Off to the Wilds: Being the Adventures of Two Brothers

George Manville Fenn

"Off to the Wilds"

Chapter One.

Coffee and Chicory, but not for Breakfast.

“Just look at him, Dick. Be quiet; don’t speak.”

“Oh, the dirty sunburnt little varmint! I’d like the job o’ washing him.”

“If you say another word, Dinny, I’ll give you a crack with your own stick.”

“An’ is it meself would belave you’d hurt your own man Dinny wid a shtick, Masther Jack? Why ye wouldn’t knock a fly off me.”

“Then be quiet. I want to see what he’s going to do.”

“Shure an’ it’s one of the masther’s owld boots I threw away wid me own hands this morning, because it hadn’t a bit more wear in it. An’ look at the dirty unclane monkey now.”

“He’ll hear you directly, Dinny, and I want to see what he’s going to do. Hold your tongue.”

“Shure an’ ye ask me so politely, Masther Jack, that it’s obliged to be silent I am.”

“Pa was quite right when he said you had got too long a tongue.”

“Who said so, Masther Jack?”

“Pa—papa!”

“Shure the masther said—and it’s meself heard him—that you was to lave your papa at home in owld England, and that when ye came into these savage parts of the wide world, it was to be father.”

“Well, father, then. Now hold your tongue. Just look at him, Dick.”

“It’s meself won’t spake again for an hour, and not then if they don’t ax me to,” said Dennis Riley, generally known as “Dinny,” and nothing more. And he, too, joined in watching the “unclane little savage,” as he called him, to wit, a handsome, well-grown Zulu lad, whose skin was of a rich brown, and who, like his companion, seemed to be a model of savage health and grace.

For there were two of these lads, exceedingly lightly clad, in a necklace, and a strip of skin round the loins, one of whom was lying on his chest with his chin resting upon his hands, kicking up his feet, and clapping them together as he watched the other, who was evidently in a high state of delight over an old boot.

This boot he had found thrown out in the fenced-in yard at the back of the cottage, and he was now seated upon a bank trying it on.

First, he drew it on with a most serious aspect, held out his leg and gave it a shake, when, finding the boot too loose, he took it off and filled the toe with sand; but as the sand ran out of a gap between the upper leather and the sole close to the toe and as fast as he put it in, he had to look out for something else, which he found in the shape of some coarse dry grass. With this he half filled the boot, and then, with a good deal of difficulty, managed to wriggle in his toes, after which he drew the boot above his ankle, rose up with a smile of gratified pride upon his countenance, and began to strut up and down before his companion.

There was something very laughable in the scene, for it did not seem to occur to the Zulu boy that he required anything else to add to his costume. He had on one English boot, the

same as the white men wore, and that seemed to him sufficient, as he stuck his arms akimbo, then folded them as he walked with head erect, and ended by standing on one leg and holding out the booted foot before his admiring companion. This was too much for the other boy, whose eyes glittered as he made a snatch at the boot, dragged it off, and was about to leap up and run away; but his victim was too quick, for, lithe and active as a serpent, he dashed upon the would-be robber, and a fierce struggle ensued for the possession of the boot.

John Rogers, otherwise Jack, a frank English lad of about sixteen, sprang forward to separate the combatants, but Dinny, his father’s servant, who had been groom and gardener at home, restrained him.

“No, no, Masther Jack,” he cried, “let the young haythens fight it out. It’ll make them behave betther by-an’-by.”

“I won’t; I don’t like to see them fight,” cried Jack, slipping himself free, and seemingly joining in the fray.

“Don’t, Masther Jack,” cried Dinny; “they’ll come off black on your hands. Masther Dick, sir, tell him to lave them alone.”

The lad appealed to, a pale delicate-looking youth, clenched his fists and sprang forward to help his brother. But he stopped directly and began to laugh, as, after a short scuffle, Jack Rogers separated the combatants, and stood between them with the boot in dispute.

For a moment it seemed as if the two Zulu lads were about to make a combined attack, but there was something about the English lad which restrained them, and they stood chattering away in their native tongue, protesting against his interference, and each laying claim to the boot.

“Speak English,” cried Jack. “And now you two have got to shake hands like Englishmen, and make friends.”

“Want a boot! want a boot! want a boot!” the Zulu lads kept repeating.

“Well, you do as I tell you, and you shall each have a pair of boots.”

“Two boot? Two boot?” cried the boy who had lost his treasure.

“Yes; two boots,” said Jack. “You’ve got an old pair, haven’t you, Dick?”

“Yes; they can have my old ones,” was the reply. “Go and get them, Dinny.”

“And my old lace-ups too,” said Jack.

“Ugh!” ejaculated Dinny, spitting on the ground in token of disgust. “Ye’ll both repint being such friends with cannibal savages like them, young gentlemen. They’ll turn round on ye some day, and rend and ate ye both.”

“Not they, Dinny,” laughed Jack. “They’d prefer Irishmen, so we should be safe if you were there.”

“Ah, ye may laugh,” said Dinny, “but they’re a dangerous lot, them savages, and I wouldn’t trust ’em the length of my fut.”

Dinny went towards the back door of Mr Rogers’ roomy, verandah-surrounded cottage farm, high up in the slopes of the Drakensberg, and looking a perfect bower with its flowers, creepers, and fruit-trees, many being old English friends; and Jack proceeded to make peace between the two Zulu boys.

“Now look here, Sepopo, you’ve got to shake hands with your brother,” he cried.

“No!” cried the Zulu boy who had been lying down when he snatched the boot, and he threw himself in a monkey-like attitude on all fours.

“Now you, Bechele, you’ve got to make friends and shake hands,” continued Jack, paying no heed to Sepopo’s defiant attitude.

“No!” cried the last-addressed, emphatically. “’Tole a boot! ’Tole a boot!” And he too plumped himself down upon all fours and stared at the ground.

“I say yes!” cried Jack; when, as if moved by the same influence, the two Zulu boys leaped up, ran a few yards, and picked up each his “kiri,” a short stick with a knob at the end nearly as big as the fist, ran back to where the English lads were standing, and with flashing eyes began to beat the sand with their clubs.

“Come along, Dick!” cried Jack. “They shan’t fight. You take Sepopo, I’ll take Bechele. No; don’t! It will make you hot, and you’re not strong. I’ll give it them both.”

Jack, who was very strong and active for his age, made a dash at the young Zulus just as they began threatening each other and evidently meaning to fight, when for a few moments there was a confused struggle, in which Jack would not have been successful but for his brother’s help, he having overrated his strength. But Dick joined in, and in spite of their anger the Zulu boys did not attempt to strike at their young masters, the result being that they allowed their kiris to be wrenched from their hands, and the next minute were seated opposite to each other on the ground.

“They’re as strong as horses, Dick,” panted Jack. “There! Now, you sirs, shake hands!”

“No!” shouted one.

“No!” shouted the other; and with a make believe of fierceness, Jack gave each what he called a topper on the head with one of the kiris he held.

“Now will you make friends?” cried Jack; and again they shouted, “No!”

“They won’t. Let them go,” said Dick, languidly; “and it makes one so hot and tired.”

“They shan’t go till they’ve made friends,” said Jack, setting his teeth; and thrusting his hand into his pocket he brought out a piece of thick string, the Zulu boys watching him intently.

They remained where Jack had placed them, and going down on one knee he seized the right hand of each, placed them together, and proceeded to tie them—pretty tightly too.

“There!” cried Jack. “Now you stop till you’re good friends once more.”

“Good boy now,” cried one on the instant.

“Good boy now,” cried the other.

“Then shake hands properly,” said Jack.

“Give him the boot,” cried Sepopo, as soon as his hand was untied, and he had gone through the required ceremony with his brother.

“No, no; give him the boot,” cried the other.

“Hold your tongues,” cried Jack. “I say, Dick, let’s call them something else if they are going to stop with us, Sepopo! Bechele! What names!”

“Well,” said Dick, languidly, as he sat down in a weary fashion: “one’s going to be your boy, and the other mine. Let’s call them ‘Black Jack’ and ‘Black Dick.’”

“But they are brown,” said his brother.

“Yes, they are brown certainly,” said Dick, thoughtfully. “Regular coffee colour. You might call one of them ‘Coffee.’”

“That’ll do,” said Jack, laughing, “‘Coffee!’ and shorten it into ‘Cough.’ I say, Dick, I’ll have that name, and I can tell people I’ve got a bad ‘Cough.’ But what will you call the other?”

“I don’t know. Stop a moment— ‘Chicory.’”

“And shorten it into ‘chick’. That will do, Dick; splendid! Cough and Chick. Now you two, one of you is to be Cough and the other Chick; do you hear?”

The Zulu boys nodded and laughed, though, in spite of the pretty good knowledge of the English language which they had picked up from their intercourse with the British settlers, it is doubtful whether they understood the drift. What they did comprehend, however, was, that they should make friends; and this being settled, there was the old boot.

“Give me boot, and show you big snake,” cried Chicory.

“No, no, give me; show more big snake,” cried Coffee.

Just then Dinny came up with two old pairs of the lads’ boots, which he threw down upon the sandy earth; and reading consent in their young masters’ eyes, the Zulu lads pounced upon them with cries of triumph, Coffee obtaining the two rights, and Chicory the two lefts, with which they danced about, flourishing them over their heads with delight.

“Come here, stupids!” cried Jack; and after a little contention, the boys being exceedingly unwilling to part as they thought with their prizes, he managed to make them understand that the boots ought to go in pairs; and the exchange having been made, each boy holding on to a boot with one hand till he got a good grip of the other, they proceeded to put them on.

“Ugh! the haythen bastes,” said Dinny, with a look of disgust. “Think of the likes o’ them wearing the young masthers’ brogues. Ah, Masther Dick, dear, ye’ll be repinting it one of these days.”

“Dinny, you’re a regular prophet of evil,” said Dick, quietly.

“Avic—prophet of avil!” cried Dinny. “Well, isn’t it the truth? Didn’t I say avore we left the owld counthry that no good would come of it? And avore we’d been out here two years didn’t the dear misthress—the saints make her bed in heaven—go and die right away?”

“Dinny! how can you!” cried Jack, angrily, as he saw the tears start into his brother’s eyes, and that in spite of the sunburning he turned haggard and pale.

“Don’t take any notice, Dick,” he whispered, in a tender, loving way, as he laid one arm on his brother’s shoulder and drew him aside. “Dinny don’t mean any harm, Dick, but he has such a long tongue.”

Dick looked piteously in his brother’s face, and one tear stole softly down his cheek.

“I say, Dick,” cried Jack, imploringly, “don’t look like that. It makes me think so of poor mamma. You look so like her. I say don’t, or you’ll make me cry too; and I won’t,” he cried, grinding his teeth. “I said I’d never cry again, because it’s so childish; and I won’t.”

“Then I’m childish, Jack,” said Dick, as he rubbed the tear away with one hand.

“No, no. You have been so weak and delicate that you can’t help it. I’m strong. But I say, Dick, you are ever so much stronger than when we came out here.”

“Yes,” said Dick, with a wistful look at his brother’s muscular arms. “I am stronger, but I do get tired so soon, Jack.”

“Not so soon as you did, Dick; and father says you’ll be a strong man yet. Hallo! what’s the matter? Look there.”

The brothers turned round, and hardly knew whether to laugh or to be alarmed; for a short distance away there was Dinny dancing about, waving his arms and shouting, while Coffee and Chicory, each with his kiri, were making attacks and feints, striking at the Irishman fiercely.

“Ah, would you, ye black baste?” shouted Dinny, as roaring now with laughter the brothers ran back.

“Shoo, Shoo! get out, you dirty-coloured spalpeen. Ah, ye didn’t. Kape off wid you. An’ me widout a bit of shtick in me fist. Masther Dick, dear! Masther Jack! it’s murthering me the two black Whiteboys are. Kape off! Ah, would ye again! Iv I’d me shtick I’d talk to ye both, and see if your heads weren’t thick as a Tipperary boy’s, I would. Masther Dick! Masther Jack! they’ll murther me avore they’ve done.”

As aforesaid, the two Zulu boys had picked up a great deal of the English language, but their understanding thereof was sometimes very obscure. In this instance they had heard Dinny talking to his young masters in a way that had made the tears come in Dick’s eye, and driven him and Jack away. This, in the estimation of the Zulu boys, must be through some act of cruelty or insult. They did not like Dinny, who made no attempt to disguise his contempt for them as “a pair of miserable young haythens,” but at the same time they almost idolised the twin brothers as their superiors and masters, for whom they were almost ready to lay down their lives.

Here then was a cause for war. Their nature was to love and fight, as dearly as the wildest Irishman who was ever born. Dinny had offended their two “bosses”—as they called them, after the fashion of the Dutch Boers, and this set their blood on fire.

Hardly had the brothers walked away than, as if moved by the same spirit, they forgot the beauty of the old boots in which they had been parading—to such an extent that they kicked them off, and kiri in hand made so fierce an attack upon unarmed Dinny that, after a show of resistance, he fairly took to his heels and ran back to the house, just as the brothers came up.

“Popo give him kiri,” cried Chicory.

“Bechele de boy make Boss Dinny run,” cried the other, his eyes sparkling with delight. “No make de boss cry eye any more.”

“No make Boss Dick cry eye any more,” repeated Chicory.

The brothers looked at each other as they comprehended the meaning of the attack.

“Why, Jack,” said Dick, “what faithful true fellows they are. They’ll never leave us in a time of trouble.”

“No, that they won’t,” cried Jack; and just then a tall, stern, sunburnt man, with grizzled hair and saddened eyes, came up to where they stood. Laying his hand affectionately on the shoulder of Dick,—

“Come, my boys,” he said, “dinner is ready. Let’s be punctual while we are leading a civilised life.”

“And afterwards, father, as punctual a life as we can,” said Dick, smiling.

“Hurray!” cried Jack, giving his cap a wave in the air. “Only another week, and then, father—”

“Yes,” said Mr Rogers, with a quiet, sad look, “then, my boy, good-bye to civilisation.”

“Only for a time, father,” said Dick, quietly.

“Till you win health and strength, my boy,” said Mr Rogers, with an affectionate glance.

“And that we’ll soon find,” cried Jack; “for we are off to the wilds.”

Chapter Two.

Why they went away.

It was about two years before this that Mr Edward Rogers, a gentleman holding a post of importance in the City of London, had purchased some land and come out to dwell in Natal. For physician after physician had been consulted, seaside and health resort visited, but as the time glided on the verdict of the doctors became more and more apparent as a true saying, that unless Mrs Rogers was taken to a warmer climate her days would be few.

Even if she were removed the doctors said that she could not recover; but still her days might be prolonged. What was more, they strongly advised such a course in favour of young Richard, who was weak and delicate to a degree.

“Then you really consider it necessary?” said Mr Rogers to the great physician who had been called in.

“I do indeed. As I have said, it will prolong your wife’s days, and most probably it will turn that delicate, sickly boy into a strong man.”

On being asked further what country he would recommend, he promptly replied,—

“South Africa.”

“Natal is the place,” he continued. “There you have the Drakensberg, and you can choose your own elevation, so as to get a pure, temperate climate, free from the cold of the mountains and the heat of the plains.”

Mr Rogers was a man of prompt action, for the health of those dear to him was his first consideration. The consequence was that after rapidly making his arrangements, and providing the necessaries for his new home, he took passage to Durban, arrived there in safety with his wife, two sons, and Dennis; then made his way to Maritzburg; and soon after he had purchased an extensive tract of land, and a pleasantly situated home, with garden in full perfection, the owner of which, having made money in the colony, wished to retire to England.

Here for a time Mrs Rogers had seemed better, and undoubtedly her life was considerably prolonged. Gardening, farming, and a little hunting formed the occupations of the father and sons, and for a time all was happiness in the sunny far-off home. Then the much-dreaded day came, and they were left to mourn for a tender wife and mother, whose loss was irreparable.

Richard, who partook greatly of his mother’s nature, was, like his father, completely prostrated by the terrible loss; and though time somewhat assuaged his grief, he seemed to have gone back in his health, and lost the way he had made up since he left England, and he had become so weak and delicate that Mr Rogers had consulted the doctor, who from time to time visited their far-off home.

“Medicine is of no use, my dear sir,” he said frankly. “I can do him no good. I suppose he sits indoors a good deal and mopes?”

“Exactly.”

“Then look here, my dear sir, give him a thorough change. You are not tied to your farming in any way?”

“Not in the least.”

“Then fit up a waggon, take your horses, and have a few months’ campaign in the wilds yonder. You want a change as badly as the boy, and you will both come back, I’ll venture to say, doubled in strength. Why, the ivory and skins you’ll collect will pay your expenses. I wish I had the chance to go.”

It was settled then, and the waggon was being fitted up with ammunition and stores; horses, guaranteed to be well-salted, had been purchased for Mr Rogers and his boys. The two young Zulus who had been hanging about the place for months, making little trips with Dick and Jack, were to go; and in addition a couple of trustworthy blacks, experienced as waggon-driver and foreloper, had been engaged; so that in a very few days they would say good-bye to civilisation for months, and go seek for health in the far-off wilds.

The boys were delighted, for Mr Rogers proposed that they should aim for the Zambesi River, and seek some of the seldom-traversed lands, where game abounded, and where the wonders of nature would be opened to them as from an unsealed book.

If Dick and Jack were delighted, the two Zulu boys were half mad with joy. As soon as they knew that they were to be of the party they seemed to have become frantic, going through the actions of hunting and spearing wild beasts—knocking down birds with their kiris, which they threw with unerring aim—pantomimically fighting lions, one of them roaring and imitating the fierce creature’s “oomph, oomph,” in a way that sounded terribly real, while the other threatened him with his assegai.

Then they were always showing their cleverness as hunters by stalking people—crawling up to them through the long grass, taking advantage of every irregularity of the ground or shrub to get nearer, and grinning with delight on seeing the surprise and fear of the person stalked.

For it was only during the past year that they had been so much amongst the settlers in Natal. Their early days had been spent with their tribe in the north, their father being a redoubtable chief; but he had given great offence to the king, and had been compelled to fly for his life, finding refuge amongst the English, with his boys.

Mention has been made of well-salted horses, which to a sailor would immediately suggest commissariat beef in pickle in good-sized tubs; but pray don’t imagine that the satisfactory condiment, salt, has anything to do with a salted horse in South Africa. A salted horse is one that is seasoned to the climate by having passed through the deadly horse sickness, a complaint so bad and peculiar to the land that very few of the horses seized with it recover. When one does recover he is called a salted—that is, seasoned—horse, and his value is quadrupled.

Mr Rogers had spared no expense in getting together good cattle. His team of little Zulu oxen were the perfection of health and strength, and far more docile than is generally the case with these animals; though even these, in spite of their good behaviour, were exceedingly fond of tickling each other’s ribs with their long horns, and saving the driver trouble, for the pair nearest the waggon would stir up the pair in front of them, and as these could only retaliate on their aggressors with their tails, they took their revenge on the pair in front; these again punished the pair in front; and so on, and on, to the leading oxen, the result of the many applications being a great increase of speed.

Then the horses were excellent. Mr Rogers had three for his own riding; a big bay, a dark grey, and a soft mouse-coloured chestnut, more famous for speed than beauty, and with a nasty habit of turning round and smiling, as if he meant to bite, when he was mounted.

Dick was clever at names, and he immediately suggested “Smiler” as an appropriate name for the chestnut. The dark grey he called “Toothpick,” because of his habit of rubbing his teeth on the sharp points of the fence; while he called the big bony bay the “Nipper,” from his being so fond of grazing on, and taking nips from, the manes and tails of his companions, when he could get a chance.

Mr Rogers provided three horses for his own riding, but it was with the idea of giving either of his sons an extra mount when necessary, for it was certain that there would be times when the arch-necked swift little cobs purchased for his boys would want a rest.

