Oscar's Narrow Escape.

OSCAR IN AFRICA

BY

HARRY CASTLEMON

AUTHOR OF "GUNBOAT SERIES," "ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES,"
"WAR SERIES," ETC., ETC.

THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.,
PHILADELPHIA,
CHICAGO, TORONTO.

Copyright, 1882, by James Elverson.

Copyright, 1894, by Porter & Coates.

CONTENTS.

OSCAR IN AFRICA.

CHAPTER I. AN INQUISITIVE LANDLORD.

"Who is he, anyhow? Where does he hail from, and what is he doing here?"

The speaker leaned over the little bar in the hotel at Maritzburg, and looked first at the landlord who stood behind it and then at half a dozen roughly dressed companions who were congregated in front of it.

These men were cattle-dealers and speculators. They made it a business to furnish oxen, wagons, supplies, and servants to hunters and travellers who were bound up the country.

They claimed a monopoly in this line, and the stranger who ignored them and exercised the right to purchase his outfit where he could do the best was sure to suffer at their hands in one way or another.

"He is from America," answered two or three of the men at once; and the tone in which the words were spoken betrayed both the pity and contempt they felt for one who was willing to acknowledge that he came from so benighted a region.

"Oh, he's a Yankee, is he?" exclaimed the first speaker. "I thought he didn't look and act like an Englishman. Isn't there a chance to make a few pounds out of him? He doesn't know the ropes, of course."

"If he doesn't know them all he knows a good many of them," replied the landlord. "He has had nothing to do with anybody about the hotel since he has been here, and has acted as independent as you please."

"What is his business?"

"That is the funny part of the story. I have heard, in a roundabout way—he has never said a word to me about himself or his affairs—that he is going into the interior on a sporting expedition."

"He is!" exclaimed the first speaker. "Why, he's nothing but a boy!"

"And a foolish one at that," chimed in another of the cattle-dealers. "I don't believe he ever fired a gun in his life."

"They say he has," replied the landlord. "The story goes that he has spent a winter alone in the Rocky Mountains—wherever they may be—and that he has killed bears and deer no end."

"I don't believe a word of it. Americans don't have money to spend in hunting, as our gentlemen sportsmen do."

"He's got plenty of it, and has paid his bills regular. I'll say that much for him," observed the landlord. "I am told that he is backed up by some college in America, and that he is employed to stock a museum there."

"Well, we don't want him here," said one of the cattle-dealers decidedly. "Nobody but our own countrymen have the right to hunt in Africa."

"I don't see how you are going to stop him."

"Oh, there are plenty of ways! We have stopped more than one hunter from going over the town hill, and we can stop this one."

"I wouldn't fool with him if I were you," said the landlord. "Judging by the way he acts, he has brought letters to somebody here in Maritzburg—although where he got them I don't know—and if he has you had better let him alone, or you'll get into trouble."

"Be careful about what you do," said one of the men who had not spoken before, and who answered to the name of Barlow. "He's smart, and better posted than any stranger I ever saw. I met him in Durban. He bought an outfit of me—oxen, wagon, and everything—all fair and square, and then backed out."

We have introduced this man by name, because he bears a somewhat important part in the history of Oscar's life in Africa. When we come to speak of him again we shall see that he did not confine himself strictly to the truth when he said that the boy had broken faith with him.

"I'd pay him for that if I were in your place," said the landlord.

He was in league with these cattle-dealers, who were swindlers without exception, and received a share in the profits of the business he was able to throw into their hands.

"Don't you worry," replied Barlow. "He hasn't left the colony yet."

"If I ran this hotel I would know something about him before he went away," said one of the men. "It may be that he is a convict, and that the story he tells about his doings in America is false."

"I have often thought of speaking to him about his object in coming here, and as he is going away to-day, perhaps I had better do it now," said the landlord.

Encouraged by the approving winks and nods of his friends, all of whom were burning with a desire to learn something authentic regarding the silent stranger, the landlord opened the door of the bar and walked through it toward the opposite side of the dingy little parlor, where the subject of these uncomplimentary remarks was standing in front of one of the windows, watching what was going on in the stable-yard.

Although one of the cattle-dealers had declared that he was nothing but a boy, he was large enough to be called a man. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and his tight-fitting jacket and trousers of moleskin, with top-boots, revealed the outlines of a figure that was built for strength and activity.

On his head he wore a light leathern helmet, with a peak before and behind. His dress, from head to foot, had been selected with due regard for the climate and rough life he expected to lead in the wilds of Africa. A casual observer would not only have discovered a good-natured face, but a bold and resolute one, and you could not look at it without telling yourself that its owner was a boy who would dare anything. It was our old friend Oscar Preston.

Since he left his native land, three months ago, he had learned to love it and the people in it as he had never loved them before; and perhaps, when we come to describe some of the incidents that happened during his long journey, we shall see why it was so.

He looked around when the landlord came up and laid his hand familiarly on his shoulder, but did not say anything.

"Mr. Preston," said the landlord, "as you are about to leave my house, I should like to ask you a few questions, if you have no objections."

"Mr. Dibbits," replied Oscar, "how much do I owe you?"

"It isn't that, sir; I assure you it isn't that. You have paid your bills like a gentleman. But when a guest comes and goes in such a mysterious way——"

"There is nothing mysterious about me or my movements," interrupted Oscar. "You won't let a fellow mind his own business even if he wants to, will you? You must have heard—for it is all over town, and in everybody's mouth—that I came here to procure specimens of natural history for a museum in America. That much I am at liberty to tell anybody; but my private affairs I decline to talk about. If you want to learn anything more concerning me go to Mr. Donahue, Mr. Morgan, or Mr. McElroy; and, if you are intimate with them, perhaps they will satisfy your curiosity."

The landlord began to open his eyes when he heard this. Mr. Donahue was the magistrate, Mr. Morgan was the editor of the leading political paper in Durban, and Mr. McElroy was the delegate for the colony.

An Englishman has the greatest respect for big names, and a guest who could speak of these gentlemen as Oscar did was one that could not be treated with too much familiarity.

"I meant no offence, Mr. Preston," the landlord hastened to say; "but you will acknowledge——"

"Yes, I will have to acknowledge it, for everybody tells me so," replied Oscar. "Folks look sideways at me, and say, 'Are you not rather young for such business, Mr. Preston?' When I first met Mr. Donahue, and told him where I had been, and what I had done in the way of hunting in my own country, he looked the very picture of astonishment, and said my story was almost incredible. Perhaps he wouldn't have believed a word of it if I hadn't brought the proofs with me. I suppose I am young in years for such work; but what I have done, and still hope to do, will bear no comparison with what another American boy has done—and he didn't brag about it, either. He left his home in New England when he was only seventeen years old, went to the La Plata River, in South America, and walked from there to Valparaiso—a distance of more than a thousand miles—in the face of all sorts of dangers and difficulties. I suppose you never heard of that before?"

No; Mr. Dibbits couldn't say he had.

"Of course you never heard of it, for he wasn't an English boy. If he had been the whole world would have heard of it. One of your own authors says of the book he wrote about that walk, as near as I can recall the words, 'Sir Francis Head went over this same ground on horseback, and gave us a good account of it; but the quiet walk of this American boy is worth infinitely more than the rough rides of the British baronet.' What do you think of that, Mr. Dibbits?"

"It's very extraordinary—very!" replied the landlord.

"I should say it was; but it is true, and it shows that American boys have some get-up about them, doesn't it?"

"It certainly does. I know that you will go through with your undertaking as he did with his, for I can see by your face that you are a brave lad."

"If you were an Irishman I should say that was blarney," thought Oscar. "You've got an axe to grind."

"You'll be needing cattle and salted horses," continued Mr. Dibbits, "and if I could be of any assistance now——"

"I thought there was something of that sort in the wind," said Oscar to himself; then aloud he answered, "I have everything I need, thank you; and even if I hadn't I should not think of dealing with any of those men who are now standing at your bar. I know one of them; I met him in Durban, and I know he is angry at me because I did not buy my outfit and hire my men of him. I know, too, that he and his fellows have a way of breaking up the hunting expeditions of men they do not like; but I didn't come here to be broken up, and I won't be, either. If anybody interferes with me—— Mr. Dibbits, just look at that!"

While Oscar was speaking he chanced to turn his eyes toward the stable-yard and saw a sight that astonished and enraged him.

