Jack was the very perfection of a Kaffir servant now, driving splendidly, and taking the greatest care as to the pasturing and watering of the cattle; his young master never having to find fault with a single thing.

But there was the reason plainly enough; and Dyke smiled to himself as he thought of how easily the black had been impressed by the big old German, though he felt that Jack's guilty conscience had something to do with it.

Oddly enough, the dog's behaviour during the return journey helped to keep Jack in order. For Duke, though his hurts were mending fast, was still very weak. He was ready to bark and make plenty of fuss over his master, but he did not evince the slightest desire to trot after him when he rode away from the wagon. Duke seemed to know his own powers, and went back directly to his place between the two hind wheels of the wagon. There he stayed, keeping step pretty well with the bullocks. But at every halt, when Jack proceeded to gather wood, drive the oxen to water or pasture, the dog followed close at his heels, making no demonstration of friendliness, never barking, but walking with lowered head and surly look, just behind, stopping when the black did, going on or returning, and never leaving him for a moment, and ending by going back to his place under the wagon, and there resting his head upon his paws.