It was a stroke of good fortune to get such a pair, and the boys were in ecstasies when they were brought up from Maritzburg, for a handsomer pair of little horses it would have been hard to find. They were both of that rich dark reddish roan, and wonderfully alike, the differences being in their legs; one being nearly black in this important part of its person, the other having what most purchasers would call the blemish of four white legs—it being a canon amongst the wise in horseflesh that a dark or black-legged horse has better sinews and lasting powers. In this case, however, the theory was wrong, for white legs was if anything the stronger of the two.

The lads then were delighted, and this became increased when they found the little nags quite ready to make friends, and willing to eat apples, bread, or as much sugar out of their hands as they would give.

“That’s right, my boys,” said Mr Rogers, who found his sons making friends in this way with the new arrivals; “always feed your horses yourselves, and treat them well. Pet them as much as you like, and win their confidence by your kindness. Never ill-use your horse; one act of ill-treatment and you make him afraid of you, and then perhaps some day, when in an emergency and you want to catch your horse, he may gallop away. Go on like that, and those cobs will follow you about like dogs. But you must each keep to his own horse. Which one would you like, Jack?”

“Oh! the—”

Jack stopped, and glanced at his brother, whose face was slightly flushed.

Dick was weak and delicate, while Jack was the perfection of boyish vigour; and feeling that his brother did not enjoy life as he did himself, he stopped short just as he was going to say White Legs, for there was something in the cob’s face that he liked, and the little horse had let him stroke its velvet nose.

“Poor old Dick has taken a fancy to him,” he said to himself; “and the other will do just as well for me.”

“Let Dick choose first,” he said aloud.

“Very well,” said Mr Rogers. “Now then, Dick, which is it to be? though you can’t be wrong, my boy, for there is not a pin to choose between them, and they are brothers.”

“Should you mind if I chose first, Jack?” asked Dick.

“Not a bit,” said Jack, stoutly, though his feeling of disappointment was keen, for he felt now that he would dearly love to have the white-legged cob.

You may guess then his delight when Dick declared for the black-legged one.

As soon as he heard the decision Jack had his arm over the white-legged cob’s neck and had given it a hug, the horse looking at him with its great soft eyes, and uttering a low snort.

“Up with you then, my boys, and have a canter.”

“Without a saddle, father?” said Dick, nervously.

Jack was already up.

“Have it saddled if you like, my boy,” said Mr Rogers, kindly.

But Dick flushed, gave a spring from the ground, and was on the little cob’s back.

They were both skilled riders, but Dick’s illness made him timorous at times. He, however, fought hard to master his weakness; and when Jack cried, “Come on, Dick; let’s race to the big tree and back,” he stuck his knees into the cob’s plump sides and away they went, with the wind rushing by their ears, and the cobs keeping neck and neck, rounding the big tree about a mile away on the plain, and then making the dusty earth rise in clouds as they tore back, and were checked with a touch of the bridle by the home field.

“Why, Dick, my boy, I would not wish to see a better seat on a horse,” cried Mr Rogers, patting the cobs in turn. “Jack, you set up your back like a jockey. Sit more upright, my boy.”

“All right, father; I’ll try,” said Jack, throwing himself right forward so as to hug his cob’s neck. “But I say, father, isn’t he lovely? I felt all the time as if I was a bit of him, or we were all one.”

“You looked like it, my boy,” said Mr Rogers, smiling in his son’s animated face. “I wish Dick had your confidence, and you a little more of his style.”

“All right, father, we’ll try and exchange a bit a-piece,” laughed Jack. “But I can’t half believe it, father, that these are to be our own horses.”

“You may believe it, then,” said his father. “And now get them to the stable.”

“Oh, I say, Dick, what beauties!” cried Jack. “What shall you call yours?”

“I don’t know yet,” replied his brother. “He’s very fast. ‘Swift’ wouldn’t be a bad name; and we might call yours ‘Sure.’”

“Hum! I don’t think much of those names. Hold up!” he continued, examining the hoofs of his brother’s nag. “I say, Dick, what fine thick shoes he has got.”

“That’s a good suggestion,” said Dick, laughing, and looking brighter than he had seemed for weeks. “Let’s call him ‘Shoes,’ and his brother with the white legs ‘Stockings.’”

“Shoes and Stockings!” cried Jack; “but those are such stupid names. I don’t know though but what they’ll do.”

The question was not discussed, for the lads busied themselves in bedding down their own horses; and for the rest of that, day the stable seemed to be the most important part of the house.

Chapter Three.

Preparations for the Journey.

“What is it ye’re doing?” said Dinny, a day or two before that proposed for the start.

Coffee and Chicory looked up from their task, grinned, and then went on sharpening the points of a couple of assegais upon a heavy block of stone, which they had evidently brought from a distance. Their faces glistened with perspiration; their knees were covered with dust; and they were in a wonderful state of excitement. Resuming their work on the instant, they tried to bring the weapons to a keen point.

“Kill lion,” said Coffee, laconically; and he worked away as if the lion were round the corner waiting to be killed.

“Then ye may just as well lave off, ye dirty little naygars; for it’s my belafe that you’re not going at all.”

Dinny went off into the house leaving the two boys apparently paralysed. They dropped the assegais, stared at each other, and then lay down and howled in the misery of their disappointment.

But this did not last many seconds; for Coffee sprang up and kicked Chicory, who also rose to his feet, and in obedience to a word from his brother they took their assegais and hid them in a tree which formed their armoury—for out of its branches Chicory took the two kiris or clubs; and then the boys ran round to the front, and stood making signs.

The brothers had such a keen love of anything in the way of sport that, expecting something new, they ran out and willingly followed the two young blacks out into the grassy plain about a mile from the house, when after posting their young masters behind a bush, Coffee and Chicory whispered to them to watch, and then began to advance cautiously through the grass, kiri in hand, their eyes glistening as they keenly peered from side to side.

“What are they going to do?” said Dick.

“I don’t know. Show us something. I wish we had brought our guns. Look out!”

There was a whirring of wings, and the two Zulu boys struck attitudes that would have been models for a sculptor; then as a large bird similar to a partridge rose up, Coffee sent his knobbed club whizzing through the air; another bird rose, and Chicory imitated his brother’s act; and the result was, that the cleverly thrown kiris hit the birds, which fell in amongst the long grass, from which they were retrieved by the lads with shouts of triumph—the birds proving to be the coranne, so called from the peculiarity of their cry.

“Well done, boys!” cried Jack. “They’ll be good eating.”

“Boss Dick, Boss Jack take Zulu boys, now?” said the kiri-throwers, eagerly.

“Why, of course. You know you are going,” replied Dick.

“Dinny say Zulu boys not going,” cried Chicory.

“Then Dinny knows nothing about it,” said Dick, angrily. “If he don’t mind he’ll be left behind himself.”

Coffee sent his kiri spinning up in the air, Chicory followed suit, each catching the weapon again with ease; and then they both dashed off across the plain as if mad, and to the astonishment of the brothers, who took the brace of birds and walked back towards the house, to continue the preparations for the start.

For there was so much to do, packing the great long tilted waggon with necessaries, in the shape of tea, sugar, coffee, and chocolate. Barrels of mealies or Indian corn, and wheaten flour, besides. Salt too, had to be taken, and a large store of ammunition; for in addition to boxes well filled with cartridges, they took a keg or two of powder and a quantity of lead. Then there were rolls of brass wire, and a quantity of showy beads—the latter commodities to take the place of money in exchanges with the natives—salt, powder, and lead answering the same purpose.

It was a delightful task to the boys, who thoroughly enjoyed the packing, and eagerly asked what every package contained, when they had no opportunity of opening it; while Mr Rogers looked on, smiling at the interest they took.

“Here y’are, young gentlemen,” said Dinny. “The masther seems to think that you’re going to do nothing but suck sweet-stuff all the time you’re out.”

“Why, what’s that, Dinny?” cried Dick, who had just brought out a heavy box.

“Sure, it’s sugar-shticks and candy,” said Dinny; and he went off to fetch something else.

“Why, so it is, Dick,” said Jack. “I say, father, are we to pack this sweet-stuff in the waggon? We don’t want it.”

“Indeed, but we do,” said his father, coming up. “Why a handful of sweet-stuff will make friends with a Boer, when everything else fails. Here, put this in the fore box. Perhaps, when I bring this out you’ll be glad to get at the sweet-stuff.”

“What is it, father?” said Dick.

Mr Rogers opened the little deal case and turned it out, to begin packing it again.

“Here’s a bottle of chloroform, and another of castor oil; two bottles of chlorodyne; a pound of Epsom salts; four large boxes of pills; a roll of sticking-plaster; a pot of zinc ointment; and a bottle of quinine and one of rhubarb and magnesia.”

Jack’s countenance was a study. For as his father carefully repacked the little box the lad’s face grew into a hideous grimace. He waited till Mr Rogers had finished his enumeration, and then clapping his handkerchief over his mouth, he uttered a loud “Ugh!” and ran and stood a few yards away.

“I shan’t go,” he cried.

“Why not?” said Mr Rogers, smiling.

“Why the waggon will smell, of nothing but physic. What’s the good of taking it, father?”

“The good? Well, my boy, there’s nothing like being prepared; and we are going far away from doctors, if we wanted their help. We may none of us be unwell, but it is quite likely that we may, either of us, get a touch of fever. Besides, we might meet with an accident; and for my part, as I have a little knowledge of medicine and surgery, I know nothing more painful than to find people sick and to be unable to give them the remedy that would make them well. We shall be sure to find some sick people amongst the natives, and they have a wonderful appreciation of the white man’s medicine.”

“Well, look here,” said Jack, “if you’ll shut the box up very tightly, I’ll consent to come.”

Mr Rogers smiled, and did shut the little box up very tightly, after which the preparations went on; and it was perfectly wonderful to see what that waggon would hold.

There was a moderate case of wines and spirits, also to act as medicines; several dozens of coloured blankets for presents; waterproof sheets. A cask of paraffin oil was swung under the floor, and by it a little cooking-stove, while beside these swung a long box containing spades and shovels, for digging the waggon-wheels out of holes, tools for repairs, wrenches, and jacks and axes, till it seemed as if there would be no end to the stores and material.

Then leather slings were nailed up under the tilt for the rifles and guns, so that they might always be ready to hand; for they were going into the land of wild beasts and savage men. Above all, their stores had to be so packed that their positions could be remembered, and they could be obtained when wanted, and yet leave space for blankets to be spread, and the travellers find room to sleep beneath the tilt upon the top.

The preparations went on; the black driver who was to manage the oxen busied himself along with the foreloper, whose duty it is to walk with the foremost oxen, in getting their great whips in trim, and in seeing the trek-tow and dissel-boom—as the great trace and pole of the waggon are called—were perfect; and they practised the team as well.

Many of the readers may not know that for an expedition like this, where the waggon party expect to be travelling for months, perhaps for a year, through a country where roads are almost unknown, and where the great heavily-laden, but wonderfully strongly-made waggon, has to be dragged over rocks, through swamps, and into and out of rivers, a team of fourteen, sixteen, or, as in this case, even twenty oxen, will be yoked to the great chain or rope called the trek-tow. For some of the poor animals are sure to succumb during the journey; or they may be killed for food, the loss being not so much felt when a superabundant number is taken.

With the leading pair of oxen walks the foreloper, whose duty it is to choose the best road, and to avoid stones and marshy places where the wheels would sink in; and the success of an expedition depends a good deal upon having a good foreloper.

In this case Mr Rogers had secured a trusty Kaffir, who had been frequently into the interior; but his appearance was against him, for he had lost one eye, from a thrust of a bullock’s horn. But Dinny said that the one left was as good as two, for when Dirk looked at you, it seemed to go right through your head and tickle the hair behind.

Chapter Four.

Inspanning for the Trip.

The eventful morning at last! Bright, clear, and the dew lying thick upon the thirsty earth. All the arrangements had been made; the waggon stood ready. Peter the driver was upon the box in front of the waggon; the boys were mounted, and a couple of neighbours had ridden over to see them start; but to the infinite vexation of Dick and Jack, the young Zulus had not returned. They had started off on the day when they killed the coranne, and that was the last that had been seen of them.

“Now, Dinny, you may let the dogs loose,” cried Dick, who looked brighter and better, his father thought, than he had been for days. Dinny at once obeyed; when, yelping and barking with delight, the four dogs—Pompey, Caesar, Crassus, and Rough’un—came bounding about, leaping up at their masters, and taking short dashes out into the plain and back.

“Where are those two boys?” said Mr Rogers suddenly. “I haven’t seen them for days.”

“Dinny offended them,” said Jack petulantly, as he patted the arched neck of Stockings. “He told them they shouldn’t go.”

“Sure I only hinted to the black young gintlemen that it was just possible the masther might lave them behind, when they took themselves off in the most ondacent way; and that’s all I know, sor.”

“Here they are!” cried Jack suddenly, “Hi-yi-yi-yi—Coff! Hi-yi-yi-yi—Chick!”

“Hi-yi-yi-yi-yi!” echoed back; and the two boys came running up, one on either side of a fierce-looking, very powerfully-built Zulu—a handful of assegais, and his long, narrow, oval shield in one hand, and for costume a fringe of skins round the waist, a sort of tippet of the same over his back and chest, and smaller fringes just beneath each knee. His back hair was secured in a knot behind, and depending from it were some feathers, one of which drooped right down his back.

He was a noble-looking specimen of humanity, and as he came up he gazed almost haughtily round at the party, seeming as if he had come as an enemy, and not as a friend.

“Been fetch de father,” cried Coffee, pushing the great Zulu towards Mr Rogers. “Father going to boss. Kill and hunt lion.”

Mr Rogers raised his eyebrows a little, for he had not reckoned upon this; but one more or less on such an expedition did not matter, for plenty of provisions would be killed; and a man like this was no little addition to their strength.

“Oh, very good,” he said. “Dinny, run into the house, and fetch the bread and meat we left. I daresay the boys are hungry.”

Coffee and Chicory understood that, and they began to grin and rub their “tum-tums,” as they called a prominent part of their persons; but the next moment they had dragged their father to introduce him to Boss Dick and Boss Jack, smiling with delight on seeing their young masters shake hands with the Zulu warrior.

Dinny did not look at all pleasant as he brought out the bread and meat, which was rapidly shared by the Zulu and his boys, who evidently meant to eat the food as they went along; so after one more look round, and a glance at the two great water-casks swung behind the waggon, Mr Rogers gave the word, Peter the driver stood up on the great chest strapped in front, cracking his whip with both hands, and Dirk the foreloper followed suit.

“Trek Hans! Trek Buffler! Trek Zulu! Trek boys! Trek!” shouted Peter, dancing about on the chest in his excitement.

“Trek, beauties! Trek, beauties! Trek! Trek! Trek!” yelled Dirk.

The oxen slowly tugged at their yokes, the great trek-tow tightened, the wheels of the fine new waggon creaked; and as Mr Rogers mounted the big bay, his sons took off and waved their caps, giving a loud cheer, for now they were really off to the wilds.

Chapter Five.

A Taste of Something to come.

There was but little in the way of incident for some time. The dogs seemed to be never weary of hunting here and there, thrusting their noses under every rock, their heads into every hole; but they found nothing till after the midday halt, when a furious barking from the setter Rough’un took the attention of all, and Mr Rogers and the boys cantered up to a thin cluster of trees, where, on what seemed to be at first a broken stump, but which on nearer inspection proved to be a tall ragged ant-hill, a vicious-looking snake was curled, swinging its head about threateningly, and darting out its forked tongue at the dog, which kept its distance, barking furiously.

“A poisonous fellow—cobra evidently. Now, Dick, bring it down.”

“No; let Jack shoot, father,” said Dick. “My head aches, and I’m tired. Well, yes, I will.”

“That’s right, my boy. I want you to master this weakness,” said his father. “And besides, I want you to try how your horse stands fire. Nip him tightly with your knees.”

Dick cocked his double-barrelled breechloader—fired—and the serpent hissed loudly and began to descend, but a shot from Jack’s rifle laid it writhing on the ground, when, before it could be prevented, Rough’un seized it behind the head, worrying it furiously.

Fortunately the creature was mortally wounded, or it might have gone hard with one of the dogs, its poison being very violent; and the others coming up soon tore it to pieces.

“Your horses behaved admirably,” said Mr Rogers. “You must train them, my boys, so that they will stand where you leave them, and take no more notice of a shot fired over their heads than at a distance.”

They halted directly after for a midday meal, the oxen finding a plentiful supply of fresh grass and water, and after a good rest they were once more on the way, the horses behind under the care of Dinny and the Zulu warrior.

Mr Rogers and his sons were close to the oxen, Coffee and Chicory were close behind, and they were inspecting the team, which was pulling steadily and well, when Mr Rogers said,—

“Well, boys, we may as well get our guns. We shall soon be in the hunting country now.”

“Hi! Yup-yup-yup!” shouted Coffee.

“Ho! Yup-yup-yup!” yelled Chicory. The dogs began to yelp and bark; and in the excitement, as they saw an animal like a great long-eared spotted cat dash out of a clump of trees and make for some rocky ground, all joined in the chase; Mr Rogers ran as hard as the rest, forcing his pith hunting-helmet down over his head. Coffee got well in front, waving his arms and shouting; but Chicory trod upon a thorn and began to limp. As for Jack, in his excitement he tripped over a stump, and fell sprawling; while Dick had hard work to save himself from a similar mishap. Last of all, whip in hand, came the foreloper, who had left the oxen in his excitement, flourishing and cracking his lash.

There was a sharp hunt for a few minutes, during which the followers toiled on over the rocky ground, seeing nothing after their first glimpse of the lynx—for such Mr Rogers declared it to be; then they met the dogs coming back, looking very stupid, and quite at fault.

Rough’un, however, went on with Coffee, and Jack followed, to find that the lynx had evidently gone down a deep rift, where it was impossible to follow it; so they went back to the waggons, both Jack and his father determining that in future they would never be without either gun or rifle in hand.

Every minute, almost, as they journeyed on, the boys realised the value of having the waggon made in the best manner, and of the strongest wood that could be obtained, for it bumped and swayed about, creaking dismally beneath its heavy load, and making the casks and pots slung beneath clatter together every now and then, as it went over some larger stone than usual. They saw too the value of a good foreloper; for if a careless man were at the head of the oxen, the waggon might at any moment be wrecked over some rugged rock or sunk to the floor in a black patch of bog.

The dogs seemed rather ashamed of themselves after the chase of the lynx, and went with lolling tongues to trot behind the waggon, Pompey now and then making an angry snatch at Caesar, while Crassus threw up his muzzle and uttered a dismal yelp. Rough’un, too, did not seem happy, but to have that lynx on his conscience; for he kept running out from beneath the waggon, and looking back as if bound to finish the chase by hunting the cat-like creature out; but he always altered his mind and went under the waggon once more, to walk close to the heels of the last pair of oxen, one of which looked back from time to time in a thoughtful meditative way, with its great soft eyes, as if in consideration whether it ought to kick out and send Rough’un flying.

This act made Rough’un run forward, and as the ox bent down snuffing at it, the dog leaped up at its muzzle, then at that of the next ox, and went on right along the whole span, saluting all in turn without getting trampled, and ending by retaking his place beneath the waggon front.

For Rough’un was a dog of a different breed to his fellows, and though he hunted with them he did not associate with them afterwards, but kept himself to himself.

There was not much to interest the boys after the first excitement of the start was over, for they had to travel over plain and mountain for some distance before they would reach ground that had not been well hunted over by the settlers; but every step took them nearer, and there were endless matters to canvass. For instance, there were the capabilities of their horses, which grew in favour every time they were mounted; the excellences of their guns, presented to them by their father for the expedition, light handy pieces, double-barrelled breechloaders, the right-hand barrel being that of an ordinary shot-gun, the left-hand being a rifle sighted up to three hundred yards.

It would be hard to say how many times these guns were loaded and unloaded, slung across their owners’ backs and taken down again, while the eagerness with which they looked forward to some good opening for trying their skill was notable.