CHAPTER II. AFRICAN TREACHERY.

The stable-yard was inclosed on one side by the hotel, on another by the barn, and on the two opposite sides by upper sheds, which were built very high and roomy in order to accommodate the Cape wagons that now and then sought refuge there during bad weather.

There was a wagon under one of the sheds now, and an enormous affair it was, too. It was so large that one of the ordinary lumber wagons we see on the streets every day would have looked like a hand-cart beside it. It belonged to our friend Oscar, and was filled to overflowing with supplies of all kinds.

The trek-tow, or chain, by which the oxen were to draw the unwieldy vehicle, was made fast to the tongue (the natives called it a "dissel-boom"), and lay at full length on the ground, the yokes being deposited at intervals beside it.

Oscar's driver and fore-loper had placed the chain and the yokes in these positions before going to the pound to bring up the cattle.

They had been gone half an hour, and their employer was expecting them back every moment.

Because Oscar's oxen were in the pound the reader must not suppose that they had been engaged in any mischief, for such was not the case.

The law of the colony required that they must be taken care of every night, when there were cultivated fields in the vicinity, and the price that was charged for putting them in the pound was much less than Oscar would have been obliged to pay if he had employed herdsmen enough to keep them within bounds; besides, they were safer there than they would have been anywhere else, for nobody could steal them.

When Oscar first took his stand in front of the window there was but one man in the stable-yard, and he was engaged in grooming a small iron-gray horse which he had hitched in front of the barn door.

That horse was a part of Oscar's outfit. He was by no means a handsome or even a desirable-looking animal as he stood there with his head down, his eyes half closed, and a general air of worthlessness and indifference about him; but he was a "salted" horse—that is, he had had the distemper, been cured of it, and was warranted not to have it again—and, consequently, he was worth money.

He was one of the nags that Oscar, by the advice of his new-found friends, had selected to carry him on his long journey; and as he had heard a good many stories told regarding his speed, courage, steadiness, and other good qualities as a hunter, the boy had indulged in some rosy dreams about the runs he hoped to have when he reached the country in which the lordly eland, the stately giraffe, and the fleet-footed quagga and wilde-beest abounded.

While Oscar was conversing with the landlord he looked him full in the face, and when he directed his gaze toward the stable-yard again he saw a young man walk leisurely into it through the arched gateway, and, after exchanging a few words with the hostler, turn his steps toward the wagon that stood under the shed.

He stopped beside the dissel-boom, and Oscar, who had been warned that eternal vigilance was the price he must pay for making his expedition successful, kept his eyes fixed upon him and watched every movement.

He saw the young man look all around, to make sure that there was no one but the hostler in sight, and then take some glittering object from his pocket and work it up and down over one of the links of the trek-tow.

"Just look at that, will you?" repeated Oscar, seizing Mr. Dibbits by the arm and turning him around so that he could look into the stable-yard. "Is that the kind of care you take of property belonging to your guests?"

"Why, whatever is the fellow doing?" exclaimed the landlord, who seemed to be very much astonished.

"I know, if you don't," replied Oscar in a tone of voice that had a good deal of meaning in it. "Hold on, there!" he added as the landlord reached out his hand, as if he were about to raise the window. "Say not a word. I'll attend to him, and if I can get my hands on him I'll see what Mr. Donahue will have to say to him."

Oscar faced about, and giving his leather helmet a slap, to fix it firmly on his head, started on a full run for the door.

No sooner had he left the room than the landlord quickly but noiselessly threw up the sash, and, leaning as far out the window as he could without losing his balance, called out in a suppressed voice:

"Thomas! Thomas! Look out for yourself!"

And having attracted the young man's attention, he went through some sort of a pantomime that must have been perfectly understood, for Thomas took to his heels and was out of sight in a twinkling.

The next moment Oscar Preston darted around the corner of the hotel and entered the stable-yard. He looked everywhere for the young man, but he was not to be found.

He glanced up at the window and saw that it was closed. He walked over to his wagon, and after a short search found the link on which Thomas had been at work with a saw made of a watch-spring.

The marks of the teeth were there, but he had not done the chain any damage, because he had been interrupted before he had fairly settled down to business.

"It's lucky that I am posted," thought Oscar as he walked around the wagon to make sure that everything in and about it was just as he had left it. "If that fellow had been left undisturbed for five or ten minutes he would have sawed that link half in two. Then he would have filled up the cut with mud, and just about the time we were going up the town hill, and the oxen were beginning to lay out their strength, that link would have given way and I should have had to come back for a new start, and perhaps to have the same trick played upon me a second time. That's the way these cattle-dealers have served more than one traveller, trader, and sportsman, but they will have to try something else on me."

Having satisfied himself that his wagon had not been tampered with, Oscar walked toward the hostler, who did not look up from his work.

As an accompaniment to his manipulations, he kept up a constant hissing through his teeth, producing a sound which much resembled that which is made by drawing a brush quickly across a curry comb.

Why he did it Oscar could not understand. Perhaps it was for the same reason that an Irish laborer follows every blow of his pick with a sonorous "wish-h-h!"—viz., to make his work easier.

When Oscar came up he stopped his hissing long enough to say:

"Hit's a wery fine 'oss you 'ave'ere, sir, an' I shall be glad to drink your 'ealth and his'n, if you so please."

"I will give you half a crown if you will tell me the name of the man who was fooling with my trek-tow just now," answered Oscar.

The hostler resumed his hissing again at once. He evidently wanted to consider the matter before he ventured a reply.

"I'd be glad to earn the 'arf crown, sir," said he at length, "but I can't do it. I aint seen nobody."

"I know better!" exclaimed Oscar. "He stopped and talked with you when he first came into the stable-yard."

"Oh, that man? I don't know 'im, sir. I never see 'im afore to-day."

Oscar said no more. He walked through the gateway, and, looking in the direction of the pound, saw his oxen coming up the street.

"I'll soon be far away from this den of swindlers," said he to himself; "but whether or not I shall be any better off than I am now remains to be seen. Mr. McElroy says that the Dutch farmers are friendly to nobody but Scotchmen, and how they will treat an American I don't know, for I am the first one who has ever been here."

"Did you catch him, sir?" inquired the landlord when Oscar came back and took his stand in front of the window again.

"Of course not!" replied the boy in a tone of disgust. "I knew I couldn't catch him, for he has too many watchful friends about this hotel. He was warned before I reached the stable-yard. By the way, Mr. Dibbits, I am expecting a few gentlemen to dine with me this evening, and I want your pleasantest parlor and the best dinner you can serve up."

"Very well, sir," answered the landlord. "You shall have both."

Oscar turned toward the window again, and just then a horseman galloped up to the porch and dismounted.

Giving his steed into the charge of one of the stable-boys who hurried out to receive him, the man clattered up the steps and threw open the door.

If there is any faith to be put in appearances, he was pretty mad about something. His face was flushed, his shaggy eyebrows were drawn down in a fierce scowl, and even his bushy side-whiskers seemed to bristle with rage.

"Ah, colonel, I am surprised as well as delighted to see you back here," said the landlord, rubbing his hands and bowing obsequiously. "Is there any way in which I can serve you?"

The angry man paid no sort of attention to the greeting.

He came over to Oscar's end of the parlor and stamped up and down the floor, thrashing his boots with his riding-whip.

The boy took one look at him, and turned and gazed out of the window again. He was fairly convulsed with laughter.

"Aha, my fine fellow," said he to himself; "you are the high-toned lord who would not hunt with strangers, especially American boys! I know what is the matter with you, and if your arrogance has met with another rebuke I am very glad of it."

After a few turns across the room the colonel seemed to have worked off a little of his rage, for he stopped and looked out at one of the other windows.

Just then Oscar's oxen came into the stable-yard, and a fine-looking lot they were—large, powerful animals, as black as jet and as sleek as moles.

"Whose stock is that?" demanded the colonel in much the same tone he would have used if he had been ordering one of his hounds out of his way.

"It is mine, sir," replied Oscar politely.

The colonel started at the sound of his voice and stared hard at the boy, who smiled and touched his cap to him.

CHAPTER III. A DISGUSTED SPORTSMAN.

This was not the first time Oscar had met Colonel Dunhaven, for that was the angry Englishman's name. On the contrary, they had travelled a good many miles in company and were pretty well acquainted; but the colonel could not be sure on this point until he had pulled out his gold eyeglass and brought it to bear on the boy.