But beyond an occasional bird which fled with a loud cry at the approach of the waggon, and a little herd of springbok seen upon the edge of a low hill quite a mile away, there was little to break the monotony of the journey over the hot sandy waste, and every one was pretty weary when, just at sundown, they came in sight of a low house, the abode of a Boer who had settled there some years before, and who, with his large family, seemed to be perfectly content, and who smiled with satisfaction on being presented with some sweets in return for his civility in pointing out the places where the out-spanned oxen could find an abundance of grass and water.

Here the first experience of sleeping in a waggon was gone through, and very comical it seemed to boys who were accustomed to the comforts of a well-regulated home.

Dick laughed, and said that it was like sleeping in the attic, while the servants slept in the kitchen, for the drivers and the three Zulus made themselves snug under the waggon, Dinny joining them very unwillingly, after a verbal encounter with Dick, who, however much he might be wanting in bodily strength, was pretty apt with his tongue.

“Sure, Masther Dick, sir, Dinny’s the last boy in the world to grumble; but I’m a good Christian, and the blacks are as haythen as can be.”

“Well, Dinny, and what of that?”

“Why, ye see, Masther Dick, I’m a white man, and they are all blacks; and,” he added with a grin, “I shouldn’t like to catch the complaint.”

“What complaint, Dinny?”

“Why, sure, sir, it would be very painful to you and Masther Jack there, and the masther himself, if you found poor Dinny get up some fine morning as black as a crow.”

“Get along with you,” cried Jack.

“Oh, be easy, Masther Jack, dear,” cried Dinny; “and how would you like to slape under a waggon wid five sacks of smoking and living coals like them Zulus and Kaffirs is?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” replied Jack. “We are on a hunting expedition, and we must take things in the rough.”

“Sure an’ it is rough indade,” grumbled Dinny. “I’m thinking I’d rather go sthraight home to my poor owld mother’s cabin, and slape there dacent like, wid nothing worse in it than the poor owld pig.”

Chapter Six.

A False Alarm.

Mr Rogers had felt a little hesitation in giving the fierce-looking Zulu permission to make one of the party, but as they journeyed on across the apparently interminable plains between the Vaal and the Great Crocodile rivers, he awoke more and more to the fact that he had secured a valuable ally. For the old warrior entered into the spirit of the expedition at once, helping with the oxen or to extricate the waggons in difficult places, showing himself quite at home in the management of horses, and being evidently an excellent guide, and above all a hunter of profound knowledge and experience.

As soon as he realised the intentions of Mr Rogers, he became most earnest in his endeavours to get the party well on their way farther and farther into the wilds, making the eyes of the boys dilate as he told them in fair English of the herds of antelope and other game he would soon show them in the plains; the giraffes, buffaloes, elephants, and, above all, the lions, whose haunts he knew, and to which he promised to take them.

Whenever the father began to talk in this strain his two sons grew excited, and started to perform hunting dances, in which the number of imaginary lions and buffaloes they slew was something enormous. Every now and then, too, the boys killed some imaginary elephant, out of whose unwieldy head they made believe to hack the tusks, which they invariably brought and laid at their young masters’ feet, grunting the while with the exertion.

Dick soon grew tired of it however.

“It’s all very well,” he said; “but if that is the way we are to load the waggons with ivory, we shall be a long time getting enough to pay the expenses of the journey.”

Mr Rogers joined them one day as they were walking along in advance of the slow-moving waggon, and began to question the Zulu about the game in the wilds north of where they were; and in his broken English he gave so glowing an account that his hearers began to doubt its truth.

He said that when he had had to flee from his own people for his life, he had at first gone right away into the hunting country, and stayed there for a year, finding out, in his wanderings, places where hunting and shooting people had never been. Here, he declared, the wild creatures had taken refuge as in a sanctuary; and he declared that he should take the boss who had been so kind to his boys, and both the young bosses, to a wild place where they would find game in abundance, and where the forests held the great rhinoceros, plenty of elephants, and amongst whose open glades the tall giraffe browse the leafage of the high trees. There in the plains were herds of buffalo too numerous to count, quagga, zebra, gnu, eland, and bok of all kinds. There was a great river there, he said, full of fish, and with great crocodiles ready to seize upon the unwary. The hippopotamus was there too, big and massive, ready to upset boats or to attack all he could see.

Mr Rogers watched his sons attentively as the Zulu narrated his experience of the land, and he was delighted to see how much Dick was already leaving off his dull languid ways, and taking an interest in what was projected. One thing the father wished to arrive at, and that was whether Dick would be frightened through his weakness, and the hunting parties consequently do him more harm than good. But just then a question put by his son showed him that he was as eager as his brother for an encounter with the wild creatures of the forest and plains.

“And do you say there are lions?” said Dick.

“Yes, plenty lion,” said the Zulu. “They come to camp at night, and try to get the ox and horse.”

“Oomph! oomph! oomph!” growled Coffee, in an admirable imitation of the lion’s roar.

“Keep big fire,” said the Zulu, “then no lion come.”

“Well, Dick,” said Mr Rogers, “how do you feel? Ready for the fray?”

“Yes, father, I am longing for the time when we shall get amongst the wild beasts. I want to try my gun; and I want to grow strong and manly, like Jack.”

“All in good time, my boy,” replied Mr Rogers, smiling. “We shall soon be leaving civilisation almost entirely behind, and then you shall make your first attempts at becoming a mighty hunter.”

Comparatively uninteresting as the journey was, they still had plenty to take their attention—grand views of distant mountains; wondrous sunsets; great flights of birds; but the absence of game was remarkable; and twice over, in spite of their being so well armed and provided, Mr Rogers was glad to purchase a freshly-killed springbok of a Boer, at one of the outlying farms that they passed.

On the seventh night out though, their fortune was better, for they had out-spanned, or loosened their oxen from the waggon, just by a clump of trees in a wide plain, and the Zulu went off the moment they stopped.

Both Peter and Dirk began to complain, for they expected help from their black companion; but upon this occasion they had their work to do without aid, Coffee and Chicory having also gone off with their kiris in search of game.

Mr Rogers and his sons started off to see if they could provide anything palatable for supper; but though there was a swampy lagoon about a mile away, they did not catch sight of a single duck, and were returning tired and disappointed when they caught sight of the Zulu signalling to them to come.

“He has found something,” cried Jack eagerly; and they hastened over the rugged intervening space, to find that the father of Coffee and Chicory was evidently a keen hunter, and ready enough in knowing where to look for creatures that would do for food.

With almost unerring instinct he had found out this clump of trees, evidently one where guinea-fowl came to roost; and full of hope that they would now obtain a good addition to the larder, or, in plain English, a few birds to roast for supper, guns were supplied with cartridges, and the little party waited for the coming of the spotted birds.

The pleasurable anticipations of the boys, who had a lively recollection of the toothsome bird with a flavour half-way between roast fowl and pheasant, seemed likely to be damped, for they had been waiting quite half an hour without hearing or seeing anything, when suddenly the Zulu laid his hand upon Jack’s arm, and pointed in a direction opposite to the waggon.

“Well, what are you pointing at?” said Jack. “I can’t see anything. Yes, I can; there they are, father. Look out!”

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!

Half-a-dozen rapid shots, and then, amidst the whizzing of wings and cries of the birds, some of which flew off, while others ran through the short grass at an astounding rate, Coffee, Chicory, and their father ran out beneath the trees; and the result of the firing was brought in—ten fine plump birds for their supper.

This was the first night that they had passed in the open, the previous halts having been made at some farm; so after the supper the blacks were set to gather in more wood, the fire was well made up, and the oxen secured, it being decided to begin at once upon the regular plan that they would have to adopt in the enemy’s country, the enemy being formed of the various wild creatures against whom they were having their campaign.

Years back the spot where they were encamped had been famous for lions, but from what Mr Rogers had heard, none had been seen here now for a considerable time. Still he thought it better to take precautions, the party being divided into three watches, the first of which he took himself, with Chicory for a companion; Jack was to take the second, with the Zulu; and Dick, Coffee, and Dinny were to form the third.

The oxen and horses having been all secured, the fire was piled up, and those who were to rest gladly availed themselves of the opportunity, and in a very short time nothing was to be heard but the fluttering noise made by the burning fire, and the snorting sigh of one or the other of the horses.

In due time Jack was aroused, to sit up and stare at his father.

“What’s matter?” he said sleepily.

“Nothing, only that it is your turn to watch,” said his father.

“Why, I’ve only just lain down,” replied Jack. “It can’t be time yet.”

But a good rub at his eyes seemed to bring a little thoughtfulness as well, and he climbed put of the waggon and descended to the ground.

“I don’t think you will have anything to alarm you, my boy,” said his father. “Wake me up though if there is the slightest sign of danger.”

Jack promised, and, shivering and uncomfortable, he crept up to the fire, which the Zulu renewed; but though he roasted his face and knees, his back felt horribly cold, and he heartily wished himself at home, and in his snug bed. But the Zulu began to look round at the cattle, to satisfy himself that all were safe; and then seating himself with his assegai across his knees close to the fire, he began to tell the young Englishman about the dangers that would have surrounded them if they had encamped here a few years earlier; and, then he lapsed into such vivid accounts of his own hunting adventures and escapes, that the four hours’ watch seemed to have passed like magic, and Jack was ready to finish the next; but recalling the last injunctions he had received from his father, he went to the waggon, roused up Dick, and from under it Dinny and Coffee, and soon after left them to finish the morning watch.

Jack felt as if it would be of no use to try and sleep again; but knowing that their next day’s journey would be very fatiguing, he lay down in his brother’s place, found the blankets very warm and cosy, and then, with the sound of Dinny yawning loudly, he fell fast asleep. He seemed hardly to have closed his eyes, when a shout aroused him, just as he heard his father seize his double rifle, and go to the front of the waggon.

Jack did likewise, with as much speed as his sleepy confusion would allow; and on reaching the opening he found that it was still dark, so that he could not have been long asleep, the fire was burning brilliantly, and every one was on the alert.

“Yes, I seemed to hear it myself in my sleep,” said Mr Rogers, in answer to some words spoken by Dick. “Did it sound near?”

“Sure, sor, it was close by, and I thought the bastes had got one of the bullocks.”

The Zulu was with them now, having sprung from his place beneath the waggon, asking eagerly what was wrong.

“They heard a lion prowling round,” replied Mr Rogers.

“No, no,” said the Zulu. “No lion here.”

“But I heard it quite plainly,” said Dick, who felt angry at being doubted.

“Sure and I did too, so close to me shoulder that I could feel the baste’s breath blow over on to me chake.”

“No, no,” said the Zulu. “Look! see!”

He pointed towards the oxen and horses in turn.

“But it would be impossible to see it in this darkness,” said Mr Rogers.

“Yes, but the oxen,” said the Zulu. “They would not lie quiet if there was a lion.”

“Of course not,” said Mr Rogers, envying the savage his knowledge. “Then what caused the alarm?”

There was no reply; and after satisfying themselves that all was safe, and piling up the rest of the wood upon the fire—for the streaks of the coming dawn could be seen—the tired watchers returned to the waggon, and slept until roused for breakfast, when the secret of the alarm came out, Coffee having been afraid to confess at the time that he knew it was his brother imitating the lion’s cry in his sleep, his proximity to Dick and Dinny making it seem the more real. Feeling sure that he would be punished if he spoke, Coffee had remained silent, and so the matter ended, Dick laughing heartily at the false alarm, though Dinny would not believe that the cry emanated from the boy.

“Jist as if I was such a biby as to belave that story, Masther Jack,” he said. “I tell ye it was the lion himself attacking the bastes, and you’ll see he’ll be about the camp now every night, as regular as clockwork. It’s very good of the masther to try and put one at his aise about the wild bastes; but that there was a lion—I know it was; and if, Masther Jack, dear, I’m missing some night, ye may know that there’s a lion aiting of me; and I hope ye’ll take me bones back and give me a dacent burying somewhere among Christians, and not lave them kicking about out here in a foreign land.”

“But how can you be so stupid, Dinny? Father says it was Chicory, and you know how he imitates the wild beasts.”

“Ah, do ye take me for a baby, Masther Jack?” said the man, reproachfully. “There, let it go. I’m your father’s servant, and he must have his own way; but it’s cruel work this coming out into such savage lands; and there’s one man as will niver see home parts again.”

When once Dinny had got an idea in his, head, to use his own words, “a shillelagh would not knock it out;” so he remained perfectly certain that the camp had been attacked by a lion; and he went about prophesying that the coming night would produce two.

Chapter Seven.

How the Boys found it was not Easy to Shoot.

The oxen were in-spanned and the horses saddled, on as glorious a morning as ever shone over the great African continent. The breakfast things had been stowed away, a glance given round to see that nothing had been left behind; the driver’s and foreloper’s whips cracked; and with loud shouts of, “Trek, boys, trek!” the great waggon slowly went on its course, every one forgetting the troubles of the disturbed night, in the glorious sunshine and dew-glittering herbage.

Coffee and Chicory ran and bounded and spun their kiris in the air, catching them again, and then running on beside the cantering horses of their young masters, while their father ran beside Mr Rogers’ big bay. Above all, the dogs showed their delight by barking, yelping, and making insane charges here and there, Rough’un’s great delight being to run his head into one or other of the holes made by the burrowing animals of the plains, and then worrying and snapping at nothing until he was called away.

As the waggon lumbered on, father and sons wandered off to left or right, exploring, examining the trees and strange plants, and sometimes bringing down some bright-plumaged bird, which was carefully laid in a tin case carried for the purpose by the Zulu, ready to be skinned and dressed to keep as a specimen on their return.

That they were approaching the game country was now hourly becoming plainer, for from time to time little knots of bok could be seen upon the hills; but when Dick or Jack eagerly drew the attention of the Zulu to the fact, he laughed, and said it was nothing, bidding them to wait.

“We must have some venison for dinner to-day, boys,” said Mr Rogers, cantering up; “so one of you had better try your rifle. Who’s it to be?”

“Let it be Jack, father,” said Dick, quietly; “my hands are not steady yet.”

“Very good,” said Mr Rogers; while the Zulu listened attentively, trying to comprehend every word. “Now then, Jack, how shall you go to work? There is a little herd of half-a-dozen springbok there, on that hill, nearly a mile away.”

“Get close and shoot them,” replied Jack, stoutly.

“Say, if you can, my boy,” replied Mr Rogers, smiling. “Now look here, Jack, this is the way the Boers shoot springbok, and I don’t think you will find a better plan. Have a few cartridges handy, so that you can load quickly, and then gallop easily towards the herd, which will begin playing about, till they grow too alarmed to let you get nearer, and then they’ll bound off. This is your time: gallop up as close as you can, and when you see they are about to go, leap from your horse and fire—reload, and fire again. If you are very quick you may get three shots at the herd before they are out of range.”

“But suppose I miss, father?” said Jack.

“Don’t suppose anything of the kind, my boy,” said Mr Rogers, smiling; “but go and do it. Time enough to consider failure when you have failed.”

Jack nodded, opened the breech of his gun, placed half-a-dozen cartridges ready, leaped down to tighten the girths of his saddle, the cob standing perfectly still. Then mounting once more, he waved his hand, touched his horse’s sides with his heels, and away it went like the wind.

As he started, Chicory, who seemed to have adopted him as his leader, made a bound at the saddle, caught hold of the pommel, and ran by his side with marvellous speed.

The springbok seemed to pay not the slightest heed to their approach, and Jack was beginning to feel excited with the chase, and to calculate how far they should be able to get before having to dismount, when all at once there was a sudden check; he went flying over his horse’s head, his double barrel escaped from his hand, and he found himself lying on the hard sandy earth, confused and puzzled, with Chicory trying to pull him up; and Stockings standing close by, snorting and shivering with fear.

Jack got up, and limped to where his rifle lay, feeling stupid, and wondering how it was that he had been thrown; and he had but regained his piece, and was ruefully examining it, when his father and Dick came galloping up.

“Much hurt, my boy?” cried Mr Rogers, eagerly.

“Only my leg and arm a little,” said Jack, rubbing first one and then the other; “but I did think I could ride better than that, father.”

“Ride, my boy? Why, no one could have helped that. Don’t you know how it was?”

“I know Stockings threw me,” replied Jack.

“Threw you? Nonsense, boy! He set his fore feet in an ant-bear hole, and turned a complete somersault. We were afraid that he had rolled upon you.”

“Then a good rider couldn’t have helped it, father?”

“Helped it? No, my boy.”

“Oh, I feel better now,” said Jack, laughing; and, limping up to his horse, he patted its neck and remounted, though not without difficulty. “Where’s the bok, Chicory?”

Chicory pointed to where they were, nearly a mile away, and looking exceedingly small, but quite clear in the bright African atmosphere; and without a word he set off again.

“Ought he to go, father?” said Dick.

“Yes, my boy. He is not much hurt, and it will be a lesson to both him and his horse. I am glad to see that he has so much spirit.”

A short chuckle close by made Mr Rogers turn his head, and he saw that the Zulu understood his words, and was smiling approval.

“Brave boy! Make big hunter warrior, some day,” said the Zulu.

“Boss Dick big brave hunter too,” cried Coffee indignantly, as he went and laid a hand upon the neck of Dick’s horse. “Boss Dick go shoot bok?”

“Not now, Coffee,” replied Dick, smiling; and then the little group remained watching Jack, who was in full chase of the springbok, which, as he came nearer, began to skip and bound and gambol together, leaping over each other’s backs, but all the time watching the coming enemy.

It was an exciting time for Jack, and in it he forgot the pain in his shoulder and the stiffness of his leg. He had the rifle-barrel ready cocked, and his feet out of the stirrups, and at last, when he had galloped up to within a couple of hundred yards, he saw such evident preparations for flight on the part of the little bok, that he leaped down, dropped upon one knee, and fired straight at the flying herd.

Before the smoke had risen he had another cartridge in the rifle, and fired again. Once more he threw open the breech and loaded—and fired, though by this time the bok were seven or eight hundred yards away. But in spite of the care in the aim taken, no bok fell struggling to the ground, and Jack rode back slowly to join his father, wondering whether the bore of his rifle was true, for he knew, he said to himself, that he had aimed straight.

When he hinted at the possibility of the rifle being in fault, his father smiled, and Dick gave him so comical a look that Jack said no more, but rode on silently by the side of the waggon, till, seeing his disappointment, his father joined him.

“Why, you foolish boy,” he exclaimed, “it was not likely that you would hit one of those flying bok. It is a matter of long practice; and even the Boers, who have studied such shooting for years, often miss.”

“But you see, father, I did make such a dreadful mess of it,” pleaded Jack. “I came off my horse; and then I shot over and over again, and missed. I can’t help feeling what a muddle I made.”

“Well, for my part,” said his father, “I am rather glad that you failed. If you had succeeded, my boy, without effort at the first trial, it would have made you careless. These failures will teach you the necessity for using care, and trying to perfect yourself as a marksman.”

“But there’ll be no bok for dinner,” said Jack ruefully.

“Never mind,” replied Mr Rogers. “I daresay the boys will bring in something.”

He was right, for Coffee and Chicory brought in six great plain partridges, which they had knocked down with their kiris, and these were roasted at the midday meal, and eaten with the appetite found in the desert.

As the day wore on, and after the refreshed oxen were once more doing their duty, the effects of the last night’s scare began to show itself, Peter, Dirk, and Dinny declaring that they had seen lions creeping after the waggon in the distance, ready to pounce upon the oxen as soon as it was dark.

Dirk reported this to Mr Rogers, who gave them all a good, talking to about their cowardice.

“Why, look at these Zulu boys,” he cried; “they don’t show any fear, while you grown men are almost as bad as children.”

“Sure, sor, an’ the Zulu boys don’t know any better,” said Dinny. “They’re little better than the bastes themselves.”

“Well, there are my own boys,” exclaimed Mr Rogers. “They are not afraid. I wonder at you, Dinny, an Irishman, and to set such a bad example to these blacks.”

“And is it afraid?” said Dinny. “Not a bit of it. I’m not a bit afraid at all; but I can’t help thinking of what my poor mother’s feelings would be if she came to know that her only son Dennis had been aiten up by wild bastes. I don’t mind a bit, but I wouldn’t hurt her feelings for the world.”

“Then oblige me, Dinny, by holding your tongue, for if I hear any more complaints I shall send you back.”

“Sind me back!” ejaculated Dinny, as soon as his master had gone. “Sind me back across the big desert all alone by meself. Why, it would be worse than murther. It’s meself wishes I hadn’t come.”

Whatever he may have wished, these sharp words had the effect of silencing Dinny for the time being; but when the Zulu had led them at last, just at sundown, into a dense patch of forest, where the overhanging trees made the gloom quite oppressive, Dinny’s eyes showed white circles round them; and if it had not been for the fact that they found a Boer and his family encamped by the water they had been seeking, the Irishman would have probably turned, and at all risks have fled.

People are ready enough to make friends out in the desert, and the Boer gladly offered the use of the fire he had made, and a part of the springbok he had shot, on receiving a share of some of the good things brought by the newcomers. Then, with the great camp-kettle simmering over the fire, and with the boys patiently waiting for their share of the provisions, guns were cleaned and laid ready for use, the men the while busily attending to the oxen and horses, while the Zulu and his boys collected wood into a pile to keep up the fire.

“Sure an’ it’s a dreadful melancholy-looking place,” said Dinny with a shudder. And then he listened attentively while the Boer expressed his belief that there were lions in the neighbourhood, though they were not often seen.

Chapter Eight.

How Nature was Stronger than Training.

Days and days of steady travel, and the slowly gained miles mounted up till they had journeyed far into the interior. Mr Rogers, yielding to the importunities of his boys, had several times over been ready to come to a halt; but the Zulu still pointed forward, and feeling that there must be much truth in his declarations regarding the game country on ahead, he was allowed to act as guide.

It was a long journey, but though they did not have much sport, it was not monotonous, for Mr Rogers was a good naturalist, and eager to collect everything curious in beetle, butterfly, and bird, so that all hands were pretty busy from dawn to dark. Coffee and Chicory, after they had been taught not to pull off the feathers, became very clever at skinning birds, some of which had been denizens of the woods, some of the lagoons and marshes they had passed, and which were shot at daybreak, or else after sunset, from amongst the great beds of reeds. Then if they were ducks, the bodies became occupants of the great pot; if they were not considered eatable they fell to the share of the dogs.

That great iron pot, which was always suspended from three poles over every fire that was made, became an institution. The idea was taken from a hint given by a hunting-party, one of the gentlemen forming it telling Mr Rogers that, upon returning weary and exhausted to camp, there was nothing so restorative us good rich soup. Consequently, whenever a buck was shot, great pieces of its flesh were placed in the pot, and allowed to stew till all their goodness was gone, when the blacks considered them a delicacy, the rich soup being the portion of the hunting-party.

Game was scarce, but they got a sufficiency of either small bok or birds to supply their wants; and, whether it was the constant change, the fresh air, the rich meat essence which Dick partook of with avidity, or whether it was a combination of the effect of all these, the change in the boy was magical. He could take a long ride now without feeling weary, and wanting in appetite; he was ready to buckle to and help when the waggon was stuck, literally putting his shoulder to the wheel with a will, and in place of hanging back, he was now the first to spy out game, and set off in chase, making Jack quite envious by coming back in triumph with a couple of springbok hanging from his saddle-bows, both having had to succumb to his rifle.

But this was not to be borne; and Jack at once took Chicory into his confidence.

“I must shoot a springbok, Chick,” he said. “Dick has shot two.”

“Boss Jack shoot springbok to-morrow,” said the boy, decisively; and soon after daybreak roused his young master, and pointed out across the plain towards the rising sun.

“Bok,” he said laconically; and while Jack was giving a finishing touch or two to his dress, the boy ran off, and began to saddle Stockings, having the little horse ready by the time Jack was prepared to mount.

The others were not awake, saving the Zulu and Dick, who had the morning watch; so Jack got off unquestioned, and rode away in the direction pointed out by Chicory, whose dark eyes made out the presence of the little bok long before they could be seen by his young master, who began to think that he had been deceived, and expressed his doubts upon the point.

But Chicory smiled, and laid his hand upon Jack’s arm, pointing to where some shadow shapes of animals could be seen through the faint mist hanging over a low clump of hillocks; and with a cry of joy the boy pressed his horse’s sides, and went off at a swinging canter, without discomposing Chicory in the least, for the boy held on to a strap at the pummel of the saddle as before, and there being no ant-bear hole in the way, or, the horse having learned better through his fall, they rapidly neared the little herd, which began the antics peculiar to these animals, till the lad was getting close up, when they began to flee at a tremendous rate.

Quick as thought, Jack had sprung from his saddle, and sent a bullet after the herd; then another, and another; but all apparently without result. Then disappointed and vexed, Jack turned to Chicory as if it was his fault. But the boy had climbed an old ant-hill, and was watching the flying herd with his eyes shaded by his hand.

“One down—two down,” he cried, sending joy through Jack’s breast; for, on galloping after the herd, it was to find one bok lying dead, and another so badly wounded that it became an easy capture.

It was with no little importance then that Jack rode back with his two bok, ready to receive the congratulations of his father, for his manifest improvement in handling his rifle, and in hunting the bok according to the accepted plan.

At last their guide, after looking-on with something almost supercilious in his face at this, to him, puny style of hunting, and contentment with such small game as birds, springbok, and the like, announced that the next day they would be entering upon what he termed his hunting country.

The travellers had now reached a more rugged tract of land, scored with deep ravines, along which, at some time or another, small rivers must have coursed, while now the narrow stony tracks were found convenient for waggon tracks, though often enough the way was cruelly difficult, and all had to set to and clear a passage for the wheels by bodily removing some of the worst of the stones.

There was no hesitation or hanging back at such times, for all had to set to, even Dinny playing a pretty good part, considering that he abhorred manual labour.

Quite a change seemed to have come over the General, as Dick aptly dubbed their Zulu guide; for though he gave way in everything connected with the management of the waggon, and was exceedingly respectful to Mr Rogers, no sooner did any hunting matter come to the front, or a question of the best direction to take, than he seemed to take the lead as if in spite of himself.

At first Mr Rogers felt annoyed, and ready to put the man down; but in a very short time he saw that the Zulu’s sole thought was for the success of the expedition, and that his actions were the natural results of his former life; for, savage though he was, and servant to this expedition, he had been a prince in his own tribe, and a leader amongst the people.

The night was coming on fast, when one day, after a long and weary trek, the heavily-laden waggon was approaching a belt of elevated forest-land, where the General had assured Mr Rogers they would find water.

It had been a toilsome day, hot and dusty, and at their midday rest there had been hardly a mouthful of herbage for the tired oxen, while water there was none. The contents of the two casks swinging behind the waggon were jealously guarded for the travellers’ use; but so miserable did the cattle seem that the two boys asked their father to tap one of them for the oxen and horses.

“It will be but a taste a-piece,” he said; “but perhaps you are right, boys.”

Then the tap being set running, every ox and horse had a refreshing taste, though it was hard work to get the pail away from each thirsty mouth.

Then all through that long parching afternoon they had toiled on, with the draught cattle growing more listless, the horses sluggish and restless; and a general feeling of weariness seemed to have seized upon all.

The result was shown in the silence with which they progressed. The driver and foreloper ceased to shout and crack their whips; the Zulus trudged slowly on behind the waggon; and out of compassion for their horses, Mr Rogers and his sons walked beside the weary beasts.

“You are sure we shall find water at sundown?” said Dick to the General.

“Nothing is sure out in the wilds, young master,” said the Zulu gravely. “There should be water there. If there is not, we must trek on through the night, to the first river or spring.”

“But will there be water there?”

“We shall be in the game country then, and I can soon find where the game goes to drink, and can lead you there.”

This was satisfactory, and they trudged on and on, with the land gradually rising, making the pull more heavy for the oxen, whose tongues were lolling out, and whose efforts at last became so painful that Mr Rogers at once accepted his sons’ proposal, which was that the horses should help.

A halt was called, and great stones were placed beneath the wheels to make sure that there should be no running backwards on the part of the waggon, and then the tethering ropes were fastened to the horses’ saddles; the Zulus and the boys took their head; the word was given to start; the ropes that had been secured to different parts of the waggon tightened; and though the horses could not pull as if they were properly harnessed, the impulse they gave relieved the weary oxen, and after half an hour’s toilsome drag, the waggon was drawn to the top of the incline, and the travellers had the pleasure of seeing that a tolerably level way lay before them.

But there was no sign of water, and Mr Rogers looked serious as he swept the dimly seen country before him with his glass.

“Had we not better outspan here?” he said, “and let the oxen rest. We could start again at daybreak.”

But the General shook his head.

“No, boss,” he replied. “Let us go on. We may find water yet.”

Mr Rogers gave way, and in a listless, weary fashion the heavy waggon was dragged on.

“Oh, I am so tired,” cried Jack; “and I’d give anything to be able to walk right into a big pond and drink, and soak myself outside. My skin feels as if it was cracking.”

“I’m very tired, too,” said Dick; “but not so tired as I thought I should be. Why I must have walked twenty miles to-day. I wonder whether that means that I am growing stronger.”

“You need not wonder,” said Mr Rogers, who had heard his words. “You may be sure, my boy. But how dark it is growing! There are the stars.”

“What’s the matter with the bullocks?” cried Jack suddenly. “Why, father, they’re gone mad with thirst.”

“Water,” cried the General, pointing ahead. “They smell the water.”

The sensitiveness was caught up by the horses, which, like the oxen, quickened their pace, craning with outstretched muzzles, their fine instinct telling them that there was water on ahead, towards which they struggled to get.

Great care was needed now lest the water should prove to be merely a well or pool, into which the bullocks would rush, muddying the water, and perhaps trampling one another to death in their efforts to reach the refreshing liquid. But strive hard as they would, it proved to be impossible to keep the thirsty creatures back. The waggon had not proceeded so fast since they started; and the speed was growing greater, causing the great lumbering vehicle to rock and sway in a most alarming fashion. If they had encountered a rock, however small, there must have been a crash. But as it happened, they came on very level ground, sloping gently towards the north.

Klipmann, the foremost ox, a great black fellow with long horns, had proclaimed the find, and communicated the fact with a deep-mouthed bellow; and the next minute all was excitement and shouting, as the great waggon thundered and groaned along.

The first thing to be done was to detach the horses, which was no sooner done than they seemed to take fright, and went off at a gallop into the gloom ahead; then, amidst the yells and shoutings of Peter and Dirk, who danced about as if mad, efforts were made to check the oxen; but the poor beasts were frantic with thirst, and any serious attempt to stop them would have meant goring, trampling down, or being crushed by the wheels of the ponderous waggon.

The wild race lasted for a mile, during which every moment threatened to be the waggon’s last. The oxen lowed and trotted on, the waggon creaked, and the loose articles rattled and banged together. Mr Rogers and his sons panted on at the sides, momentarily expecting to see it go over, and Coffee and Chicory, who had been very slow and silent for hours, whooped and yelled and added to the excitement.

“It’s all over with our trip, Jack,” panted Dick. “We shall have to pick up the pieces to-morrow and go back.”

“Wait a bit, and let’s see. Why, what’s the General going to do?”

For all at once the Zulu had darted on ahead after snatching a kiri from Chicory’s hand, seized the foremost bullock, old Klipmann, by the horn, and, at the risk of being impaled or trampled down, he beat the stubborn bullock over the head with the club, and treating the other, its yoke-fellow, the same, he forced them into taking a different course, almost at right angles to that which they were pursuing.

“Stop, stop!” roared Mr Rogers. “You will upset the waggon.”

But he was too late. The course of the leading oxen being changed, the others swerved round, giving such a tug at the dissel-boom that the waggon’s wreck seemed certain. The whole team taking, as it did, a different course, the waggon was dragged side-wise, and for a few seconds tottered on its two nearside, or left-hand, wheels.

It seemed as if it must go over crash—that nothing could save it; and Jack uttered a cry of dismay, and warning to his brother to get out of the way. Then, as if by a miracle, it fell back with a heavy thud on to the other wheels, and bumped and jolted on after the long team of oxen into the obscurity. And then, when ruin seemed to have come completely upon the expedition, wish-wash! splish-splash! the foaming of water—the crunching of wheels over stones and sand—a quick rush—and the waggon was standing, axletree deep, in a swiftly flowing river, down whose shelving bank it had been dragged, and in whose cool waters the oxen and horses were washing their legs, and drinking deeply with delight.

Chapter Nine.

An Awful Ford to Cross.

It was a wonderful relief, and following the example of the animals, every one waded into the cool stream above the oxen, and drank deeply of the delicious water.

“Oh, I say, father,” cried Jack, “I never thought water was so good before. This is a river.”

And really Jack had an idea that he had tumbled upon a stream whose waters were wine-like in their flavour; and but for a few words of warning he would have gone on drinking more deeply still.

“Thank goodness!” cried Mr Rogers, as soon as he could gain his breath. “But what an escape! The waggon nearly went over. Where is that scoundrel of a Zulu? Oh there you are,” he cried excitedly. “How dared you touch the oxen, sir! Your mad folly nearly spoiled our journey.”

The General looked back at Mr Rogers, drawing himself up in savage pride, and his eyes seemed to flash in the darkness; but he did not speak, only turned away with a dignified look of displeasure.

“I know why he did it, father,” cried Dick, excitedly. “Look, don’t you see? The ground slopes down here to the water. Up there it’s all rock, and the team would have gone over a precipice. See, it’s twenty feet deep.”

“Of course! To be sure!” cried Mr Rogers eagerly. “His keen sight showed him the danger. I beg your pardon, my man,” he cried, “I did not know the reason, and ought not to have acted and spoken so rashly.”

He held out his hand to the stern scowling Zulu, as he spoke; but for a moment the savage hot blood that had been roused by his leader’s injustice refused to be tamed down, and he remained with his arms folded; but glancing at Dick’s eager countenance, and recalling how it was due to him that the real truth of his actions was made known, the General let his better feelings prevail, and snatching Mr Rogers’ hand in his, he held it for a moment to his broad breast, and then let it fall.

“Why you saved the waggon,” said Mr Rogers, after walking to the edge of the sudden descent where the rock went down sheer to the water, which bubbled and foamed against its side.

“Yes; all gone over together,” said the General quietly. “Now all go across.”

“But is it wise—is it safe—to attempt to cross to-night?” said Mr Rogers.

“Will see,” replied the General; and going down into the water, he walked straight out past the heads of the oxen, literally disappearing into the darkness as he waded on.

“Isn’t he very brave to do that, father?” asked Jack, who had watched the Zulu go from where they stood by the hind part of the waggon, whose back wheels were on the dry sand.

“Coffee no ’fraid to go,” said that young gentleman.

“Chicory go too after father,” said his brother; and the two boys dashed into the rushing water past the oxen, and then disappeared.

“What madness!” said Mr Rogers. “Why the stream runs swiftly enough for them to be swept away.”

Both Jack and Dick gazed eagerly out over the swift river; but the black figures of the young Zulus seemed to disappear in the darkness, and for some few minutes there was an excited pang while they listened to the bubbling of the water against the fore wheels of the waggon, or the plashing made by the oxen as they lazily moved their legs, apparently enjoying the pleasant coolness of the water after their toilsome march.

“I ought not to have allowed them to go,” said Mr Rogers suddenly. “Here, Dinny, bring me the bay. I’ll mount, and try and ride over to their help.”

“Bring the what, sor?” said Dinny.

“The bay,” cried Mr Rogers. “Quick, man! quick!”

“An’ how’ll I be getting at him, sor?” said Dinny. “Sure he’s standing out there in the wather catching cowld, and I couldn’t reach him widout getting very wet.”

“Why you did wade in to drink,” cried Jack, indignantly.

And with a rush and a splash he ran into the water, to where he could dimly make out the form of the big bay; and catching it by the halter, he drew it after him, the rest of the thirst-quenched horses coming plash! plash! out of the water, and following the bay like so many sheep.

Mr Rogers was about to mount, when the General’s voice was heard hailing Peter and Dirk; and directly after their hearts were set at rest about Coffee and Chicory, who could be heard laughing in the darkness.

“All shallow water,” cried the General. “Trek, Peter; trek, Dirk. Good place all across.”

Mr Rogers hesitated as to the advisability of crossing in the darkness; but the oxen were already in, the waggon was also nearly in the river, and if allowed to stay for a few hours it would probably sink deeply in the sand. So, leaving his men to pursue their own course, he also waded in, while Dirk cracked his whip, Peter mounted on to the box and followed suit, and Klipmann, the black bullock, headed on into the stream. The shadowy-looking team could be dimly seen to straighten out; there was a heavy pull at the waggon, and another, and another, before its fore wheels were extricated from the sand in which they were sinking fast, showing the wisdom of at once proceeding; and then, plash! plash! and with the water rushing against them, the party began to cross.

“My! how strong the current is,” cried Jack.

“Take hold of the waggon, my boy,” said Mr Rogers.

But as the water did not come up to his waist, Jack did not mind. And so the heavy load was dragged slowly through the stream.

“I say, Jack,” said Dick, suddenly, just as they started, “there are crocodiles in these rivers, ain’t there?”

“Oh, murther!” ejaculated Dinny, who had gone into the water very unwillingly, and had wanted to ride, but Mr Rogers had refused to have the waggon loaded any more, preferring himself to walk.

Then there was a rush and a splash, that passed unnoticed in the bustle of crossing; and at the end of ten minutes, by the General’s guidance the team was led to a gentle slope, which they easily mounted, and dragged the dripping waggon forth on to a level grassy plain.

The horses had followed, to stand about snorting and stamping, fresh and bright with their bathe; and it was now determined, dark as it was, to trek on for a couple of miles to a rich grassy spot that the General said was ahead, and would be a good place for outspanning and camp, when a dismal yell was heard from the farther shore.

“What’s that?” exclaimed Mr Rogers.

But no one answered.

“Some one must be in the river,” cried Dick, excitedly. “Where’s Coffee?”

“Here Coffee,” cried the Zulu boy, who had quite accepted his name.

“Then who is it?” said Jack, looking round in the darkness. “Here’s Chicory.”

“Why, it’s Dinny,” cried Dick. “Ahoy! Dinny!”

“Ahoy! Help now, Masther Dick, sor,” came from some distance off.

“The poor fellow is being swept down the river,” exclaimed Mr Rogers, leaping on the bay to ford or swim down to the drowning man. “Dinny! Shout, man! Where are you?” he cried.

“Sure, I’m here. How’ll I get over at all?” came back.

“What! Are you ashore?” cried Mr Rogers.

“Yis, sor.”

“Then wade across, man. It isn’t deep.”

“Sure, sor, and I daren’t.”

“Dare not!” cried Jack. “Why we did.”

“Yis, sor; but a great baste of a thing laid howlt o’ me, and I had to go back.”

“Are there any crocodiles here?” said Mr Rogers, to the Zulu.

“No, boss; no crocodile. All in Limpopo river.”

“I thought so. Here, Dinny.”

“Yis, sor.”

“Come across directly, man! There’s nothing to be afraid of!”

“Sure, sor, I’m not afraid a bit!” yelled Dinny.

“Then come over.”

“If I did, sor, the crockydiles would be aiting me, and thin what would you do?”

“Let me fetch him, father,” cried Jack. “I’ll wade over.”

“No, let me,” said Dick. “I’m not afraid.”

“I don’t think a second wetting will do either of you any good,” replied their father. “Here, Dick, take the bay and go across, and make the stupid fellow hold on by your stirrup-leather. Take care to go straight.”

“Help. What’ll I do now? Are ye going to lave me?” cried Dinny, in piteous tones.

“He really deserves to be left,” said Mr Rogers. “We shall have to cure him of this cowardice. Go on, Dick.”