"Aw! It's you, is it?" said he, after he had taken a good look at our hero.

The tone in which these words were uttered, and which was almost insulting, would have made some high-spirited boys angry; but Oscar evidently considered the source from which the words came, for he bowed in response and looked as good-natured as ever.

"Young man," continued the colonel, "you are a fool, and those who sent you out here are bigger fools."

Oscar did not feel at all hurt by this plain speech. He could hardly refrain from laughing outright.

He looked down at his sleek oxen, which were now being inspanned in the stable-yard (oxen are never "yoked" in Africa, they are always "inspanned"), and smiled complacently as he replied:

"That's only a matter of opinion, colonel."

"No, sir; it's a fact, and nobody's opinion can alter it," said the colonel, who seemed to grow angry again when he looked at Oscar's well-conditioned cattle and noted the energy and willingness with which his men went about their work. "It is perfectly ridiculous to send a boy like you out to this detestable country on such a wild-goose chase. You'll never succeed—you'll never get over the town hill, I couldn't."

"What was the matter?" asked Oscar, who knew very well what the answer would be. "Couldn't your oxen haul you over?"

"They might if they had got the chance, though I doubt it. They are a sorry lot compared with yours; and I don't for the life of me see——"

The colonel stopped there; but Oscar knew what he had in his mind.

He could not see how Oscar had managed to secure so fine an outfit, while his own, for which he had paid an exorbitant price, was so very inferior.

"My cattle might have pulled the wagon over the hill," continued the colonel, "but just as we came to one of the steepest parts of it the trek-tow broke, and we wasted four mortal hours in taking it to the blacksmith's shop and having it repaired. To make a long story short, we did nothing yesterday but run between the wagon and the shop with that chain, for it was broken as often as we hitched it to the dissel-boom. By that time everything and everybody began to get discouraged. The loose cattle and horses strayed away, the oxen refused to pull, and the driver showed his temper by running the wagon into a hole in which the ground was so yielding that one of the wheels sank down to the hub. That happened late last night, and as we could go no further we camped there. When I awoke this morning my oxen and most of my horses were gone, and so were my men, all except my body-servant, whom I left to guard the wagon while I came back here to see if I can find anyone who is fool enough to buy me out. Oh, it's a beastly country, and I have seen enough of it!"

The colonel in his rage talked very loudly, and Oscar—who out of the corner of his eye kept watch of the men at the bar—saw that when he began to talk of selling out they smiled at one another and exchanged sly winks and nods. That was just what they intended he should do.

By this time Oscar's wagon was ready to start. The oxen were inspanned, the fore-loper stood at his post with the leading reins in his hands, the interpreter was seated on the fore-chest, and the driver, with his long whip over his shoulder, came to the window for orders.

"I say, Ferguson!" exclaimed Oscar as he threw up the sash.

"Hi, boas!" replied the grinning Hottentot.

"Go ahead as fast as you can. I will overtake you some time during the night, and when I find the wagon I want to find every man of you with it."

"All right, boas!" said the driver.

He climbed to his seat on the fore-chest, cracked his whip with a report like that of a pistol; the fore-loper moved off, and the ponderous vehicle rolled through the gate as easily as if it had been a toy-wagon.

Heavily loaded as it was, it seemed to offer no impediment to the free movements of the powerful span that drew it.

Oscar had rechristened all his native servants—the names to which they generally answered being hard to pronounce and harder still to bear in mind.

To his driver he gave the name of Ferguson. His fore-loper—another little dried-up Hottentot—he called Johnson; and his interpreter, a gigantic Kaffir—who in size, if not in appearance, reminded him of his old plains guide—he dubbed Big Thompson.

This created an amusing jumble at first, for the men could not remember their new names; but they had grown accustomed to them at last and answered to them readily.

"You had better stop that wagon before it goes any further," said the colonel. "You don't know what is before you."

"And I don't much care," replied Oscar. "Others have gone through, and so can I."

The colonel stared at him in surprise, and in order to obtain a better view of Oscar's face he brought his eyeglass into use. He had never dreamed that this quiet, modest boy, who during the long voyage from London docks to Port Natal had kept almost entirely to himself, could possess so much determination. He was inclined to be angry over it, too.

"Aw!" said he in a tone of disgust; "whatever may be your other failings, young man, you certainly are not wanting in self-conceit. You have a most exalted opinion of yourself. I suppose you think you can eclipse the achievements of such small fry as Cumming, Baldwin, and Gilmore! I never heard of such impudence!"

"I don't expect to eclipse anybody. I simply mean to say that what has been done can be done again," replied Oscar with more spirit than the colonel had ever before seen him exhibit.

"You have good cheek, but you will sing a different song before you are many hours older, my fine lad," said the colonel; and Oscar thought, from the tone in which the words were spoken, that the man would feel a grim satisfaction if he could see him come back defeated and utterly disheartened. "Wait until your chains begin to break and your servants to show their treachery."

"My chains will not break, for they have been so closely watched that no one has had a chance to tamper with them," was the confident reply; "and neither will my men prove treacherous. I did not take the first who offered themselves, but selected those recommended by my friends."

Again the colonel looked at Oscar in surprise.

"Your friends?" he repeated. "I thought you were a stranger here, like myself."

"So I was when I first arrived, but the letters I brought from England made friends for me at once."

"From England! Whom do you know there?"

Oscar mentioned several names, among them that of a well-known African hunter, whose exploits, and the book he wrote about them, had rendered him famous the world over, adding:

"I spent a very pleasant week with that particular gentleman, and should have remained longer with him had I been at liberty to do as I pleased. From him I received advice that enabled me to avoid the difficulties that have already begun to beset you."

Oscar was almost bewildered by the effect that was produced by these words. He could hardly believe that the man who shook him so cordially by the hand when he ceased speaking was the same Colonel Dunhaven who had always repelled his advances with the utmost haughtiness.

The colonel was like Mr. Dibbits in one particular—he had the greatest respect for big names.

"My dear fellow," said he, "why did you not tell me all this before?"

"You didn't give me a chance to tell you," replied Oscar bluntly. "You snubbed me most unmercifully whenever I——"

"Aw!" interrupted the colonel; "that's all past and gone, and we will consider that it never happened. The fact is, we Englishmen don't know how to fall in with the free-and-easy ways you Americans have. We don't take up with every Tom, Dick, and Harry that comes along. We want to know who a man is before we open our hearts to him."

"For all that, I should think you might be gentleman enough to treat a stranger civilly when he approaches you in a civil way."

The boy did not utter these words aloud, although he wanted to, for he did not at all like the colonel. The latter had snubbed him more than once, and Oscar could not forget it.

"I wonder what he would say now if I should ask him to hunt in company with me?" thought our hero. "I'll not try the experiment, for he might consent, and I don't think I want him. I wouldn't sell out if I were in your place, colonel," he said aloud. "You must have spent a good deal of money in getting here. I know I did, and I never wasted a shilling; and I wouldn't let those fellows"—here he nodded his head toward the men who were gathered about the bar—"have the satisfaction of knowing that they had beaten me. Take this chair, and I will tell you something."

Oscar and the colonel seated themselves in front of one of the windows, with their backs toward the bar, and the former gave a short account of his experience with one of the cattle-dealers. What it was we shall presently see.

CHAPTER IV. THE MUSEUM.

"It beats anything I ever heard of. Do you suppose that Oscar Preston really killed a grizzly bear and saved his guide's life?"

"Of course he did. Sam Hynes received a letter last February that contained a full account of it."

"Why didn't he tell the fellows then?"

"Because Oscar asked him to keep it secret. He didn't want his mother to know anything about it, for fear it would frighten her, and Sam told no one but Mr. Chamberlain."

"Who would have thought that Oscar had so much in him? We fellows have associated with him for years, and none of us ever imagined that he had pluck enough to face the most terrible animal on this continent, and nerve enough to kill him with a single bullet! It's just wonderful!"

That was the opinion of all the Eaton boys, who often talked in this way among themselves after Oscar returned from his memorable trip to the foot-hills, and all the thrilling incidents connected with his life there had become known. And they became known very speedily.

Oscar's safe return abrogated the command he had laid upon his friend Sam Hynes to say nothing about the contents of his letters, and the successful young hunter had scarcely entered his mother's door before Sam proceeded to "unload"—in other words, to get rid of numerous secrets to which he could hold fast no longer, and to publish abroad a full history of everything Oscar had done during his absence.