Dick leaped into the saddle, touched the willing bay’s sides, and the horse began to ford the rapid stream, hesitating just a trifle as they reached the middle, where the current pressed most hardly against his flanks; but keeping steadily on till he was safe across.

“Ah, Masther Dick, dear!” whined Dinny. “An’ it’s you, thin?”

“Yes, it’s me, my brave Irish boy!” said Dick.

“An’ ye didn’t bring another of the horses for me, sor?”

“No, Dinny, I didn’t,” replied Dick, smiling at the other’s cowardice. “My father said you were to hold on by the stirrup-leather.”

“What, and walk acrost?”

“To be sure.”

“Saints alive! I daren’t do it, Masther Dick, dear. Sure the bottom of the say—I mane the river—there’s paved wid crockydiles; an’ every step I took I could feel them heaving up under me.”

“What, as you were going across, Dinny?”

“Yis, sor. Not as I minded as long as they kep’ quiet; but whin one hungry baste laid howlt toight o’ me trousers, and scratched me leg wid his ugly teeth, I felt that it was time to be off back, and I jist escaped.”

“Hoi, there, Dick! Look sharp!”

“Coming!” roared Dick. “Now then, Dinny. There are no crocodivils here.”

“Hark at him now!” cried Dinny. “Why the river swarms wid ’em. Did they ate the black boys?”

“No, of course not. What nonsense! Come, catch hold, and let’s go.”

“Masther Dick, dear, I’ve a mother at home in the owld country, and if anything was to happen to me, she’d never forgive the masther.”

“Catch hold, Dinny. I tell you there’s nothing to fear.”

“Sure, Masther Dick, dear, an’ I’m not afraid—not the laste bit in the worrld; but I couldn’t go across there to-night. Wouldn’t ye fetch one of the horses, Masther Dick?”

“No,” cried Dick impatiently. “I couldn’t do that. Here, I’ll get down and wade, and you can ride.”

“Thank ye, Masther Dick, dear. Sure, it’s an honourable gintleman ye’ll make, if ye don’t let the crockydivils get ye before your time. That’s betther,” he said, mounting. “Howlt on very tight to the horse’s mane, Masther Dick; and if ye feel one of the bastes feeling and poking ye about wid his nose before getting a good grip, jist you call out, and I’ll put on the speed to drag ye away.”

“I wouldn’t let my feet dabble in the water, Dinny,” said Dick, wickedly. “The crocodiles snap at hands or feet held over in their track.”

“What’ll I do, then?” cried Dinny, in alarm.

“I’d put my feet in my pockets, if I were you,” said Dick.

“Sure, an’ it’s a boy ye are for a joke, Masther Dick,” cried Dinny grimly. “I’ll howlt me legs up very high. Ah! what are ye shouting about? We’re coming.”

“Make haste there, Dick. Is anything wrong?”

“No, father!” shouted back Dick. “There, get along with you. Give him his head, Dinny, and he’ll go straight across.”

“I’d better make him canter, hadn’t I, Masther Dick, dear?”

“Canter? Nonsense! Why, the poor thing has enough to do to keep his feet walking.”

“Then it isn’t safe at all crossing the river, Masther Dick, dear. And ah, I daren’t go like this, wid me riding the good honest baste and you walking. What’ll the masther say?”

“That you are a terrible coward, Dinny,” replied Dick.

“Be aisy, Masther Dick. It isn’t being a coward, it’s thinking av my poor mother, and taking care of meself for the poor owld sowl’s sake. Whisht, Masther Dick, dear, jump up behind and hold on by me, and the baste’ll carry us both over.”

“It’s rather hard on the horse, Dinny, but I don’t want to get wet, so here goes. Hold tight.”

Dick took a leap, “fly the garter” fashion, and came down astride the bay, but startling it so that it began to rear and plunge.

“Aisy, Masther Dick, dear, or I’ll be off. Be quiet, ye baste. What’s the matter wid ye? Quiet, now!”

“Is anything the matter there?” came from out of the darkness across the river.

“No-o-o-o!” roared Dick, drumming the bay’s ribs with his heels. “Trek! go on, old fellow.”

“Oh, take care, Masther Dick, dear, whatever ye do,” whined Dinny.

“Oh, I’ll take care,” cried Dick, assuming the lead, and leaning forward so as to get the reins. “There, I’ll guide; you hold him tightly with your knees. Go on, bay.”

On went the bay steadily enough; and there was no disposition to waver now, even in the sharpest parts of the stream, for the extra weight upon his back made him firmer. But just as they reached the middle of the river a mischievous idea entered Dick’s head, and suddenly with one foot he made a splash, while with the other he pressed Dinny’s leg against the horse’s side.

“Murther! Help!” yelled Dinny. “He’s got me at last!” and throwing himself in the opposite direction, Dick only managed to save himself by nipping the horse. As for Dinny, he went head over heels into the running stream, being borne back, however, by the current against Dick’s legs, when, grasping him by the collar, Dick urged the horse on, Dinny supplementing his young master’s hold by a most tenacious grasp, till the horse’s hoofs began to plash in the shallower water, and poor Dinny was dragged out on to dry land.

“Why, what have you been about, Dinny?” cried Mr Rogers angrily. “Why didn’t you come over with us?”

“Sure, sor, I’m kilt entoirely,” groaned Dinny, rubbing his leg. “Twice over the savage bastes have had hold of me, and if I hadn’t thrown meself on the other side of the bay horse, it’s this minute they’d be aiting of me up.”

“Jump up and come along,” cried Mr Rogers. “It’s my belief, Dinny, that you are a great coward. Here, make haste, the waggon’s nearly a mile ahead.”

“Oh, masther, it was a narrow escape,” groaned Dinny, who did not attempt to move.

“It will be a narrower one, Dinny, if you stay there, for the Zulu tells me that this is a favourite spot for lions to lie in wait for the bok and zebra that come down to drink.”

“Oh, masther dear, why didn’t ye say so before?” cried Dinny, jumping up with alacrity. “Sure I’d be the first to tell a man if he was in danger.”

Mr Rogers did not reply, but went on with his son, Dinny keeping very close behind, till they overtook the waggon just as it reached the camping-place, where a fire was soon burning, and the oxen contentedly cropping the ample supply of excellent grass.

Chapter Ten.

A Glorious Sight for a Hunter.

Watch was set in the usual manner, so that the fire might be well kept up, and after a good dry, and a hearty meal—such a one as is made by those who have toiled all day in the open air—those who were at liberty so to do soon sought their blankets, and slept soundly and well.

To Dick and Jack it seemed that they had only just lain down, when there was a firm hand laid upon them, and they were awakened by the General, who signed to them in the grey morning light to get up.

They crept out of the waggon yawning, but that sign of slothfulness was soon chased away, and their father joining them, they took their guns and followed the General, leaving Dinny with orders to wake the boys, and to get breakfast ready by their return.

“Where are we going, father?” asked Dick.

“I can’t say, my boy. The Zulu awakened me as he did you. He has something to show us, I suppose.”

Their way lay up a woodland slope, where the trees had a park-like aspect, and beneath their shade it was still quite dim, but here and there they caught glimpses of the sky, which was flecked with little clouds of orange, and vermilion, and gold, while the light was rapidly growing in the east.

The General went on rapidly, as if quite sure of his route, and it seemed that the point at which he was aiming was the highest part of a ridge.

And so it proved, for when he had reached the summit the Zulu chief walked cautiously along for a short distance, and then stopped and stooped down, motioning to those who followed to do the same.

They obeyed him implicitly, preparing their pieces at the same time. Then creeping up to him cautiously, they found that they were on a ridge looking down into a widespread valley, flooded with the light of the approaching sunrise.

It was a glorious scene, and worth all the trouble and patience of their long journey to see. It was almost breathlessly that they gazed at the broad, grassy valley, with its clumps of trees, patches of wood, and portions dotted with masses of rock, whose tops were bathed in the amber morning tints, while in the direction where the little party gazed the shadows of tree and stone lay dark.

Facing them in the east the clouds were now gorgeous in their hues, one layer forming a grand arch of light, towards which darted upwards the rays of the coming sun.

But it was not only the sunrise that was glorious in the extreme, nor the beauty of the broad valley that held the spectators’ eyes, but the occupants of the scene below.

The General had undertaken to guide them to what he called the great game country, and he had kept his word. For below them—to right, to left, and away towards the golden burst of glory where the sun was about to rise—the land was literally alive with game.

Down to their right spread broad marshy lagoon after lagoon, in which swam, dived or waded, countless ducks and crane. Here, writhing its snaky neck and curious head and beak, was the flamingo, all white and rose; there, soft grey cranes and others, with a lovely crest, as if in imitation of the rays of the rising sun.

But it was not the wondrous variety of birds alone that took their attention, but the large game, feeding, gambolling, and careering in countless herds. To the left were zebras, and beyond some quaggas, or wild asses, the peculiar bray or cry of quay-gah! quay-gah! reaching to their ears. On their right there were gnus, or wildebeestes, as the Boers called them, brindled and the blue—curiously fierce-looking little animals, partaking both of the character of the deer and the buffalo. Some grazed placidly in the morning light, others were engaged in tilting at each other with their horns, while their companions looked on as if waiting for their turn; and every now and then the sound of the striking horns ascended to the woody ridge with a loud crash.

But while these creatures contended together, groups of antelopes were dotted here and there, while others careered at lightning speed over the plain.

The sight was wonderful, and the boys felt as if they would never tire of watching the evolutions of the graceful creatures, which, with their skins glistening and horns looking golden in the morning light, seemed to be going through a series of military evolutions with the greatest precision.

“Koodoo, pronghorn,” said Mr Rogers, looking at the herd through his glass. “There are a dozen elands too,” he continued, and then passed the glass to his sons.

“Oh, this is grand,” cried Dick enthusiastically. “I could stay here for ever watching the graceful creatures.”

“So could I,” said Jack, after breakfast. “I say, father, hadn’t we better shoot something—the stock’s getting low?”

“Yes,” said Mr Rogers quietly; and he longed to go himself and bring down a good fat buck for the replenishment of the larder; but the expedition was for his sons, and he gave place to them. “Now, Dick,” he continued, “here is a chance for you to try and stalk one of those hartebeestes; or better still, a nice fat antelope. Pick out one with a fine head of horns, and then aim straight at the shoulder, and be sure and bring him down.”

“At what distance would you fire, father?” asked Dick.

“I’d get as close as I could, my boy, but I’d fire at six or seven hundred yards sooner than miss a shot. Now go!”

Dick crept off, his father giving him a warning word about not losing his way, but to impress the land-marks upon his memory, so as to recognise them if he went astray.

As he disappeared down the valley side of the slope, Mr Rogers turned to Jack.

“Well, my boy, would you like a try as well?”

Jack’s whole face, as well as his tongue, said yes, and Mr Rogers smilingly pointed down into the valley, in the other direction.

“Be careful,” he said, “and don’t fire either in our direction or in your brother’s, for a rifle-bullet flies far.”

“All right, father,” cried Jack; and he too crept down the slope from bush to bush, to try and stalk one of the bok that came nearest to the clump of wood upon his right.

“So this is the game country?” said Mr Rogers.

“Yes, boss, this the game country, but only bit outside. I show you big game yet—elephant, lion, all the big animal, only wait.”

Mr Rogers was ready to set self aside in every way in his efforts to educate his sons, so he took out his glass and sat down beside the General, watching the various herds of wild animals in the glowing morning light, and thinking how grateful he ought to be to see his boys daily growing in health, strength, and confidence. For it was unmistakable; Dick, the weak, half-consumptive lad, was altering rapidly, and the anxious father’s heart rejoiced as the dark shadow that had hovered over his life seemed to be chased away.

As he sat there thinking, and bringing his glass to bear upon the various herds, while waiting for them to take the alarm, he could not help feeling that Dick and Jack were managing uncommonly well to have gone on so long without alarming the game. It showed thoughtfulness, and ability in the hunter’s craft; not, of course, that he wished them to turn out hunters, but he believed in thoroughness, and he used to say that if it was only play it ought to be done well.

He was letting the glass rest upon his knees, with his eyes running dreamily over the landscape, when he became aware of the fact that the Zulu was watching him intently, as he sat there with a couple of assegais across his knees.

“I am sorry I was so unjust to him that night,” thought Mr Rogers. “It is a pity one’s nature prompts one to be so hasty and suspicious.”

Then as his eyes met those of the General, as it was fast becoming the custom to call him, he cudgelled his brains for some way of showing his confidence in him, who was so completely their guide.

Suddenly a soft smile beamed on the Zulu’s fierce countenance, and he said gently,—

“Boss thinking about his boys. Fine brave boys; make big warriors and chiefs. Zulu wish his boys here too. Love his boys same as white man.”

Mr Rogers stretched out his hand to the Zulu on the instant, for he had touched the chord of their common humanity, and white man and black man, as their hands joined in one firm grip, felt that henceforth they would be friends who could trust each other to the end.

“Look!” cried the Zulu suddenly; and he pointed down into the plain, where the alarm had been taken in the direction taken by Dick.

Antelopes that had been feeding, suddenly threw up their heads and galloped together, seeming to form square—first with horns outward to resist attack; then they reformed, and charged in one direction; halted, turned, and charged in another—as if alarmed, and yet not knowing which way to go.

The wildebeestes that had been fighting stopped, erected their tails, pawed the ground, and then, throwing their heads side-wise, began to plough it with one horn, but only to snort loudly and tear over the plain; while the zebras and quaggas began to toss their heads and tear about over the grassy wild, kicking and plunging, and scattering the light antelopes like the wind.

Suddenly there was a puff of smoke from a clump of bushes quite a mile away, and after an interval the faint crack of a rifle.

“That’s Dick’s gun, General,” said Mr Rogers, bringing his glass to bear upon a little herd of antelopes that must have formed the object of the shot; but not one of them fell, neither did either of them seem to be lamed.

“Miss, this time,” said the General, quietly.

Just then there was another report, evidently a shot at long range; but the only effect was to drive the game more in the direction of Jack’s position, or what they supposed to be Jack’s position.

Seeing then that Dick was not likely to get another shot, Mr Rogers turned his glass in the other direction; but there was nothing to see but the great herds of game, going more and more towards a clump of timber—trees that were of glorious shades of green in the morning sun. But, all at once, as a troop of gnus were trotting by, three or four large birds came rushing out, as if alarmed, and the gnus took fright, tearing off at a frantic pace. But before they had gone far there was a white puff of smoke from the end of the clump.

“Well done!” cried Mr Rogers. “He did well to get so far. But it is another miss. We must not depend on the boys yet for our dinners.”

The whole plain seemed to be now alive, and herd after herd of game, that had been hidden from them by the trees, had rushed into sight, and was now careering onward, and away from the dangerous proximity to the woods.

“Poor boys! All their trouble for nothing,” said Mr Rogers, closing his glass. “I wish I had gone too. I might have hit something.”

“Boss Jack has hit,” said the Zulu, pointing.

And just then, to the father’s great delight, he saw one of the curious antelopes suddenly stop short, the rest of the herd galloping onwards. Then it shook its head, turned, and seemed giddily to gallop back, and finally fell dead.

Almost at the same moment they saw Jack run out from the clump of timber, gun in one hand, cap in the other, which latter he began to wave frantically above his head.

“Well done, boy! A good shot,” cried Mr Rogers. “Ah, there’s Dick.”

For Dick now showed himself, a mile away to the left, and began to cross the open to join his brother, whose success he must have seen.

“The next thing is to get the game home,” said Mr Rogers. “We’ll go back, and send Peter and Dirk.”

He placed a shrill little whistle to his lips as he spoke, and as its piercing note rang out, the boys, who had been making for the fallen gnu, turned to come back.

“I’ll go!” said the General. “Mustn’t leave the game. Look, boss.”

He pointed, and in the distance there was a great vulture winging its way towards the fallen gnu; and, directly after, another and another came into sight, sailing heavily along upon its great dusky flapping wings.

It seemed as if telegrams had been sent in all directions to the vultures’ roosting-places that there had been a wildebeeste slain; and it was so evident that, if steps were not taken to save it, the vultures would destroy the provisions of three or four days, that Mr Rogers rapidly blew twice upon his whistle—a preconcerted signal, which made the boys turn and go towards the game.

As it was, a vulture would have reached the fallen animal before them but for a shot from Dick’s gun, which had the effect of more than scaring it as it was just alighting, for, evidently hit by the bullet, it flew a few yards, and then fell, flapping its wings for a few moments, and then lay still.

This checked the others for the time, and Mr Rogers waited till the General should set the boys at liberty, when he meant to return to the waggon.

Chapter Eleven.

Getting into Work.

It seemed some little time before the Zulu appeared at the bottom of the slope; but when he emerged from the woods, Mr Rogers could see that he had been cutting some sticks, and on bringing the glass to bear he made out that the Zulu was straightening them as he ran.

The boys saw him coming, and waved their caps; while, when the General joined them, they all bent over the game together, the Zulu apparently being very busy, and making Mr Rogers impatient, for he wanted to get back to breakfast, which must then be ready.

“There is some reason for it, I dare say,” said Mr Rogers, gazing through his glass. “Why, they are all coming away! The animal will be devoured. It is bad, perhaps.”

He waited patiently, seeing the little party return; and as they left the fallen gnu he saw the vultures come dropping down from the trees where they had been waiting, till there were over twenty by the game, round which they formed a circle, but they did not approach near.

“Strange!” thought Mr Rogers. “I wonder they don’t tear it up. Perhaps it is still alive. If so they ought to have put the poor thing out of its misery. I shall speak sharply to Master Dick about such wanton cruelty.”

Mr Rogers wanted his breakfast, and, as he had had no excitement, he felt cross, so that it seemed as if the boys would get what Jack irreverently called a wigging. But the sight of his sons’ bright excited faces as they ran up the slope, drove away his ill-humour.

“Why, Dick!” he cried, “how you run!”

“Do I, father?” cried the boy, excitedly, “But did you see what a splendid shot Jack made? I missed twice, but he brought his gnu down. It’s a fine young bull.”

“Then you are not jealous of his luck?” said his father.

“Oh, no,” laughed Dick. “It will be my turn next time.”

“Bravo, Jack!” cried Mr Rogers. “But why did you leave the game to the vultures? Dick says it was a fine young bull.”

“Oh, it’s all right, father,” cried Jack, who now ran panting up to his father’s side. “The General has cut it up partly, and has brought the liver and kidneys, and a bit or two to cook for breakfast.”

“But it was a pity to leave so much good meat, my boys; I don’t like wanton waste.”

“But it’s all right, father,” said Dick. “The General has stuck some pieces of wood round and over it, and he says the vultures won’t go near it for hours, for fear it should be a trap.”

Mr Rogers opened his glass, and looked at the fallen game; and sure enough there sat the vultures in a ring, contemplating the sticks that the General had stuck up round it, but not one went near.

The Zulu smiled as he came up, bearing the delicate portions of the gnu skewered upon one of his assegais; and hurrying back to the camp, Peter and Dirk were given full directions which way to go, and sent off with three oxen, and a roughly-contrived carriage for the game formed by cutting down a great forked branch of a tree to attach to the oxen yokes. But when ready for starting they suggested the advisability of their having guns, which being supplied, they started off, looking rather longingly though at the preparations for breakfast.

A good fire was burning, and coffee was made, Dinny looking very disconsolate and miserable; but the sight of the fresh meat seemed to do him good, for a broad grin expanded his features, and getting the frying-pan out of the box that held the cooking apparatus, he soon had some savoury morsels peppered, salted, and sputtering on the fire.

“I feel as if I could eat heaps,” said Jack. “Oh, I say, father, isn’t breakfast lovely out here under these green trees?”

Mr Rogers agreed that it was; and certainly nothing could have been more glorious than the scene—the deep blue sky, the glorious sunshine, the bright green of the trees, the chirping, whistling, and screaming of the birds that thronged the brambles, and above all the delicious fragrance of the endless flowering shrubs and flowers.