He was able to make his statements accurate in every particular, for Oscar had kept nothing from him.

"You can't always tell about these things," Sam would frequently remark. "You don't know what there is in a fellow until he has been tested. It isn't the bully of the town, the loud-mouthed braggart, or the ruffian who is always ready to fight somebody smaller than himself who stands up to the rack when it comes to such business as Oscar Preston had on hand that January afternoon. I always knew that boy had uncommon nerve. He has made a reputation already that will last longer than he will."

Our friend Oscar had indeed made a name for himself. He was the lion of the village, and, strange to say, nobody was jealous of him.

That miserable spirit of detraction which so often comes to the surface on occasions like this never exhibited itself but once, and then it was promptly knocked out of time by Sam Hynes, who "laid out" one of the "river boys" for saying that he didn't believe that Oscar Preston had brought any bear back with him, but if he had it had been killed by a silver bullet.

The young hunter heard words of commendation and encouragement on all sides, but we doubt if any of them sent such a thrill to his heart as the simple, "Thank you, Oscar; I shall keep it always to remember you by," which he heard from the lips of Sam Hynes' pretty sister when he presented her with the antelope-skin he had brought home on purpose for her.

There was another thing that astonished everybody, and that was the fact that Oscar had found his brother Tom, the defaulting bookkeeper, hidden away in those Western wilds, and that he had returned some of the money out of which he had swindled Smith & Anderson.

Tom, as we know, had hired out to herd sheep for Ike Barker. He did his duty as well as he knew how, and every few weeks a letter arrived from his employer, containing the welcome intelligence that he was faithfully living up to every promise he had made his brother.

Oscar was very glad to find himself in Eaton once more. After the toil and excitement of his winter in the hills he thoroughly enjoyed the quiet comforts of his home.

Everything in and about the village looked just as it did when he left it. All his old friends were there to greet him, including Bugle, who was so overjoyed to see his master once more that he could not be induced to leave him for a moment. He kept close at his heels during the day, and slept beside his bed at night. Oscar took two weeks to rest in, and that gave him and Sam Hynes two Saturdays to spend together.

The first they passed in the woods, in company with Bugle; and although they took their guns with them, they brought back the same loads that were in them when they started out.

They did not go into the woods to shoot. They wanted to be alone, so that they could talk over old times and tell each other everything that had happened during their long separation.

The next Saturday they spent on the river; and as it was too late in the season for ducks, they took their fishing-rods with them.

The perch and rock bass were biting finely, and Oscar caught a good-sized string; while Sam, who wanted to talk and did not care much for fishing anyway, reclined at his ease on one of the thwarts and watched his friend as he drew in the shining beauties.

On Monday of the third week Oscar bade his mother and Sam good-by and set out for Yarmouth.

He had already been there to report his arrival to the committee, and it was by the permission of the secretary that he took his two weeks' vacation.

He knew that he had brought back a goodly number of specimens (he had secured a great many that we did not speak of in "The Camp in the Foot-Hills," for the reason that there was no incident worthy of note connected with their capture), but he was really surprised when he saw the boxes that were piled in the museum.

It took Oscar a long time to put his specimens in shape. It was particular work, and as he knew that it would stand as long as the museum did, he was careful that it should be done well.

No one saw him at his labor except the students and the faculty; and the young taxidermist sometimes wished that they would keep out of his hearing, especially President Potter, who gave such entertaining lectures on the nature and habits of the various animals comprising the collection that Oscar was always obliged to stop and listen to him.

Still these interruptions were not without benefit to him.

He learned more about natural history during those brief lectures than he had ever learned before in all his life. It was a joyous day for Oscar when, after almost seven months of steady work, he put away his tools and bent his steps toward his boarding-house, leaving the museum in charge of some of the students, who were busy decorating it in readiness for a "hoe-down," as they called it, that was to come off there that night.

Everything was done to the entire satisfaction of the committee and of Mr. Adrian, the gentleman through whose liberality the museum was founded; and on this particular evening the doors were to be thrown open to the public, and there was to be a supper and afterward a dance.

The students who were at the head of the matter had acquaintances and friends in Eaton, and a good many invitations had been sent there.

When the five o'clock train came these invited guests came with it—Oscar's mother and Mr. Hynes and his family being among the number.

Oscar met them at the depot, accompanied them to a hotel, and then he and Sam—the latter having received a wink he readily understood—managed to separate themselves from the party and to reach the sidewalk without attracting attention.

"I want you to see it first," said Oscar as he took his friend by the arm and hurried him away. "If I do say it myself, you will find some good work there."

Sam was astonished at what he saw. There were four rooms in the museum, the largest being devoted to Oscar's specimens. Against the walls were placed huge cabinets, with glass doors. These were partly filled with the smaller specimens, all of which were stuffed, mounted, and arranged in the most artistic manner; but Sam scarcely bestowed a second glance upon them, for his attention was at once fixed by what Oscar called his "masterpieces," which were placed at intervals along the middle of the room.

There were three of them, the first being the grizzly, which had so nearly made an end of Big Thompson.

The position the animal assumed on that memorable afternoon, while he was awaiting the guide's approach, was firmly fixed in Oscar's memory, and he had succeeded in reproducing it exactly.

So life-like did the grizzly look as he stood there on his platform, with his mane erect, his ears thrown forward, and his glaring eyes fastened on a cabinet on the opposite side of the room, that Sam could hardly bring himself to believe that it was safe to approach him.

The next specimen was the lordly elk that Big Thompson's hunting-dog—the dog that was called Pink on account of the color of his hair, which was black—had beguiled to his death.

He stood with his head raised, and looking defiantly about him, just as he had looked when he followed Pink out of the bushes.

The third was a group representing a fight between a big-horn and two gray wolves. One of the assailants was struggling on the ground, having been knocked down by a well-directed blow, and the gallant buck was making a dead set for the other, which stood with his ears laid back and all his teeth visible, awaiting the attack.

But these "masterpieces" were not the only objects of interest that were to be seen, as Sam found when he came to look about him.

A hungry-looking wolf grinned at him from a corner; a stately black-tail, with lowered head and bristling mane, threatened him with his antlers as he entered an alcove; and a bald eagle glared down at him from his perch over one of the doors, warning him, as plainly as an inanimate object could, to keep his hands off the flag it was grasping in its talons.

When he paused in front of the cabinets the squirrels, that were gathering their winter supply of nuts, the fox, that was watching a duck he wanted to catch for his dinner, the birds, that were building their nests, and the beavers, that were repairing their winter quarters—all looked at him as if to ask what he meant by intruding his unwelcome presence upon them.

In short, Sam was delighted with everything he saw, and more than once declared that he believed some of the birds and animals were alive. He could have paid his friend no higher compliment.

CHAPTER V. COMPLIMENTS AND ORDERS.

"What a dreadful-looking monster! And do you mean to tell us, Mr. Wallace, that this terrible beast was killed by a boy?"

"That's what they say," answered the gentleman addressed.

"How brave he must be! Go and find him, please. I should like to see him."

"It will afford me great pleasure to do so. I don't know him even by sight, but I can soon find someone who does."

It was eight o'clock in the evening. The museum doors had been opened, and the guests had nearly all arrived.

There was a crowd about each one of Oscar's "masterpieces." Among those who were gathered around the grizzly was a group composed of three ladies and a gentleman, and it was one of the former who uttered the exclamation, and asked the question with which this chapter opens.

A little distance away, and within plain hearing, stood Oscar Preston, with his mother on his arm.

The boy had heard a good many flattering remarks during the quarter of an hour that had elapsed since the guests began to arrive, and he had wished more than once that he was back in the foot-hills, with nobody but Big Thompson for company.

He could hardly make up his mind which was the most trying ordeal—facing a grizzly when a human life depended on his nerve, or hearing himself praised by people who, being unacquainted with him, expressed their sentiments in his presence without the least hesitation.

"Let's go away, mother," said he in a whisper. "I don't want to be introduced to those ladies if I can help it; for they will ask a thousand and one questions. I shot the bear, dreadful as he looks, but I would rather that somebody else should tell the story."

Oscar presently found Mr. Hynes and his party, who were gathered about the third group, listening to President Potter, who, with his eyes half closed and his hands waving gently in the air, was giving a little lecture on the habits of the animals, and describing in glowing language the fierce battle which Oscar had once witnessed between a flock of bighorns and a pack of gray wolves.

He left his mother with them and strolled off by himself. Of course he was proud of his success. He felt a thrill of pleasure whenever he heard an exclamation of astonishment or delight from any of the guests, and could scarcely repress a smile when his ear caught a little scream, uttered by some timid lady, who, when about to explore some of the numerous nooks and alcoves that were constantly presenting themselves in the most unexpected places, found her progress disputed by some threatening animal.

When Sam Hynes found him he was standing in a remote corner, watching the crowd before him, and acting altogether like a disinterested spectator.

"What are you doing here, Oscar?" demanded Sam, seizing him by the arm. "Come out of that!"

"No, you don't!" replied Oscar. "Let go and clear out yourself."

"Can't think of it—can't possibly think of it," said Sam resolutely. "I was sent to bring you, and I am going to do it. There are a lot of people here who want to see you."

"Why can't they look at the specimens and let me alone?" said Oscar.

"They have seen all the stuffed specimens, and now they want to see an animated one," answered Sam. "You belong to the museum, you know. Didn't I tell you long ago that they would make a lion of you? I'd show a little more pluck if I were in your place. Come on, I tell you!"

Oscar was not the only brave boy who has hesitated to face a battery of bright eyes; but he was forced to go with Sam in order to avoid a "scene," for the latter clung to his arm with a firm grip.

He mingled with the guests, and although he blushed and stammered a little at first, he gained confidence when he heard the sound of his own voice, and in a few minutes he was talking glibly and sometimes eloquently of his winter in the foot-hills.

The evening passed rapidly away. The hop was most enjoyable, and the supper excellent; but when Oscar and his mother seated themselves in the two o'clock train, bound for Eaton, he told her he was glad it was all over.

He rested on Friday—and if ever a boy needed a rest he did—and spent Saturday in the woods with Sam Hynes. They came back by the post-office, and in his mother's box Oscar found a letter addressed to himself in the well-known hand of the secretary of the museum committee.

He read it to Sam as they walked across the park. It contained an order for him to report at Yarmouth on the following Monday, and wound up with these words:

"Mr. Adrian is so well pleased with your success as a hunter, and with your skill as a taxidermist, that he has offered to advance twenty-five thousand dollars to pay your expenses to Africa. You have often assured us that you were willing to go wherever we might think it to our interest to send you; and, taking you at your word, we have accepted the gift——"

Oscar stopped, and looked at Sam, who backed off and put his hands into his pockets. They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, and then walked on again.

—"we have accepted the gift [Oscar read], and we are glad to receive it, as it will not now be necessary for you to draw on our permanent fund in order to foot your bills. I think I may tell you, without violating confidence, that, although you said nothing to us concerning the difficulties and perplexities you encountered during your recent trip to the foot-hills, we know all about them. The commander of the post at Julesburg and Mr. Isaac Barker have written us a full history of your expedition. We appreciate your modesty in withholding these facts. We are both surprised and delighted at your unyielding courage and indomitable perseverance——"

"Oh, Sam, I'll not read anymore of it!" exclaimed Oscar, suddenly stopping and folding up the letter.

"Go on," replied Sam, who was deeply interested. "It is all true—every word of it; for you have told me all about it. 'Your courage and perseverance'—what else?"

Oscar rather reluctantly unfolded the letter again and read:

—"and we have not the least hesitation in calling upon you to engage in a still more hazardous undertaking; for you have firmly established yourself in our confidence. As an extra inducement the committee has been instructed by Mr. Adrian to double your salary. Report on Monday, as above directed, and begin at once to make arrangements looking to your immediate departure for England."

"Is that all? Good-by, Oscar Preston," said Sam, drawing a long breath. "But you want to go, don't you?"

"For myself, yes; for mother's sake, no," answered Oscar as he put the letter back into the envelope.

Africa was a long way off. There were a good many thousand miles of water to be sailed over before he got there; there were icebergs in the Atlantic, and fearful storms in the Bay of Biscay; there were fierce wild animals and deadly serpents in this new hunting-ground; and there were a scorching sun and a malarial climate to be faced.

Sam Hynes had not another word to say. When he reached the corner where he was to turn off he seized Oscar's hand and wrung it energetically, at the same time turning away his head, so that his friend could not see his face, and then walked rapidly away.

"There is one, at least, who dreads the parting as much as I do, and if I should never come back he'd be sorry," thought Oscar, gazing after Sam, who, with his hands thrust deep into his pockets and his chin resting on his breast, was taking long strides up the sidewalk. "Yes, I know Sam would be sorry. Here is another," he added, stopping to pat Bugle, who just then put his cold nose into his master's hand. "And here, in this house, is the third," he said to himself as he opened the gate. "But what can I do? My trip to the hills was the means of lifting the mortgage off this house and giving mother a balance in the bank, and who knows but my journey to Africa may be productive of other good results? I must go, whether I want to or not. I said I would, and I shall keep my word."

Oscar handed the secretary's letter to his mother without saying a word, and then, as he did not want to see her read it, he went out and strolled about the yard and rearranged the tools in his chest.

When he came back at the end of an hour he saw that she had been crying.

That night there was a long consultation held between the anxious mother and the ambitious, hopeful son, but we will not stop to repeat it, nor will we dwell upon the arrangements that were made for the boy's departure from America.

It will be enough to say that before Oscar went to bed that night it had been settled that the committee's order should be obeyed; that he took the first train for Yarmouth on Monday morning; that he had an interview with the committee, who gave him minute instructions in writing and promised him letters that would assist in smoothing the way for him; that he dined with Mr. Adrian, who received him as an honored guest; and that when he came home on Tuesday night he began packing his trunk, in readiness for the start.

The committee had given him a week in which to prepare for his long journey, and he took it, because he wanted to spend one more Saturday with Sam Hynes, whom he might never see again.

We will say nothing about the parting which took place on the next Wednesday morning. There were a good many boys and not a few men at the depot to see him off, but Sam Hynes was not among them.

He rode down in the omnibus with Oscar, and then cleared out abruptly, just as he had done on a former occasion.

Oscar reached Yarmouth in due time, listened to more instructions, received letters of introduction and bills of credit for a larger amount of money than he had ever handled before in all his life; and three days more found him on the broad bosom of the Atlantic.

Of course he was sea-sick, and that was about the only thing that happened to relieve the monotony of the voyage, which, on the whole, was a very pleasant as well as a remarkably quick one.

There was some delay in getting his trunk through the custom-house in Liverpool on account of the weapons it contained; but everything was satisfactorily arranged at last, and shortly afterward Oscar was snugly housed in the hotel to which he had been directed by Mr. Adrian.

CHAPTER VI. AN ENGLISH NIMROD.

If Oscar had been his own master he could have spent a few days very agreeably in looking about the city of Liverpool.

Among other things he wanted to see were the famous docks, of which he had heard and read so much; but his time belonged to the committee, who paid him liberally for it, and he did not consider that he had a right to use any portion of it for his own pleasure.

His first duty was to visit Somerset, a little town about a hundred miles distant, and present some of his letters of introduction to a celebrated hunter and traveller who lived there.

He knew where the town was and how to reach it, for his written instructions and guide-book told him all about it.

Oscar lost no time in securing his ticket, and the first train that left Liverpool for the North whirled him away toward his destination, which he reached about midnight.

Everything he saw on the way was new and strange. He did not at all like the idea of being locked in a "carriage"—for that is what a passenger car is called in England.

What if there should be a smash-up? or what if that quiet, dignified gentleman who sat opposite him and who was the only other passenger in that compartment should prove to be an escaped lunatic, who might at any moment become violent?

But the train, although it moved at a high rate of speed, carried him through in safety, and the dignified gentleman on the other seat snored lustily during the entire journey.

Oscar slept soundly at the Hare and Hounds, and awoke the next morning to find it raining in torrents.

He ate an excellent breakfast in a cosey little parlor, and when he had finished he sent for the landlord, who quickly made his appearance.

"Do you know Captain Horatio Sterling?" asked Oscar.

That was not the name of the gentleman to whom the young traveller's letters of introduction were addressed; but we must call him by some name, you know.

"Do I know the greatest hunter in all England?" exclaimed the landlord. "Why, bless you, sir, everybody knows him. He has been all over the world, and killed more tigers, lions, and elephants than any other living man. He lives in that big house on the hill about a mile from here."