It was all enjoyable in the extreme, the abundant breakfast adding wonderfully to the pleasure. Even the oxen and horses seemed perfectly happy, for there was an abundance of short, sweet grass for them to crop, while the little Zulu party seemed happiness itself.

A goodly portion of the gnu had been given over to the General, and despising the frying-pan, he and his boys toasted the pieces of flesh in the fire, and ate them hissing hot; the effect upon Coffee being that he did nothing but grin, and rub the portion of his brown person which he called his “tum-tum,” while his brother gave vent to his excitement and pleasure by either lying down and rolling himself over and over, or else by trying to stand upon his head, a very agreeable style of acrobatic trick, but decidedly inconvenient at breakfast-time.

As, however, just when he had arrived at a perfect equilibrium, and had his heels straight up in the air, he overbalanced himself, and instead of coming back upon his toes he went over upon his heels, which he planted in the hot ashes, Chicory thought the performance had gone sufficiently far, and went on eating his breakfast in what Dinny called a more Chrishtanly-like way.

Just as they had finished, and Jack had thoroughly recovered from a violent fit of coughing and choking, consequent upon seeing Chicory stick his heels in the fire, while he—Jack—was drinking his coffee, there came from behind them the crack of a whip, and Peter’s harsh voice shouting, “Trek, boys! trek!” accompanied by the rustling, scrambling noise made by a great branch being drawn over the ground; and directly after the slow, patient oxen came into sight, chewing away at their cuds, as they used their tails to whisk away the flies, and dragged Jack’s game into camp.

It proved to be a splendid young gnu, and the boys examined with curiosity its shaggy head, with its curiously bent down and curved up horns, and general likeness to horse, antelope, and bull, as if it were related to each. Then the Zulu, with Dirk’s help, rapidly skinned it; portions were set apart for immediate use, some of the best cut up in strips by the General, and hung in the sun upon the bushes to form what is called “biltong,” that is, strips of sun-dried meat, the sun baking it up so quickly that it has not time to go bad, and the rest was left for another fate.

For it was most amusing to watch the dogs, sitting all four in a row, hungrily looking at the skinning and cutting up of the gnu. They watched with the most intense interest the whole process, following the General to and fro, and thankfully swallowing any scraps he threw them.

When the skin was taken off and spread upon the waggon-tilt to dry, Pompey, Caesar, and Crassus followed, as if to see that it was properly spread out, Rough’un being the only one who protested against the plan, for his look plainly said that he wanted to lick that skin on the fleshy side; and as he was not allowed to go through that process, he kept uttering low, dissatisfied whines, to Jack’s great delight; while, when he saw Peter climb up, and Dirk hand him the skin, he uttered a yell of disappointment at what he evidently considered to be the waste of so much good fat.

This yell from Rough’un had its effects upon Pompey, Caesar, and Crassus, which triumvirate did not behave at all after the manner of the stolid, patient, noble Romans whose names they bore; but one and all set up their noses as high as they could, getting mouth and throat in a direct line, and sang a trio—but so dolefully out of tune, that Dinny picked up the General’s assegai, and gave each one a tap on the head with the handle.

At least he meant to do so. He certainly hit Pompey and Caesar sounding cracks; but Crassus made a movement, and received his blow on the neck—so unfair a place, he evidently supposed, that it roused his temper, and he snapped at and seized the handle of the assegai in his teeth.

Now Dinny’s hands were greasy with helping to skin the gnu, and the handle of the assegai kept slipping through his fingers, and threatening to cut them against the blade; to avoid which, as the dog tugged fiercely and dragged at the handle, Dinny kept taking a fresh hold hand over hand, as if he were hauling rope, abusing the dog at the same time.

“Ah, get out, ye dirty baste,” he cried. “Let go, will ye?”

Worry! worry! worry! growled Crassus, holding on with all his might of jaw, which was really great; and seeing the successful effort made by their companion, Pompey and Caesar began to bark and bay at Dinny on either side of Crassus.

“Oh, here’s a game, Dick!” cried Jack, holding his sides and laughing.

“Call ’em off, will ye?” cried Dinny. “Ah, get out, ye dirty, yelping bastes.”

“Serve you right, for hitting them in that cruel way,” said Dick cynically; while seeing the fun, as they seemed to consider it, Coffee and Chicory each seized his kiri, and began to perform a war-dance round Dinny and the dogs.

“Lave go, will ye?” cried Dinny to Crassus. “Sure it’s a taste of the other end I’ll be giving ye dreckerly.”

Crassus evidently believed him, for he held on all the tighter. Dinny dragged hard, but the dog’s jaws had closed upon the wood like a steel trap, and though Dinny dragged him here and there, he did not leave go; and so sure as the man began to obtain a little advantage, Pompey and Caesar made such a desperate attack upon his rear that he immediately lost ground, and the French and English tug-of-war continued, the dogs barking, Dinny abusing them, and the boys, black as well as white, shouting with delight.

This was very good fun for the latter, but anything but pleasant for Dinny. In fact, so bad was his case, and so threatening the aspect of the dogs, that any one who would have insured the legs of Dinny’s trousers from being torn by the dogs, would have been guilty of a very insane act, especially as Rough’un, after sitting up on end encouraging Crassus to hold on to the assegai staff by a loud bark now and then, suddenly took it into his head to join in the fray.

For Dinny had not been particularly friendly to him since they started. Upon one occasion Dinny had tickled him—so he called it—with Peter’s whip, the tickling consisting in giving the dog so severe a flick that it seemed like taking out a piece of the flesh; while no later than that morning Rough’un felt that he had been misused in the matter of the skin that he wanted to lick.

So, unable to bear matters any longer, Rough’un, who had momentarily grown more excited, suddenly made an open-mouthed onslaught upon the assegai stock.

“Carl him off, Masther Dick, Masther Jack. Oh, murther, what’ll I do. Ah! get out—get—”

Dinny said no more, but loosed his hold of the assegai, and fled, leaping on to the front box of the waggon, and then climbing in beneath the tilt, while the dogs chased him, barking and baying him furiously.

This did not last, however, for the denuding of the gnu’s bones was pretty well ended, and one of the oxen dragged the remains into the forest, when the dogs were called up, and Dinny was forgotten.

Chapter Twelve.

A Buffalo Run.

The General owned that there would be good hunting here, but he wanted to get the party well into the interior, where, taking up a central position, they could make excursions in any direction according to the way in which the game lay. If they stayed where they were, all they would do would be to drive the game away, and it would grow more scarce.

The boys were as eager as the General, and looking upon the interior as a land of mystery and romance, they readily backed up the proposal to go farther.

“Well, my boys, I hardly know what to say,” replied Mr Rogers. “I want for you both to grow sturdy, manly, and inured to danger; but I scarcely like running the risk of taking you where we may be constantly encountering the lion, the rhinoceros, and the elephant and hippopotamus.”

“But we shall be very careful,” said Jack.

“And we are growing better marksmen every day, father,” exclaimed Dick.

“Yes, my boys, I dare say you are,” replied Mr Rogers. “But please remember that taking aim at and shooting a timid deer is one thing; standing face to face with some fierce beast ready to take your life, quite another.”

“Oh, yes, father, I know that,” said Jack; “and I dare say I should be horribly frightened, but I wouldn’t run away.”

“It might be wiser to do so than to provoke the animal by firing,” said Mr Rogers, smiling. “What do you say, Dick?”

“I say I should like to go on, father, in spite of the risk,” replied Dick. “Now we have come so far, I want to see more of the wonderful Central African land, and I should like to shoot a lion, an elephant, a rhinoceros, and a hippopotamus.”

“And a giraffe, a crocodile, and a boa-constrictor,” said Jack.

“And would you both like to make that bag in one day, young gentlemen?” said Mr Rogers, smiling.

“Ah, now you are laughing at us, father,” said Dick. “Of course we don’t expect to shoot all those creatures, but we should like to try.”

“Yes,” added Jack; “that’s it, Dick. We should like to try.”

“Then you shall try,” said Mr Rogers, quietly; “on condition, mind, that you will neither of you do anything rash, but follow out either my advice or that of the General, whom I feel disposed to trust more and more.”

The country seemed to grow more romantic and grand the farther they trekked on away from civilisation, and they travelled now very few hundred yards without seeing something new and full of interest. Game was so abundant that there was no difficulty in keeping up a plentiful supply. Dinny even threatened to lose the frying-pan, for, as he said, he was frying steak morning, noon, and night; but as he loved dearly to fry one particularly juicy piece always for a gentleman named Dinny, there was not much fear of his keeping his word.

But somehow Dinny did not add to the harmony of the expedition. He proved himself again and again to be an arrant coward; and, coward-like, he tried to tyrannise over the weaker.

He was afraid of the General; and when, upon one or two occasions, he had quarrelled with Peter or Dirk, those gentlemen had displayed so much pugnacity that Dinny had prudently resolved to quarrel with them no more. He, however, made up for this by pouring out his virulence upon Coffee and Chicory, the dogs having been too much for him; and the Zulu boys bore it all in silence, but evidently meant to remember Dinny’s behaviour when the time came.

One day, soon after entering the game country, the General, who was on ahead alternately scanning the horizon and the ground, while the oxen slowly lumbered on behind, suddenly stopped, and began to examine some footprints in a marshy piece of ground which he had just told Dick to avoid.

“What is it?” said Dick, coming up.

“Look,” said the General, pointing to the great footprints.

“Why, it looks as if a great cat had been here,” said Dick.

“Yes; great cat; lion!” said the Zulu.

And when Mr Rogers and Jack had cantered up, and seen the spoor, as such footprints were generally termed in South Africa, they knew that there would be real danger now hovering about their nightly camps.

That afternoon, as they were passing through a woody portion of the country, Chicory, who was well ahead, assegai in hand, eagerly looking out for game, was heard suddenly to yell out as if in agony; and as all ran to his help, he was found to be rolling on the ground, shrieking the native word for “Snake! snake!”

Mr Rogers was the first to reach him, being mounted, and as he drew rein by the prostrate boy, he saw a long thin snake gliding away.

He was just in time, and leaning forward he took rapid aim with his fowling-piece; and as the smoke rose, a long thin ash-coloured snake was seen writhing, mortally wounded, upon the ground.

The General caught the boy by the shoulder, and proceeded to divide his jet-black hair, examining his scalp carefully, but without finding any trace of a wound; though Chicory declared that he was killed, and that the snake had seized him by the head as he was going under a tree.

He had felt it, and when he threw himself forward to avoid it, the creature writhed and twisted about his neck, till in his horror he rolled over and over, partly crushing the reptile, which was making its escape when Mr Rogers’s gun put an end to its power of doing mischief.

The General having satisfied himself that his boy was not hurt, sent him forward with a cuff on the ear, before giving his master a grateful look for destroying a virulently poisonous serpent—one, he assured them, whose regular practice was to hang suspended by the tail from some low branch, and in this position to strike at any living creature that passed beneath.

“He would have been dead now,” said the General, “if the snake’s teeth had gone through his hair.”

It was with no little satisfaction then, after this adventure, that the hunting-party passed through the woody region they were then in, and came into the open, for during the last few hours everybody’s eyes had been diligently directed at the overhanging branches of the trees, Dinny being so observant that he two or three times tripped over prostrate boughs, and went down upon his nose.

As they passed out into the open they were in a rough plain, covered as far as they could see with coarse herbage; and hardly had the waggon emerged before Mr Rogers, who was using his glass, drew the General’s attention to some dark objects upon a slope some distance ahead.

The Zulu glanced at the dark shapes for a few moments, and then cried eagerly,—

“Buffalo!”

“Come along, Dick,” shouted Jack.

“Stop, stop!” exclaimed their father. “What are you going to do?”

“Shoot a buffalo, father.”

“If we can,” added Dick.

“But you must be careful. These buffalo are pretty fierce creatures, and dangerous at times.”

“Yes, very dangerous,” assented the Zulu. “Boss Jack—Boss Dick shoot one, and the boys drive one to him.”

The General undertaking to do his best to keep his sons out of danger, Mr Rogers consented to let them go; and soon afterwards, having made his plans, the General started off with his boys, pointing out a course for Jack and Dick to take upon their cobs, advising them both to fire at the same buffalo as it galloped past them, and then to keep hidden till the herd had gone by.

This they undertook to do; and away they cantered in one direction, the General and his boys going in another, so as to get ahead of the herd, and then show themselves, and that, they expected, would drive them towards the young hunters.

All turned out exactly as anticipated. Dick and Jack sat like statues, in a low hollow, with rifles cocked, and cartridges handy for a second shot, waiting for the coming of the herd; and at last, just as they had given up all expectation of seeing them, there was a low rushing sound in the distance as of wind—then a roar, ever increasing, until it was like thunder; and then down came the vast herd of heavy animals, surprising the boys at first by their number, so that they had nearly all gone by before either of the brothers thought of firing.

Dick was the first to rouse himself from his surprise.

“Now then, Jack,” he cried, as their horses stood motionless, watching the passing drove; “fire at that slate-coloured bull. Now then, take aim together—fire!”

The two rifle-shots pealed almost like one, and, to the delight of the boys, they saw the young bull they had shot stagger forward on to its knees, and then roll over upon its side.

“Hurray! First buffalo!” cried Jack; and together the boys cantered out into the plain, when, to their intense astonishment, instead of the herd continuing its flight, about a dozen bulls stopped short, stared at them, pawed the ground, stuck up their tails, wheeled round, uttered a fierce roar, and charged.

Even if the boys had felt disposed to meet their enemies with a couple more shots, the cobs would not have stood still. They were well-broken, and trusty; day by day they had seemed to gain confidence in their riders, and they would stand perfectly still if their bridles were drawn over their heads and allowed to trail upon the ground; while if Jack or Dick liked to make a rifle-rest of their backs, they were perfectly content, and stood as rigidly as if carved out of stone.

But there are bounds even to the confidence of a horse. When the little steeds saw the fierce looks of the buffaloes, heard their angry bellowings, and found that with waving tails, menacing horns, and hoofs that seemed to thunder as they tore up the ground, the bulls were coming nearer and nearer, and evidently with the full intent of burying those sharp horns in their chests, Shoes and Stockings snorted violently, turned round so suddenly that had not Jack and Dick been excellent horsemen they would have been thrown, and tore away over the plain.

This was a reverse of circumstances; and naturally feeling startled at such a change, their boys gave their horses their heads, sat well down, and kept giving furtive glances behind to see if the bulls were gaining upon them.

At the end of a few moments, though, it occurred to Dick that their speed was greater than that of the buffaloes, and consequently that they would have no difficulty, failing accidents, in galloping away. Then he began to think of his rifle and ammunition, but felt that under the circumstances fire-arms were useless.

Last of all he began to feel very much ashamed of his position, in being hunted like this.

The same feeling seemed to have affected Jack, who looked at his brother as they raced on side by side.

The consequence was that all of a sudden they both sat up more erect in their saddles, and took a pull at the reins, bringing Shoes and Stockings by degrees into a hand gallop, instead of the ventre à terre progress they were making before.

“This won’t do,” cried Dick, as he glanced back to find that

the bulls were still lumbering on behind them, snorting savagely, and shaking their horn-armed fronts.

“No,” said Jack, “we are taking them right down on the waggon, and they’ll charge straight over the camp.”

“Yes; let’s turn off to the left,” shouted Dick; and as if by one impulse they wheeled round to the left, and galloped on over the plain. “I tell you what,” he cried, as a happy idea struck him; “let’s wheel round to the right now.”

“What for?” shouted back his brother.

“So as to ride round and round the waggon in a circle. Father will bring one or two of them down.”

For answer Jack wheeled to the right, and if the manoeuvre had been kept up it would have answered; but, as it happened, Mr Rogers had gone away from the waggon in search of some beautifully plumaged birds which had settled in the trees above the camp, and then gone on to a grove a mile or so away.

The General and his boys were of course far away out on the plain, where they had been driving the buffalo, and therefore Dinny was the principal man in camp.

He was busy with the frying-pan frizzling himself a venison steak, when, hearing the thunder of hoofs, he dropped the pan in the wood ashes, and stood staring with horror.

“What’ll I do now?” he cried.

Then a bright idea seized him, and pulling his knife from his belt, he dashed at the place where his enemies the dogs were tied up by stout thongs to the waggon-wheels, and divided them one by one.

“There, ye bastes,” he cried, “be off and get tossed.” And as the dogs rushed off, delighted with their freedom, Dinny chose what he thought was the safest place in the camp, namely, the space between the four wheels beneath the waggon, and there lay down and wished himself back safely in his mother’s cabin.

The dogs had been for some moments past tearing at their thongs to get away, so that no sooner were they freed than, barking and baying fiercely, they raced down after the buffaloes, and Dinny never did a better act in his life. Certainly it was prompted by cowardice; but it had its good fruits, for it was the saving of poor Dick’s life.

The boys had galloped on as had been suggested, gradually inclining to the right, so that they drew the little herd of bulls into following them in a circle; and in this way they had nearly gone round the waggon at about a couple of hundred yards’ distance, wondering why their father did not shoot, when, all at once, just as the baying of the dogs reached their ears, Dick turned a piteous look at his brother.

“I’m—I’m not strong, yet, Jack,” he faltered. “Ride on fast.”

To Jack’s horror he saw his brother’s eyes close, and that he fell forward upon his horse’s neck; the next moment he had glided as it were out of his saddle, and fallen—his horse, from its good training, stopping short by his side.

The buffaloes were only about thirty yards behind, and as Jack reined in, and turned to help his brother, the bulls lowered, their horns, and in another moment or two they would have been trampled and gored, perhaps killed; but just as the great shaggy animals were upon them, the dogs made their attack, Pompey, Caesar, and Crassus each seizing a bull by the lip, while Rough’un kept up a furious barking as he tore at the various animals’ heels.

The effect was magical upon the buffaloes, which tossed their heads furiously in the air, and dislodging their assailants, turned and rushed off, with the dogs now biting their heels or leaping viciously at their flanks, all attack now being changed to flight.

Chapter Thirteen.

“Oomph! Oomph! Oomph!”

“Are you much hurt, Dick?” cried Jack anxiously, as he knelt on one knee by his brother.

“No, I think not,” panted Dick, opening his eyes. “I came over all giddy, and couldn’t sit my horse. Did he throw me?”

“No: you fell.”

“But where are the buffaloes?”

“Yonder they go,” replied Jack. “Don’t you hear the dogs? There, lean on me, and let’s walk in to the camp.”

“Oh, no,” cried Dick. “I’m better now.”

“No, no; don’t try to mount.”

“Yes, I shall,” was the reply. “I was overdone from being weak; but I’m better now, and I’m going with you to bring in the buffalo we shot.”

“Oh no, Dick, don’t try,” cried his brother anxiously.

But Dick would not be persuaded, and, mounting his horse, he rode with his brother up to the waggon, gave the necessary instructions to Peter and Dirk, and in a few moments those sable gentlemen were leading a small ox-team over the plain to where the General and his boys were busily dressing the fallen bull; and by the time Mr Rogers reached the waggon, the choicest parts of the buffalo were there, the remainder having been left for the vultures and wild creatures of the plain.

They trekked on for some miles that evening, and soon after sundown halted by the side of a wood, whose edges were composed of dense thorns, and here, at the General’s suggestion, all set to work, after the waggon had been drawn up in a suitable position, to cut down the bushes so as to make a square patch, with the dense thorns on three sides and the waggon on the fourth, the lower part of the waggon being fortified with the bushes that were cut down.

The object was to form a sound enclosure, which was duly strengthened, so as to protect the horses and bullocks from the wild beasts that haunted the neighbourhood.

It was very hard work, and Dinny grumbled terribly, till Dick said quietly to his brother, in Dinny’s hearing,—

“I wonder that Dinny don’t work harder. The General says this part swarms with lions; and they’ll be down upon us before we’ve done if he don’t make haste.”

Dinny seemed to be turned for the moment into stone, at the bare mention of the word lion; but directly after he was toiling away with feverish haste, and in quite a state of excitement, bullying Coffee and Chicory for not bringing in more dead wood for the fire.