"Very well," said Oscar, drawing an official envelope from his pocket. "I would thank you to send this to him at once. There is something for the messenger," he added, placing a shilling in the landlord's hand.

The envelope contained three letters of introduction, Oscar's card, which also bore the name of his hotel, and a note he had written before going to bed, containing the statement that he would be glad to wait upon the captain at any hour of the day or evening when it might be most convenient for the captain to grant him an interview.

Oscar saw the messenger depart on his errand, and having the parlor to himself and not knowing what else to do, he began pacing the floor with his hands in his pockets.

About two hours later, while he stood at the window looking out at the lowering sky and the falling rain, he saw a gig, drawn by a high-stepping horse and driven by a hearty old gentleman in greatcoat and muffler, dash into the stable-yard.

A man came up to take the horse, and the driver, alighting from his gig, bounded up the steps with all the agility of a boy and burst into the hall.

Oscar heard the landlord greet him in an undertone, and he also heard the visitor say in a stentorian voice:

"You have a gentleman of the name of Preston stopping with you, I believe?"

"Yes, sir; you'll find him in that parlor, sir," answered the obsequious landlord.

"Why, that must be the captain," thought Oscar. "I did not expect him to come out in all this rain."

The next moment the visitor's form filled the doorway.

He was a man of herculean proportions, and although his hair and mutton-chop whiskers were as white as snow, his face was the picture of robust health, and it was evident from the way he brought his feet down when he walked that he had lost little, if any, of his youthful strength and vigor.

He was a very pleasant-looking man, and Oscar was certain that when he came to know him he should like him.

The visitor looked all about the parlor, giving its solitary occupant merely a casual glance, and said as he turned to go back into the hall:

"I beg your pardon, my lad. I was looking for Mr. Preston, but he doesn't seem to be here."

"My name is Preston, sir," said Oscar. "Have I the honor to address Captain Sterling, the African hunter and explorer, and formerly of the East Indian army?"

The captain started as if Oscar had aimed a blow at him.

He looked hard at the boy for a moment or two, and said in a tone indicative of the greatest amazement and incredulity:

"Are you Oscar Preston, from America?"

"I am, sir," replied our hero.

"Did you send me some letters a little while ago?"

"I did, sir," answered the boy.

"And you have been ordered to go to—— Am I awake or dreaming?" exclaimed the captain, hastily undoing the heavy muffler that was wrapped about his face.

"I assure you that there is no mistake about it," said Oscar, who rather enjoyed the worthy captain's surprise. "I am sent here by the Yarmouth University, and have been ordered to go to Africa to procure specimens of natural history for its museum. I was instructed by some gentlemen in America, who are proud to call themselves your friends, to visit you, and I have done so in the hope that you would give me some assistance in the way of advice and information."

This little speech seemed to banish all the captain's doubts. He came into the parlor and shook Oscar's hand most cordially.

"I always knew that you Americans had more assurance than any other people in the world," said he; "but this beats me completely. Why, boy, you're crazy; and so are Mr. Adrian and all the rest of them. Help you? Of course I will! I spent some very pleasant months in America. The gentlemen it was my good fortune to meet there couldn't do too much for me, and I am glad to have the opportunity to show them that I appreciate their kindness. It has nearly ceased raining. Put on your greatcoat and go up to the lodge with me. You will be my guest while you remain in England."

"Thank you, sir," replied Oscar heartily. "What shall I do with my trunk?"

"Let it alone. I will send a cart after it as soon as we reach the lodge."

Oscar was only too glad to accept this kind invitation. The captain would certainly be very good-natured and talkative after dinner, if at no other hour of the day, and our hero told himself that that would be just the time for him to gain more light upon certain points concerning which he was now comparatively in the dark.

He hurried on his overcoat, and, after paying his bill at the hotel, took his seat in the gig, and was driven rapidly toward the lodge.

Very frequently during the ride he found the captain looking at him with an expression in which both surprise and amusement were blended, and once or twice he broke out with:

"Well, well! this does amaze me, sure! I expected to see a man."

"I hope you are not very badly disappointed," said Oscar.

"Yes, I am," replied the captain, who never hesitated to speak the thoughts that were in his mind. "You will be beset by difficulties the like of which you never dreamed of, and I don't know whether or not you have judgment enough to carry you through. But I admire your pluck. The letters you sent me say that you are a great hunter, as well as an expert taxidermist, and that you have spent some months in the hills. I, too, have hunted in that country, and I am very glad to meet one who can talk to me about the sport to be found there."

The welcome Oscar received from the captain's wife put him at his ease directly. She expressed the greatest surprise when he was introduced to her as the "American hunter," and made Oscar smile when she said, as she took both his hands in her own:

"My poor boy! Whatever could your dear mother have been thinking of when she gave her consent to this thing? Those fierce wild beasts out there in that dreadful country will eat you up at one mouthful."

Oscar found "the lodge" to be an elegant mansion, filled with costly furniture and pictures, and kept in order by a large number of servants, one of whom was directed to keep an eye on the guest and see that he did not want for anything. Every object in and about the building bore evidence of the wealth and taste of its owner.

The kennels were filled with hunting-dogs (the captain, who was an enthusiastic fox-hunter, was master of the Somerset hounds), and the stables contained more thoroughbred horses than any ordinary man could possibly have found use for.

The library was a perfect curiosity shop. The old soldier had industriously collected souvenirs of every country he had visited, and Oscar found there assegais, war clubs, skin cloaks, and elephants' tusks from Africa; buffalo and antelope heads and Indian bows and arrows from America; and the floor was covered with rugs made from the skins of the man-eating tigers that had fallen to the captain's rifle in the jungles of Hindustan.

Many of these articles were great curiosities, of course, but it was the captain's "battery" that occupied the most of Oscar's attention.

It was supported by deer's antlers that were fastened against the wall, and consisted of six double-barrelled rifles and one single rifle, carrying four bullets to the pound.

This was the captain's "elephant gun," the one with which he had secured the tusks that now adorned one of his cabinets and the rugs that covered the floor.

Besides these, there were three heavy double-barrelled shot-guns, making ten guns in all. The stocks of all of them were badly battered and scratched; some of the "grips" had been broken and mended with tin, and altogether the weapons looked as though they had received the hardest usage, as indeed they had.

As Oscar looked at them, he thought of his own modest "battery," and wondered what the old campaigner would say when he saw it.

CHAPTER VII. OFF FOR AFRICA.

Dinner was served at six o'clock in the evening. It took almost an hour to eat it, and when it had been disposed of the captain was ready for business, as Oscar thought he would be. He conducted his guest to the library, and said, as he filled and lighted his well-blackened pipe:

"Now, then, my boy, what are your plans? Be explicit, so that I may know just how I can aid you."

Oscar replied by repeating his written instructions, which he had read so often that he knew them by heart.

"All right, so far," said the captain approvingly. "Now where's your ordnance?"

"In my trunk," answered Oscar.

"In your trunk?" repeated the captain, opening his eyes and looking up at his own tried and trusted "battery" on the walls. "It must be rather smaller than mine, or else your trunk is larger than any I ever heard of. Go and get it; I want to look at it."

Oscar left the room, and presently returned with his little fowling-piece in one hand and his Sharp's rifle in the other. The captain took the double-barrel and looked critically into the muzzle of it.

"This will answer for Namaqua partridges—nothing else," said he. "By the way, those birds may prove to be the best friends you will have when you reach your hunting-grounds. If you are in want of water, and see a flock of them on the wing, note the direction in which they go and follow them, and you will be sure to find a spring. They never stray far away from water, for they must have it twice a day."

The captain handed back the double-barrel and took the rifle, looking carefully at that also, to see how large the bore was.

"This will do for spring-buck," said he; "but an eland or a wilde-beest (naturalists call it a gnu) wouldn't stop for half a dozen such balls as this weapon carries. Go and get the rest."

"These are all I have," answered Oscar.

"All!" vociferated the captain. "And do you think of going into the wilds of Africa with only two guns, and pop-guns at that? Why, you might as well commit suicide and have done with it."

"This rifle has bowled over some of the largest game in America," said Oscar. "It killed a grizzly bear with one ball as dead as if he had been struck by lightning."

"A chance shot, undoubtedly. I have killed an elephant with a single bullet, and a man-eating tiger also—the one that wore the skin on which you are standing; but such things happen only once in a lifetime."

"There was no 'chance' about my shot, sir," replied Oscar, rather proudly. "I aimed for his spine, and there was the place I hit him. It was a good shot, and it was made under the most trying circumstances. If I had missed my guide would have been torn in pieces before my eyes, and I should have been left to find my way back to civilization as best I could."

"Well, you will never go to Africa with that battery by my advice," said the captain. "In order to do good work you must have good weapons; and as your life may some time depend on the way in which they do their duty, it stands you in hand to mind what you are about. You must have at least three heavier rifles for yourself—you may lose or break one, you know—and a Martini-Henry carbine for each of your servants. We will go down to Birmingham to-morrow and get them. Now sit down and tell me about your fight with that grizzly bear."

Oscar often thought of the pleasant evening he passed in that library. The old hunter was full of stories, and every one he told contained some scraps of valuable information which Oscar treasured up in his memory for future use.

The hours flew rapidly by, and it was ten o'clock before he knew it. He began to wonder why his host did not say something about going to bed; but the latter talked as rapidly as ever, until a servant opened the door to announce that supper was ready.

Having never been accustomed to eating at that hour of the night, Oscar did not make a very hearty meal; but the captain went to work manfully, and no one would have supposed, from the way the eatables disappeared before his attacks, that he had eaten dinner only five hours before.

It was two o'clock before Oscar went to his room, and ten by his watch when he awoke.

He put on his clothes with all haste, wondering the while why somebody had not called him in time for breakfast; but when he went downstairs he learned that his host had not yet left his bed, and that breakfast would not be ready for more than an hour.

True to his promise, the captain accompanied his guest to Birmingham that afternoon, and picked out some weapons for him—three heavy breech-loading Express rifles, with interchangeable shot barrels, one ponderous muzzle-loading rifle, carrying twelve bullets to the pound, and six carbines.

Besides these there was a case of cheap muskets, which were to be used in trading for any curiosities which Oscar thought the committee would like to see in the museum.

The carbines and muskets were shipped to London, where they were to remain until Oscar was ready to start for the Cape, and the rifles he took to Somerset with him.

That evening while they were seated at the dinner-table the captain said, with as much enthusiasm as a school-boy would have exhibited:

"That much is done, and to-morrow we'll take a run up into Argyleshire. I have some intimate friends up there who are acquainted at the Cape, and in Durban, Maritzburg, Zurnst—in fact, all through the country; and from them we'll get a letter or two that will make friends for you among the Africanders. While they are writing them you and I will look over their preserves, and throw a hook into their well-stocked lakes. Sleep lightly to-night, for I warn you that I shall have you up in the morning at a most uncomfortably early hour."

When morning came Oscar found that what was called an early hour in England would have been called a very late hour in America.

He was up and dressed at five o'clock, and took himself to task for sleeping so long; but it was eight before the captain made his appearance, nine when breakfast was served, and eleven when they set out for Argyleshire.

The two succeeding days were spent in fly-fishing and "fagging after grouse," as the captain termed it.

Although our hero was not much of a fly-fisher, he was an adept at shooting on the wing, and his companions were loud in their praises of the clean and handsome manner in which he cut down his birds.

He made the acquaintance of a good many gentlemen, some of whom were old East Indian soldiers and sportsmen, and acquainted in America as well as at the Cape, and from them he received letters which proved to be of the greatest assistance to him.

Oscar thoroughly enjoyed himself during his short sojourn among the highlands, for the company into which he was thrown was most agreeable, the shooting excellent, the game being strictly preserved, and he would have been glad to remain longer, but duty called him, and he was obliged to heed the call.

On the Thursday following his arrival at the lodge he took leave of his kind hostess, and in company with the captain, who took as much interest in the matter as he would if he had been going to Africa himself, set out for London, where he spent two very busy weeks in purchasing an outfit.

The captain proved to be an invaluable assistant, and although Oscar could not see the use of half the articles he selected for him, he afterward found that there was not a single useless thing in the whole collection.

Some idea of the size of his outfit and of the money he must have spent during those two weeks may be gained when we say that he had, among a good many other heavy and bulky things, fifteen thousand rounds of ammunition—seventy-five pounds of powder, three hundred pounds of lead and as many of shot of different sizes—and that, when the outfit was boxed and ready for shipment, it weighed over eight thousand pounds.

Having secured his berth and ticket and taken a receipt from the purser, showing that his goods had been safely stowed away on board the steamer that was to take them to the Cape, Oscar took the next day to look about the city.

Eleven o'clock was the hour set for sailing, and long before that time he and the captain were seated on the steamer's deck, where all was bustle and confusion.

Porters and cabmen jostled one another, stevedores were shouting themselves hoarse in giving orders to their perspiring gangs; careless passengers were searching frantically for missing luggage, and in little retired nooks and corners, out of earshot of the gay, laughing groups around them, could be seen a wife taking a tearful leave of a husband, or a father and mother bidding a fond farewell to a son going out into the world to seek his fortune.

Presently the captain of the steamer took his stand upon the bridge, bells began to ring, and a shudder ran through the mighty craft as the donkey engines were set in motion and began the work of warping her out of her berth toward the entrance to the dock.

Captain Sterling, who was continually thinking of some important thing which he had neglected to say to his young friend, talked incessantly, all the while looking about among the passengers in the hope of finding a familiar face.

"If I could only run across just one friend for you to talk to it would shorten the voyage by a good many miles," said he; "but they are all strangers to me. However, you will not long want for company. Don't expect too much of sea-sick people. At least wait until you leave Madeira before you denounce them as a boorish, unsociable set."

At last Gravesend was reached, and there the steamer paused for a few moments to take breath and summon her strength for the run down the Channel—at least, that was what Oscar's companion said.

A hoarse voice, which sounded like the sigh of a tired nor'wester, shouted, "All ashore!" whereupon the kissing and hand-shaking between friends and relatives who were about to separate were repeated, and the passengers made a rush for the gangway.

"Good-by, my dear boy! My heart goes with you, and if I had a few years less on my shoulders I should go with you in person."

The kind-hearted old fellow's voice was husky, and there was a suspicious look about his eyes, as he took Oscar's hand in both his own, and wrung it energetically. His short acquaintance with Oscar had affected him just as the blast of a bugle affects a superannuated cavalry horse.

It had brought back the memory of old times to him so vividly that he almost fancied he was young again.

"Good-by, captain!" said Oscar, whose own voice was none of the steadiest. "I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I am to you for the services you have rendered me. I could not have got along without you. How can I ever repay you for your great kindness?"

"You can do it by making a success of your expedition. I want you to do that, so that I can take some credit to myself. Don't give up; whatever happens, don't give up. I assure you I shall not forget you; and I don't want you to forget me, either. Drop me a line as often as you are within reach of a post-office. You can send me a letter every two or three weeks until you reach Zurnst. If you go beyond that place you will disappear as completely from the gaze of the civilized world as though you had ceased to live. You will see nobody except your servants, and perhaps a few wandering bushmen, who will be glad to give you a drink of water from their ostrich shells in return for a few mouthfuls of dried meat. Good-by—good-by!"

The bells rang again, the last of the visitors ran for the gang-plank, the screw began to revolve, and the huge vessel swung around until her bow pointed down the Channel. Oscar was off for Africa at last.

CHAPTER VIII. AN INCIDENT OF THE PAST.

When Gravesend had been left out of sight Oscar, for the first time since bidding adieu to his native land, began to feel lonely and homesick.

The genial captain had won a place in his heart, and he found it hard to part from him. He felt utterly helpless now that the prop on which he had leaned during the past three weeks had been taken away.

He began to realize, as he had never realized it before, that he had undertaken a journey from which many an older and more experienced person than himself would have shrunk in dismay.

"But it can't be helped," said he to himself. "I told them I would go, and it is too late to back out, even if I felt disposed to do so. If I succeed I shall be able to place nearly five thousand dollars in mother's hands. If I fail it will be nothing more than many a better fellow has done before me. But failure is something I shall not allow myself to think of. If I live I shall succeed."

During the first two days Oscar could gain no idea of the number of passengers the vessel carried.

All the female portion of her living freight—and a large share of the male portion, too—had retired to their staterooms, and given themselves up to that malady which, when it attacks a lady, is called mal de mer, and seasickness when it takes holds of a man.