By dint of all working hard, however, a satisfactory place was contrived, into which, after a good long feed, and a hearty drink of fresh water from a bubbling stream, the bullocks and horses were shut, the horses having a division of their own, where they would be safe from the horns of their friends as well as the teeth and claws of their enemies. Then the blazing fire in front of the waggon was utilised for cooking purposes, and buffalo steaks and thick rich soup from Dinny’s big pot soon restored the losses felt by the little party in their arduous evening toil.

The waggon was on the very edge of the forest, and a couple of trees stood out on either side, spreading their branches over it as shelter, while the ruddy fire that was being steadily fed to get it into a good glow, with a bright blaze free from the blinding smoke emitted by burning wood, seemed to turn the waggon and trees into gold.

“I’ll take the first watch, my boys,” said Mr Rogers, who, after their hearty supper, had read his sons a lecture about the necessity for care in hunting, “for,” said he, “but for the dogs your lives would certainly have been sacrificed.”

“Yes, father, we’ll be more careful; but how is it the dogs have not come back?”

“They overtook and pulled down one of the buffaloes,” said Mr Rogers. “They will glut themselves, and, after a long sleep, take up our trail and follow us. I dare say they’ll be here to-morrow.”

The boys, who were fagged out, gladly crept into the waggon, the last thing they saw being Dinny putting some pieces of buffalo flesh and half a pail of water in the big pot, so as to let it stew by the fire all night. Then they drew up the canvas curtains of their tent-bed as they called it, leaving Mr Rogers and Peter to keep up the fire, and to call them in four hours’ time, the boys having begged that they might keep one of the watches together.

They were fast asleep directly, and in five minutes’ time—so Jack declared—Mr Rogers aroused them to relieve guard.

“Come, boys,” he said, “be quick. Do you know how long you’ve been asleep?”

“Five minutes,” said Jack, sleepily.

“Nearly five hours, sir.”

“Then they weren’t good measure,” grumbled Jack.

“There’s plenty of wood, Dick,” said Mr Rogers, “and I’d keep up a good blazing fire. I have not heard a sound; but if you are alarmed, a piece of blazing wood thrown in the direction is better than firing at random; but keep your rifles ready.”

These words drove drowsy sleep from the boys’ eyelids, and clambering out of the waggon, the fresh cold night air finished the task.

They saw Mr Rogers climb into the waggon and their black followers crawl under it; then taking the rifles, they saw to there being a ball cartridge in each, and big slugs in the shot barrel; and after throwing on a few sticks to make the fire blaze, they walked slowly up and down.

“How dark and strange the forest looks, Jack,” said Dick, “I say, I’m not ashamed to say that it does make one feel timid.”

“It makes two feel timid,” said Jack, sturdily. “Look at the dark shadows the fire throws. Why it almost looks as if there were all sorts of horrible creatures watching us. If I didn’t feel that father had been sitting here watching, and wasn’t afraid I’d give it up.”

“Perhaps he did feel afraid,” said Dick.

“Not he,” said Jack sturdily. “If he had felt afraid, he wouldn’t have let us watch here.”

“Oh, yes, he would,” said Dick thoughtfully. “Father wants us to grow up manly and strong, and ready to laugh at what would alarm some lads. Hark! what’s that?”

He caught his brother’s arm, for just then, apparently from beneath their feet, they heard a peculiar noise.

“Oomph! oomph! oomph!” a peculiar, vibrating, shuddering, deep-toned cry, which seemed to make the air, and the very earth beneath them, vibrate.

There was no mistaking it. Over and over again they had heard Coffee and Chicory imitate the cry; but how pitiful their attempts seemed now, as compared to the noise heard there in the solemnity of the silent night! “Oomph! oomph! oomph!” a peculiar grunting, shuddering roar, which made a perfect commotion in the strongly-made cattle-kraal or enclosure, the oxen running about in their dread, and the horses whinnying and stamping upon the hard ground.

“How close is it!” whispered Jack, stretching out his hand to get hold of his rifle.

“I don’t know. It seems sometimes just by this patch of bushes, and sometimes ever so far away. Hark! there’s another.”

“Yes, and another.”

“Or is it all made by one lion?” said Dick.

“I don’t know,” replied Jack, in an awe-stricken whisper.

“Shall we call father, and tell him there are lions about?”

“No,” said Dick sturdily. “He’d laugh at us for cowards. We’ve got to get used to lions, Jack; and it’s our own doing—we wanted to come.”

“Yes, but I didn’t know they’d come so close,” replied Jack. “Hark at that!”

There was a deep-toned quivering roar, apparently from the other side of the fire, and Dick felt his heart beat rapidly as he threw a handful of small twigs upon the fire to make it blaze up.

“Let’s go and talk to the horses,” he said. “Yes; that’s right,” for Jack had also added an armful of dry wood to the fire, which now blazed up merrily.

They went to the thorny hedge which protected the horses, and on making their way through to where they were haltered to a pole, carried on the waggon for the purpose, they found the poor creatures trembling, and with dripping flanks, while when they spoke to them they rubbed their noses against their masters’ hands, and whinnied with pleasure, as if comforted by the presence of the boys.

“What’s that, Dick?” cried Jack excitedly, for there was a crashing noise as if something had leaped at the hedge.

The answer came in the panic of the bullocks and the dread of the horses; and, without hesitating, Jack lowered his piece in the direction of the sound, to fire both barrels rapidly one after the other.

There was a savage roar for response, and a rush as of some creature bounding through the bushes. Then all was silent.

“I wonder whether I hit him,” said Jack, proceeding to throw out the empty cartridges and reload.

“Is anything wrong? Shall I come?” shouted Mr Rogers, from within the waggon.

“No, father,” replied Dick steadily. “You needn’t come. We only fired at a lion.”

But as they reached the fire again, a tall dark figure crawled to their side, and nodded to them gravely.

“Plenty of lion here. I stop and help you.”

It was the General, and glad enough the boys were of his company.

Almost before they had seated themselves they heard a sound on the right, and taking a burning stick from the fire the General whirled it in the direction, the wood blazing up in its rapid passage through the air, and falling amongst some dry grass, which it set on fire, to burn for a few moments vividly, and then leave the surroundings apparently darker than before.

As the burning brand fell in the forest there was an angry snarl, and these snarls were repeated again and again as from time to time the General skilfully threw the wood wherever his quick ears told him there was one of the lurking beasts.

“Is there more than one lion?” said Dick, in a whisper at last.

“Three, four, five,” said the General. “They want horse or bullock. Hist! look! see!”

He pointed to a dark patch at the edge of the forest, where, upon Dick directing his eyes, he could see nothing; but the next moment there was the reflection of the fire to be seen in a couple of glaring orbs.

“Can you shoot him?” said the General.

“Let me by, Dick. My hand’s steady,” whispered Jack. “I think I could hit him.”

“Go on,” was the whispered reply.

To fire it was necessary for Jack to take aim across the Zulu, who leaned forward so that the barrel of Jack’s rifle rested upon his shoulders; while, kneeling, the boy took along and careful aim, right between the two glowing orbs, and drew trigger. There was the sharp report, a furious roar, a rush, the falling of some heavy body, and the scattering of the fire-brands. Then all was silent; and they rapidly collected the scattered embers to make the fire blaze up again; for the lions, far from being scared by the noise of the shot, renewed their awe-inspiring “Oomph! oomph!” on all sides; and the fear of the cattle was such that they threatened to break out of the kraal.

Again Mr Rogers roused himself, and asked if there was any need for him to come. But Dick replied steadily that there was not—feeling as he did pretty confident, in spite of his dread, that they could keep the lions at bay.

The fire blazed up so brightly, that the boys glanced anxiously at the supply of wood, thinking of the hours they had yet to pass before daylight, and what would be the consequences if the fire went out.

One thing was very certain, and that was that a large fire would be necessary now every night. And though the boys felt a strange kind of tremor as they felt the risks they were incurring, there was so much romantic excitement in the life they were leading, that they would not have given it up on any consideration.

The lions roared and prowled about them during the remainder of the night, sometimes coming very close, sometimes retreating, for the fire was very bright. And then came the two boys, Coffee and Chicory, with Peter the driver, to relieve them, just as day was breaking, and the young travellers gladly went back into the waggon for a sleep.

Chapter Fourteen.

Tracked by an Enemy.

They did not have a long sleep, for Mr Rogers soon roused them to say that breakfast was ready; which meal being discussed, the oxen were in-spanned, and the horses mounted, so as to have a good long trek towards the Limpopo, or Crocodile River, before the heat of the day.

Before leaving their camp the boys had a good look round with the General, in the expectation and hope of seeing the lion at which Jack had shot, lying dead. But though he felt certain that he had hit the monster, and though footprints were about in all directions, there was no dead lion, and they had to hope for better luck the next time.

“I don’t care,” said Jack discontentedly; “I’m as sure as can be that this gun don’t shoot straight.”

“Try again, Jack,” said his father, laughing.

And on they walked, over what was now a plain covered with great coarse, reedy grass, such as would afford plenty of cover for game.

This, however, was scarce, and beyond the boys knocking down three or four large birds of the partridge kind, there was very little done.

The General, for some reason which he did not explain, had taken his great Zulu shield from where it hung behind one of the waggon-wheels, and, armed with a couple of assegais, kept making expeditions to right and left—and quite as often hung back, watchfully keeping an eye to the rear.

It was a case of man’s cunning against that of a beast; and

after being away some hours, he came up with the not very pleasant information that a huge lion, one of the ferocious maneless kind, was tracking the waggon, and would no doubt hang upon their trail until it had pounced upon one of the horses, and carried it off.

“Oh, that would be horrible,” cried Jack. “I’d almost sooner that he would take me than my horse.”

“Have you seen it, General?” said Dick; “or do you think it is following us, from its footprints?”

“I have seen it,” said the General gravely. “I felt sure from some footmarks I had seen that some great beast was following us—one of those that scented the horses last night. Once or twice I thought the steps might be those of some lion that had passed this way; but, after watching, I found them so often that at last I lay down amongst the long grass, covered myself with my shield, and waited. It was very, very long, and nothing came, and I thought again that I was mistaken; but I knew that if it was a lion, tracking down the horses and bullocks, he would come close between the wheel marks of the waggon, and there slay.”

“And did you mean to kill him, General?” said Dick eagerly.

“One man cannot kill a lion with an assegai, Boss Dick,” said the Zulu, “and live afterwards and hunt with his friends. It takes the little bullet from a gun to kill a lion well, for you can stand and shoot farther off than a lion can spring. No, I only wanted to know and be sure; and if I was sure I said, Boss Dick or Boss Jack will shoot him. So I waited till I thought he would not come, and then I was going to follow the waggon, when I heard something come steal—steal—steal along; and when at last I looked from under my shield, there he stood amongst the grass, close to me, watching the waggon. If I had stood up I could have speared him; but I was lying down, and if I had tried to get up he would have sprung upon me, the great thing; so I held the shield more over me, like an animal with a shell, and crept a little way on to meet him, and then made a jump at him, and he roared and dashed away.”

“But why didn’t he seize you?” said Jack.

“He did not see I was a man, and he did not understand what the long thing with black legs was that jumped at him; and a lion is big and strong, but he is a coward about what he does not understand.”

“And have you frightened him right away?” asked Dick. “Fancy frightening away a lion!”

“No,” said the Zulu; “only a little way. He is following the waggon now, crawling softly through the grass; and I am sure it is the one Boss Jack has shot last night, for there was a mark and blood upon his forehead. It is a great lion, with no mane; and he is savage and wild, and will follow the waggon always till he is killed. We must kill that lion soon.”

“An’ is he following us up, Muster Gineral?” said Dinny, who had heard some of the last words.

The Zulu nodded; and Dinny looked from one to the other with such a look of hopeless dread in his countenance, that even Mr Rogers could not forbear to smile.

“Sure it’s the onsafest place I iver came noigh, sor; and it’s not meself that will stir away from the front of the waggon till that great baste is killed.”

The General’s account of his proceedings, and his conversation as a rule, was not in the plainest of English, so it is more convenient to give it in ordinary colloquial form; but he was very earnest, and tried hard to make himself understood.

When Mr Rogers consulted him as to the best means of getting rid of so unpleasant a follower, the Zulu said that the only way would be to ride on in front of the waggon, and then suddenly strike off to right or left, form a wide curve, and ride inward so as to strike the track of the waggon quite a mile behind.

By this means, the General said, they would probably get a shot at the monster as he was crawling furtively after the horses, and probably bring it down.

“It is a risk,” said Mr Rogers thoughtfully; “but it will be impossible for us to go on with an enemy like that always in our wake.”

“When do you think he will try to attack us, General?” said Dick.

“When the sun has gone down, Boss, and the horses and oxen are having their evening feed.”

“And he might take my beautiful Shoes,” said Dick.

“Or my lovely old Stockings,” cried Jack, quite unconscious of how absurd his words sounded.

“We shall have to follow out the Zulu’s plan, my boys,” said Mr Rogers; “and the sooner we try the better.”

The midday halt was called by a beautifully transparent pool of water, where some richly succulent grass awaited the cattle, and which for some hours they cropped, the heat being intense, and any object exposed to the full power of the sun soon becoming hot enough to burn the hand.

Hot as it was, Dinny, being assured that the lion was not likely to attack in open daylight, lit a roaring fire, and soon had the pot simmering with its rich thick meat gravy, a basin round of which, and a portion of a cake made and baked upon an iron plate brought for the purpose, formed their dinner.

Then there was a siesta, and at last, the most fiery hours being gone by, broad-brimmed straw hats were taken from the waggon—for it was still intensely hot—and the Zulu undertaking to lead the team on between two mountains through which the broad valley ran, the horses were saddled, rifles taken, and father and sons mounted to go on what might prove to be a very dangerous adventure.

The first thing done was to carefully take in the bearings of the country, and then, after a few words of advice from the General—whom Mr Rogers would have liked to have, only his presence was necessary with the waggon, he being the most trustworthy of their followers—they rode on at a brisk canter through the crisp long grass, and amongst the bushes, and always onward towards the head of the valley, where, towering up, stood the twin mountains, which were like the ends of a couple of ridges or chains.

Scrupulously following out the General’s advice, they struck off to the left, and taking quite a two-mile circuit, they saw the waggon crawling along in the distance, while they cantered on, feeling wonderfully free and light in spite of the heat, till they were a long distance behind the waggon, when they halted and carefully swept the surface of the country.

“Nothing in sight,” said Mr Rogers.

“I hope we shan’t have our trip for nothing, father,” replied Dick.

“Are you eager to meet with the lion, then?” said his father, smiling.

“I don’t know, father; but I should like to shoot him,” replied Dick quietly.

“Well, my boys, I hope we shall shoot the animal; and as we are now a couple of miles at least behind the waggon, if he is following it he should be before us now, so come along.”

Rifles were cocked, and every eye carefully scrutinised the dry drabby-yellow grass through which the lion would be stealing its way, and so much like the withered stems in colour that, unless moving, it was quite possible to miss seeing such a creature as they rode along.

The plan arranged was, that no sooner was the lion sighted than they were all to dismount, and fire as opportunity occurred, loading again as rapidly as possible for a second shot.

But though they followed steadily on in the waggon track, riding all three abreast, and scanning every clump and bush, they had approached the bend of the valley without seeing anything but a few bok, which offered tempting marks now that they did not want to shoot.

The waggon had evidently passed through the opening, for it was quite out of sight, and the sinking sun was casting long shadows. So at last Mr Rogers grew impatient and spoke out,—

“We had better ride on, my boys, and catch the waggon. I want to halt early and form a good stout fence for our protection. We shall see no—”

“Lion!” said Dick sharply. “Dismount.”

He threw himself from his horse on the instant, and stood ready to fire, his father and brother imitating his example.

“Where?” said Mr Rogers quietly. “I see nothing, Dick.”

“There,” replied Dick, “fifty yards away, stealing through those thick sedgy grasses. Don’t you see?”

“Yes,” said his father, “I see the monster now. Keep cool, boys, and make your shots tell. If he is wounded and charges, you must stand firm and fire again.”

Mr Rogers waited a few moments, during which the lion, a monstrous yellow, maneless fellow, was half-crawling, half-creeping, through the long sedgy grass; and at last he showed so plainly that Mr Rogers took careful aim, fired, and evidently hit, for the lion uttered a furious roar, and made a tremendous bound to escape, with the result that Dick’s cob started, and threatened to dash off; but a few words from its master calmed it; and taking advantage of the good view he had of the lion, Dick now fired, a shot from Jack’s rifle following directly after. But, so far from the monster being crippled, it ceased its efforts to escape, and turning, took a few steps forward, crouched like a cat, and then bounded at Jack.

“Stand firm and fire!” cried Mr Rogers.

Jack obeyed, and as he fired the lion was in the air launching itself at him, but falling short, rolling over upon its side, and beginning to tear and gnaw at the dry grass in its death agony.

Mr Rogers approached, but drew back in favour of Dick.

“Go and give it the coup de grâce, my boy,” he said. “You may as well have the honour of killing the monster, for a monster it is.”

Dick had replaced his empty cartridge with a full one, and was approaching boldly to fire the necessary shot, when, to his horror and astonishment, the lion rose, crouched, and showed its glistening teeth. But in spite of the terror that seized him he stood firm, took careful aim, fired, and with a savage roar, the lion rolled over, dead.

It was indeed a monster, and its glistening fangs were very long, while upon examination there was the mark of Jack’s last night’s bullet, which had ploughed up the skin between the creature’s ears, though the wound was now half dry.

The shots brought the Zulu into sight with his boys, for the waggon was halting at a pleasant spring at the foot of one of the mountains not a mile away, for here were wood and a good place for forming a kraal.

The General and his sons raced down, and the boys danced round the lion and called it names. But there was no time to lose, and it was impossible to stop and skin the animal that night, so the General stuck some branches round it, and then led the way to camp, which was rapidly formed. And though they heard lions in the distance, they had a less disturbed night than the preceding one, greatly to the satisfaction of all, especially Dinny, who declared that it was a blessing that the lion was killed, for now they would be at peace.

But Dinny was wrong, for there were other lions in the land.

Chapter Fifteen.

Good Practice for Gunners.

The day had hardly broken before Coffee and Chicory were shouting at the opening of the waggon for Boss Dick and Boss Jack to “come and ’kin a lion.”

They wanted but little rousing up, and after a good souse in the pure cool spring, that ran bubbling over and amongst some rocks with delicious-looking broad-fronded ferns drooping gracefully over, they went and rubbed their horses’ muzzles, patted their arched necks, and gave each a taste of sugar—for which Shoes and Stockings regularly looked now, and would follow their masters like dogs to obtain—they shouldered their rifles, and followed the General to the place where the lion lay.

Rested and refreshed, everything around looked lovely, for they were at the head of a very fertile valley, where flowers bloomed in profusion, and the springs that rose in the sides of the mountains sent down moisture enough to keep miles of the country round of a perpetual green.

“Plenty game here,” said Chicory, pointing to a bare, muddy spot by a water-hole.

The General turned aside, and stooped down to look at the hundreds of footprints in the soft mud.

“Koodoo,” he said, “eland, buffalo, bok, wildebeeste, quagga, zebra, lion,” and he pointed out in turn the spoor, or footprints, of the various beasts he named. “Yes, plenty of game here.”

As they went on, the boys noticed the abundance of the pretty little whidah bird, a lovely little creature, about the size of a lark, but with a tail of such enormous length that in a breeze the power of the wind upon the tail drives the bird to take flight into shelter, so that it shall not be blown away. Pigeons in abundance flew over their heads, and parrots of such gaudy colours that Dick felt obliged to shoot three or four as specimens, to skin and add to their collection.

But the lion pretty well filled the thoughts of all, and Jack was intensely eager to see the monster that he took to himself the credit of having shot.

As they drew near the place where the adventure of the previous night had taken place, the verdure began to give place to brown, parched-up sedgy grass, and the boys could not help noticing how much it seemed to harmonise with the skin of the beast of prey they had slain.

As they drew nearer there was no difficulty in finding the spot, for a party of great, dusky, bare-necked vultures were sitting about, gazing hungrily at the dead beast, but afraid to approach on account of the sticks and branches stuck about to imitate a trap.

They were so near now that they could make out the shape of the lion amongst the dry grass, when, apparently always upon his guard, the General suddenly presented the point of his assegai. Coffee and Chicory said nothing, but they did the same; and Dick and Jack, fully under the impression that the lion had come back to life, cocked their rifles and stood ready to fire.

Just then there was a low muttering growl, a moving of the long grass as if something was passing through, and a smooth-coated lion bounded into sight, gazing at them menacingly, and lashing its sides with its tail.

Wisely or no, the boys’ rifles were at their shoulders on the instant, and they fired together as Coffee and Chicory threw their spears.

There was a tremendous roar, a bound, a crash, and then silence, broken only by the clicking of the mechanism of the rifles, as the boys rapidly reloaded them with heavy ball.

As the smoke cleared away the General beckoned Dick and Jack to his side, and they advanced cautiously through the grass, which they pushed aside with the assegai and the muzzles of the rifles, till they saw, a short distance off, the handle of an assegai sticking up.

“There him is,” shouted Coffee; “my assegai!” And he seemed ready to run forward and get it, but was checked by a sign from his father.

The young hunters raised their rifles to their shoulders, ready to fire again, at the sight of the lion; but the staff of the assegai did not even quiver; and, gaining confidence, the General went closer and parted the grass, for his young companions to fire.

The next moment he had sprung forward, and shouted and waved his spear above his head; for there, upon its side, lay the lion, quite dead, the second within twenty-four hours.

“That was your shot, Dick,” said Jack.

“No, no: yours,” said Dick.

“No; I felt as if I didn’t hit it far enough forward,” cried Jack. “But we’ll soon see.”

“Ah, yah, yah! Inyami, Inyami!” shouted Coffee and Chicory; and they began to kick and bang the dead lion with their kiris, till their father stopped them, and bade one of them go and fetch Peter or Dinny to come and help to skin.

As it proved, there was a bullet right in the centre of the second lion’s forehead, and another in the shoulder, which ball Jack claimed, so that Dick had, as he really deserved, the honour of shooting the monster, and he gazed with no little pride at its tremendous proportions.

But big as it was, it was a lioness, and slighter in build than the tawny monster killed upon the previous evening, to which they now turned, looking in awe at its huge claw-armed paws, and legs one mass of muscle. There was something almost stupendous in the power that seemed to be condensed in its short thick neck, and broad deep shoulders, for, being one of the maneless kind every muscle of the neck, throat, and shoulders could be plainly seen.

“Why, Jack, we should be like rats in the jaws of a cat if he took hold of us,” said Dick.

“More need to practise our shooting. Dicky, I shall always aim at their eyes.”

“I want to get back and tell father,” said Dick. “Oh, look! here he comes.”

In effect, Mr Rogers, who had heard the firing, was coming on at a fast run, in dread lest anything should be wrong; but a smile of satisfaction appeared upon his face as he came up, and heard Dick’s joyful cry, “Father, I’ve shot a lion.”

The skinning of the dangerous monsters was a tough job; but in the Zulu’s skilful hands it seemed comparatively easy, for he knew exactly where to divide the muscles to make the limbs give way, and how to thrust the point of his knife through various membranes; so that by breakfast-time, with the help of Peter, both trophies were removed, and borne to the camp in triumph.

The place being so lovely, and game being evidently abundant, Mr Rogers decided to stay where they were for a day or two, especially as the work of making a kraal of thorns every night became an arduous task and there was nothing to be gained by hurrying through the wonderful country without stopping to examine its beauties.

Then, too, the abundance of rich fine grass growing near the rivulets that came down from the mountains was invaluable for the oxen, which had begun to look a trifle thinner; and as the good patient beasts worked so willingly and well, it was a pleasure to see them knee-deep in grass, placidly munching away at the rich herbage, and in company with the horses.

So holiday for the animals was proclaimed; Dinny, Peter, and Dirk were ordered to keep a watchful eye upon the grazing cattle, and Mr Rogers proposed a short walking, shooting, and natural-history-collecting expedition.

Of course it was all nonsense, but Dick vowed that Rough’un went and told what was to be; for the dog, who had been looking at his masters with bright, intelligent eyes, suddenly jumped upon all fours and barked twice, after which he trotted off to where Pompey, Caesar, and Crassus were tied to the wheels of the waggon, put his nose to each, and barked; and in the place of a patient attack upon tormenting flies and fleas, the dogs leaped up, strained at their thongs, and barked and bayed furiously.

“Let them loose, boys,” said Mr Rogers, to Coffee and Chicory, who ran to perform his orders, but found it hard work; for the dogs leaped at them, twisted the thongs between and round their legs, and upset them twice; while as soon as they were at liberty they seemed to have mutually agreed that this was one of the dog-days, and that it was their duty to go right off mad.

Their antics were wonderful. First they rushed off as hard as they could tear, as if going straight back home to Mr Rogers’ farm; the next minute they were back, as if they had forgotten to kill Rough’un first, for they charged down upon him, rolling him over and over, biting, worrying, and tumbling upon him in the exuberance of their delight; while Rough’un retaliated by biting again, and getting such a good grip with his teeth on Pompey’s tail that this sturdy fellow dragged him for yards before Rough’un let go.

Altogether, for a few minutes there seemed to be what Dick called a dog-storm, after which they all crouched down, with open mouths, starting eyes, and quivering tongue, staring at the preparations going on, and ready to be off.

“Good old dogs! Old Pomp! old Caesar! What old Cras! Hi, Rough’un!” cried Jack, caressing all the dogs in turn, and patting their heads, with the effect of making them seize and pretend to worry him, seizing his legs, jumping up, and showing their delight in a dozen ways.

Then the ammunition had to be obtained, satchels stored with provisions, Coffee and Chicory carrying a supply for their own and their father’s use; and when the grim-looking old warrior held up a warning finger at them and said they were not to eat the provisions, they brought a smile to his lips by running off together and pretending to devour the contents of the bag.

At last all was ready, and after a few words of warning to Dinny and the others to be watchful, the little party started, Mr Rogers referring to a small compass he carried in his pocket, and taking the bearings of the two mountains, so as to be sure of their return.

For though the General was with them there was always the possibility of being separated; and missing the way back in the great African wilds may mean missing one’s life.

There was plenty to see. Flowers grew in abundance in the rich moist places; fleshy plants abounded in the sterile rocky parts; and in every shady niche the ferns were glorious. The trees alone were enough to satisfy any one with a love of beauty. Great candelabra-shaped euphorbias, with wondrous thorns and lovely scarlet blossoms; huge forest-trees that seemed to have lost their own individuality in the wreathing clusters of creeping flowering plants they bore. Everything was beautiful; and as they walked on in the glowing sunshine, they seemed to have come to one of the most glorious spots of earth.

They had not proceeded far beside one of the little rivers that came bubbling down from the mountain they were approaching before Rough’un began to bark.

Click, click, went Dick’s rifle.

“Look, father, look! a crocodile!” cried Jack. “I wanted to see a crocodile.”

There was a rush, a splash, and a scurry, and Rough’un came out of the water, looking about him and staring up at his masters, as if asking what they had done with the reptile he had chased.

“It was not a crocodile, Jack, but a large water-lizard,” said Mr Rogers.

“Plenty of crocodiles soon,” said the General, “big as three of me.”

He marked off a space of about twenty feet upon the ground, to show the length the reptiles of which he spoke, and then roughly marked out their shape.

“Not here,” he said; “over there.” And he pointed to the north.

“Here’s another,” cried Dick.

And this time it was Pompey and Caesar who had hunted out a reptile, which hissed, and snapped, and fought vigorously for a few moments when driven to bay, but its defiance was short lived.

While the engagement went on, the reptile looked dragon-like in aspect, with its ruffled and inflated throat, serrated back, and writhing tail; but in a very short time the dogs had obtained the mastery, and the creature was examined, proving to be a kind of iguana, nearly six feet in length, a great deal of which, however, was the attenuated tail.

The cracks and rifts in the hot bare stones as they climbed higher seemed to swarm with lizards of all kinds, ready to dart into their holes upon the approach of the dogs, while several times over the two Zulu boys came running back, beckoning to Dick and Jack to go and see some snake basking, twisted in a knot in some sunny spot.

Upon one of these occasions Jack was so struck by the peculiar swollen, short appearance of the little serpent that he ran back and hailed his father, who came up just as Coffee and Chicory were assuring Dick that if he did what he had proposed to do, namely, taken up the short, thick serpent, he would never have gone hunting any more.

In fact as soon as Jack had gone the serpent moved slightly, and wishing his father to see it, and eager to stop its escape, Dick had attempted to pick it up, when Coffee and Chicory threw themselves upon him, and a short struggle ensued, which made Dick very angry, and he was very nearly coming to blows.

“The boys are quite right,” said Mr Rogers sharply. “Dick, you ought to have known better. Don’t you know what that thick, short serpent is?”

“No, father,” said Dick, in an injured tone.

“Then you ought to know, my boy, for I have described it to you when talking about the reptiles of this part of the world. What do you say it is, Jack?”

“I don’t know, father; I’m not sure,” replied Jack, glancing at Dick, and feeling that it would hurt him to profess to greater knowledge than his brother.

“Nonsense! I’m sure you do know,” said Mr Rogers impatiently.

“Is it the puff-adder, father?” said Dick hesitatingly.

“Of course it is, and you ought to have known the deadly pest. No, no, don’t waste a charge upon it, and it may alarm any game. Let one of the boys kill it.”

That was soon done, for Chicory made a sign to his brother, who touched the puff-adder’s tail and began to irritate it, making it turn and strike viciously at the blade of his assegai.

That was what Chicory wanted.

The next moment his blade whished through the air, and the puff-adder’s head lay upon the ground.

“You cannot be too careful, boys,” said Mr Rogers, picking up the flat spade-shaped head, and opening the jaws with the point of his knife.

“Look, boys,” he continued, as he made the jaws gape, and then raised up a couple of keen transparent fangs that lay back upon the roof of the creature’s mouth. “Do you see? There are the hollow fangs through which a drop of deadly poison is injected in the blood and causes death. Don’t let’s destroy life unnecessarily; but if we want food, or come across any poisonous or dangerous beast, I think it is sentimentality to refrain from ridding the world of such a pest.”

Dick felt very ignorant, and wished he had known better; but he could not help being pleased at his brother’s manner; and the incident was forgotten the next moment in one of those natural history adventures of which they had all read, but had little expected to share in their lives.

As they had climbed higher they had found the mountain more rugged, and broken up into deep crevices and defiles, all of which were full of interesting objects—flowers, plants, and foliage—such as they had never before seen; while in the sheltered and often intense heat, beetles and butterflies seemed to have found these rifts a perfect paradise.

Dick had gone on first, and turning a corner he had found quite a rugged shelf running alone the steep side of a ravine, the bottom of which was carpeted with flowers that grew amongst the stones.

It was a very interesting spot, but as it seemed to lead right away into the heart of the mountain he was about to turn back and rejoin his party, when he caught sight of a gracefully-shaped large-eared gazelle about fifty yards away, gazing apparently in another direction.

He could have shot it easily, but it seemed so quiet and tame that he did not raise his piece, though if it had attempted to run, the thought of the delicious roast it would make would undoubtedly have made him bring it down.

Besides he wanted all the practice he could get with his rifle, and a shot at a running antelope or gazelle was not to be missed.

Half wondering why it did not feed, he remained watching it, supposing that it had heard some of the party lower down; when all at once the sun’s rays seemed to glance off something glistening and bright, and straining forward to get a better view, Dick became aware of the fact that a large serpent was twining fold after fold one over another, and as, half petrified, he

watched the reptile, he suddenly saw a monstrous neck and head reared up in front of the gazelle.

The creature seemed to be all glistening umber brown and dusky yellow, and its surface shone like burnished tortoiseshell in the glowing sun, while to the boy’s eyes it seemed, from the height to which the swaying head was raised, that the body, half hidden from him by the herbage, must be monstrous.

And all the time, fascinated as it were, or more probably paralysed by fear, the gazelle stood perfectly still, watching the undulations of the serpent’s neck, and calmly awaiting its end.

Dick was so interested that he forgot that he held a rifle and shot-gun in his hand. He knew that the serpent was, as it were, playing with its prey before seizing it, feeling probably, if it thought at all, quite certain of the trembling creature whenever it felt disposed to strike, and preparing itself for its banquet by writhing its body into a more convenient place.

It was a horrible sight, and Dick waited to see the serpent seize the gazelle, wrap round it and crush its quivering body out of shape, and then slowly swallow it, till it formed a knot somewhere in the long tapering form, and go to sleep till it was hungry again.

“Ugh, you beast!” ejaculated Dick; and the sound of his own voice seemed to break the fascination of interest by which he had been held.

The next instant he was pitying the gazelle, and as he saw the serpent draw back its head he laid the barrel of his piece against a block of stone, waited until the quivering head was still and the jaws began to distend, and then his trembling hand grew firm, and he drew the trigger.

The puff of smoke obscured everything for the moment, and he could not start forward or he would have gone over the precipice, so he had to wait till the vapour had passed away, when, to his great disgust, he could see nothing.

The gazelle and serpent were both gone; so he began to load again, wishing he could take better aim, when he heard a shout, and Chicory came running up, followed by Coffee.

“Boss Dick shoot um? Boss Dick shoot noder lion?” cried Chicory.

“No,” said Dick; “it was a miss this time.”

“No,” cried Coffee; “I see um. Look, boss, look!”

Mr Rogers and Jack came hurrying up just then, and looking in the direction pointed out, there was the serpent, writhing and twining in the most horrible manner down in a narrow rift, out of which it now glided in a blind purposeless way, writhing, whipping the herbage with its tail, and tying itself in what seemed to be impossible knots.

“Coffee and Chick go and kill um,” said the latter, letting himself down the face of the precipice, followed by his brother; and, apparently quite without dread of the monster, they scrambled down over the rough stones till they came to the serpent, when, watching his opportunity, Coffee seized its tail and tried to drag it, but the creature seemed to whip him off, and Coffee uttered a yell as he was driven staggering back.

“Go down, Dick, and try and give the monster another shot,” said Mr Rogers. “No, stop; I dare say the boys will finish it.”

For just then, evidently enraged at the treatment his brother had received, Chicory drove his assegai through the serpent, and then again and again, the creature’s struggles being blind of purpose, for its head had been shattered by Dick’s shot; while fiercely leaping up, Coffee raised his own assegai, and holding it chopper fashion, he waited his time till the serpent’s head was handy, when he hewed it off.

The writhings now grew faint; and the General coming up, and descending with Mr Rogers and his sons and the dogs, which kept making rushes at the waving form and not biting it, the serpent was dragged out full length and measured, Mr Rogers making seven fair paces by its side, and setting it down at about eighteen feet in length.

“A nice monster to meet, Master Dick,” he said. “I congratulate you upon your success.”

“Have it skinned, father,” exclaimed Jack eagerly. “It would be such a capital thing to have, stuffed and coiled up, at home.”

Mr Rogers glanced at the great faintly-writhing monster, with its tortoiseshell markings, and shook his head.

“No, my boy,” he said; “I must confess to too great a dislike to the serpent race to care to carry about their skins. Besides, if we are going on like this, killing a lion a day, we shall have only room for the skins of our big game. Let’s leave the creature here.”

They climbed up out of the ravine, and after a couple of hours’ more walking, full of interest if not of incident, they went slowly back, glad to get in the shade of the trees beneath which the waggon was halted, and finding everything right.

Chapter Sixteen.

How the Little Gintlemen interfered wid Dinny.

A few days were very pleasantly spent here collecting, for Mr Rogers was an enthusiastic naturalist. Birds of brilliant feathering were shot, skinned, preserved with arsenical paste, filled with cotton wool, and laid to dry with their heads and shoulders thrust into paper cones, after which they were transferred to a box which had to be zealously watched to keep out the ants. Certainly scores of these were killed through eating the poison smeared upon the skins, but that was little satisfaction if they had first destroyed some delicate bird.

Butterflies, too, and beetles were obtained in great numbers, being carefully killed, and pinned out in boxes lined with camphored cork. These insects the two Zulu boys soon learned to capture with the greatest ease, and after a little teaching they would bring in a handsome butterfly or moth, without crushing and disfiguring it first so that it was useless for preservation.

Bok or antelope of various kinds were plentiful enough to make the party sure of plenty of food; and both Dick and Jack were getting so skilful with the rifle that they could be depended upon to bring down a koodoo or springbok at four or five hundred paces.

The kraal had been strengthened, so that they felt no fear of a lion getting through; but fires were kept up every night, wood being plentiful, and the bright glow seemed to give confidence to the occupants of the camp, as well as to the horses and oxen. Watch was kept too, but though lions were sometimes heard at a distance they did not molest the travellers, and but for the stern suggestions of the General they would have grown careless in the extreme.

For experience and skill in the use of fire-arms made Dick and Jack more confident. They had looked upon a lion as a monster of such prowess, and of so dangerous a character, that they were quite surprised at the ease with which a good shot with a rifle could hold the king of beasts at his mercy.

As for Coffee and Chicory, the General several times punished them for being so daring and running such risks, especially as they were in a part of the country where lions really were plentiful, although, so far, little molestation of the travellers had taken place.

It had been decided that upon the next day they would trek onward for some distance, and perhaps on and on for days, according to the attractiveness of the country they were passing through, and the plentifulness of the game.

The General heard Mr Rogers’ decision with a smile of satisfaction.

“I want to take you where the great tusker elephants are,” he said, “and let you shoot the giraffe and rhinoceros. We have hardly begun yet.”

He made the boys’ eyes glow with excitement as he told them of the size of the hippopotami and elephants they would encounter, the height of the giraffes, and the furious nature of the rhinoceros, which beast seemed to be always mad if it saw a human being.

As they were going to start next day it was decided to let the horses graze in peace with the oxen, which, after a fortnight’s rest, looked sleek-coated and in far better condition; but Peter, Dirk, and Dinny were bidden to keep a strict watch over the cattle, for just before starting the General announced that he had seen a lion-spoor, apparently two days old.

The day was passed very pleasantly, collecting, by Mr Rogers and his sons, several very beautiful birds falling to their guns, and their boxes being filled with splendidly burnished beetles; and at last tired out, they turned to get back to the little camp by midday, hoping to find a satisfactory meal ready, for the General had gone out with a rifle in search of a bok; and his two boys had taken their kiris and assegais, to see if they could not knock down a few of the large partridge or quail-like birds.

What was their disappointment then to find that neither the General nor his sons had returned, while Dinny was in great distress.

“Sure,” he said, “I thought I’d take a fishing-line and a shtick, and go to the big pool by the little river over yonder, and catch a few of the fish things; bad cess to ’em, they’re no more like the fine salmon and throut of my own country than this baste of a place is its aiqual.”

“Well, Dinny, and you went and didn’t catch anything,” said Dick.

“Sure, Masther Dick, an’ you weren’t there,” said Dinny; “but ye’re right there; I didn’t catch a single fish, for the little gintlemen wouldn’t let me.”

“Little gentlemen, Dinny?” said Mr Rogers eagerly. “Did you see any natives?”

“An’ is it natives ye’d call the dirthy undersized little craytures?” cried Dinny indignantly. “Sure I’d take a couple of ’em up under my arms and run away wid ’em.”

“But you say they interfered with you, and wouldn’t let you fish,” said Mr Rogers.

“Faix, sor, an’ that’s what they did. Ye know the big pool.”

“To be sure,” said Mr Rogers. “There are silurus in it.”

“Are there though, sor?” said Dinny. “And there’s the big rocks up behind it, where the prickly trees wid red flowers and no leaves at all grow.”

“Yes, I know the place,” said Mr Rogers impatiently; “go on.”