Those who did not suffer in this way—among whom was Oscar—passed the time in reading, smoking, or lounging about the decks. A most unsociable lot they were, too.

Since taking leave of the captain at Gravesend Oscar had not spoken to anybody except his room-mate,—a burly Englishman,—who, instead of replying to his cheery "Good-morning, sir!" stared at him as if he were astonished at his impudence.

Oscar took the hint, and made the mental resolution that he would not speak again until he was spoken to.

The steamer stopped a short time at Dartmouth, and then turned her prow toward Madeira, which was distant five days' sail.

By this time the most of the passengers had recovered from their indisposition, and began to show themselves on deck.

The appearance of the ladies in their gay costumes made a great change in the looks of things, as well as in the conduct of the men. Pipes and books were thrown aside, little cliques were established here and there, the members of which, being drawn together by kindred tastes, were ever afterward to be seen in company, and soon Oscar was surrounded by noisy, laughing people who seemed to be enjoying themselves, but who paid no sort of attention to him.

The boy was socially inclined, but he did not dare to speak to anybody for fear of being repulsed. He might have secured friends at once by showing his letters, but that was not his way of doing things. He did not care to publish his business to the whole ship's company, for there was no one on board who could have the least possible interest in it—at least he thought so. He passed some of the time in reading, and the rest in watching the flying-fish as they arose in the air to escape the jaws of their dreaded enemies, the albecore and skip-jack.

For once the Bay of Biscay was as smooth as a mill-pond, and after a pleasant run down the coast of Portugal Madeira was reached on time.

As some hours were to be spent here, Oscar went ashore, took a look about the quaint old town, feasted on fruits, and dined sumptuously at the hotel.

When the vessel again turned her prow seaward it was for a voyage of twenty-three days. She was not to touch land again until she reached the Cape, unless she was blown ashore.

The last object of interest she passed was the Peak of Teneriffe, and when that had been left out of sight the long voyage was fairly begun.

On the second day out from Madeira Oscar became aware that he was an object of interest to a passenger whom he had not seen before since leaving Gravesend. He was a dapper little fellow, apparently about thirty years of age, with a haughty, imperious face, and long, wavy whiskers, which he stroked with an air of the greatest complacency.

He wore a gold eyeglass and the most ridiculous little skull-cap imaginable. Why he should adopt that style of head-piece under that broiling sun (they were now beginning to experience tropical weather, and the fruits they had taken on board at Madeira were most acceptable) Oscar could not imagine.

He was seated under an awning, attended by his servant, who, having just handed him an "ice" which he had brought from the bar, took his stand behind his master's chair, and awaited further orders.

The latter took a sip at his glass, and then he looked at Oscar.

"Where in the world have I seen that man before?" said the boy to himself, closing his book and fixing his eyes on a Portuguese man-o'-war which had just spread its tiny sail to the breeze. "His face is certainly familiar, but where I have—— I wonder if I didn't camp near him the second night after I left Ike Barker's ranch? I did!" said Oscar, slapping his book upon his knee. "It's Colonel Dunhaven. Hallo!"

This exclamation was called forth by the actions of the colonel and his servant, who conferred together for a few minutes, looking at Oscar all the while, and then the man left his position behind his master's chair, and came over to the boy's side of the vessel.

"Colonel Dunhaven presents his compliments, and wants to know if he can have a few words with you," said the lackey.

It was right on the point of Oscar's tongue to say that if the colonel wanted to speak to him he could come where he was, but he didn't say it. He picked up his chair, and moved over to the other side of the deck, where the colonel was sitting.

"Aw!" said the latter as Oscar placed his chair to suit him and seated himself in it, "I think I have seen you before."

(The colonel pronounced the last word as though it were spelled befoah.)

"I was thinking the same in regard to yourself," replied Oscar. "If I am not mistaken, I saw you in America last winter. You were with a party in search of buffaloes."

"Aw, I was there! Beastly country that. The common people have not the remotest idea of the propriety of things. They are altogether too independent!"

"Those plains-guides and hunters are a very independent body of men," answered Oscar; "and when one goes among them he must conform to their customs or suffer for it."

"They're a beastly lot!" said the colonel. "They don't know how to treat a gentleman. My object in asking you over here was to inquire if you secured any game during that trip."

"I did. I could have filled all your wagons, alone and unaided."

"Did you see any bison?"

"Yes," replied Oscar, "I saw thousands of them, as I told you that night; but my guide was in so great a hurry to reach the shelter of the hills that I could not stop to secure a specimen. He was afraid of being snowed up. When I returned in the spring there were none to be seen. They had all gone south."

"Well, I and my party never saw one!" exclaimed the colonel angrily. "Those treacherous guides of ours kept us out on the open plain until we were overtaken by a buzzard——"

"Blizzard," corrected Oscar.

"Aw!" said the colonel, who seemed rather surprised at the interruption. "Well, whatever the right name is, we were almost frozen, and it was only after great difficulty and terrible suffering that we got back to the little collection of shanties at Julesburg, by courtesy called a fort. Then our guides coolly informed us that if we would come out there again, and leave what they were pleased to call our airs behind us, they would show us where we could kill more game than our horses could draw away. Did you ever hear of such impertinence? I'll never go back to that country, where every boor one meets considers himself the peer of any gentleman in the land. I am now going on a sporting excursion into the interior of Africa."

As the colonel said this he assumed an air of importance, and looked at Oscar to see what he thought about it.

It was plain, too, that he was talking for the benefit of a party of ladies—who had just then come up and taken their stand under the awning—all of whom turned and looked at the colonel as these words fell on their ears.

"There's just where I am going," said Oscar quietly.

"It is?" cried the colonel, elevating his eyebrows and allowing his eyeglass to fall out of its place. "What business have you got there? Why don't you stay in your own country?"

"If I had been disposed to be impertinent, or to stick my nose into business that did not concern me, I might have asked you that question when I saw you in America hunting for the buffaloes that you never found," replied Oscar.

"Aw!" said the colonel, who saw the point. "Are you trying to chaff me?"

"No, sir. I spoke in sober earnest."

"It is very extraordinary," said the colonel, languidly accepting his eyeglass, which his servant hastened to pick up and restore to him. "How are you going? I am going alone with my own establishment, which I shall purchase at Durban."

"I am going in the same way," answered Oscar.

"Aw! But I have had experience, my dear fellow, and you have not," said the colonel. "I once belonged to the Honorable East India Company's service, and have hunted tigers in the wilds of Hindustan—tigers, do you hear?"

"And I have hunted grizzly bears in the foot-hills of the Rocky Mountains," replied Oscar, who could scarcely refrain from laughing.

"But a bear is not to be compared to a tiger in strength and ferocity, you know, young fellow."

"I am not so sure of that. If you are at all posted, you must know that some naturalists contend that if the grizzly was allotted his proper place in the animal kingdom he would be called the king of beasts instead of the lion."

"It's all the merest nonsense. Why, an old army officer—a college chum of mine—once told me that he had seen a lion trot off with a good-sized heifer in his mouth, carrying it as easily as a cat carries a rat!"

"I don't doubt it; but the bear family do not carry their prey as the felidæ do. They drag it along the ground if it is heavy, or carry it between their paws if it is light. My guide told me that he had seen a grizzly weighing a thousand pounds drag a buffalo weighing eighteen hundred a distance of two miles."

"Aw! he was guilty of the most barefaced mendacity! Another ice, Roberts, and then I will retire to my stateroom."

This was a hint that the colonel desired the interview brought to a close, so Oscar picked up his chair and walked away.

"He will never have a chance to repeat that," thought the boy, while his face burned with indignation. "The next time he wants to see me he can come where I am. So Big Thompson was guilty of lying, was he? I am of the opinion that there would not be much left of you, my fine gentleman, if he had heard you say so."

The colonel did not trouble him any more, and Oscar was glad of it. He seemed to be a thoroughly selfish as well as a very conceited person, and the boy wanted nothing to do with him.

Still he did not lack for company. The passengers began to inquire who that modest young fellow was who always kept by himself, and seemed to be acquainted with no one on board, and one day the captain, prompted by curiosity, entered into conversation with him, during which he heard some things that made him wonder.

The name of Captain Sterling proved to be an "open sesame," for every passenger on board had heard of that celebrated hunter and traveller, although none of them were personally acquainted with him.

But his name was full of influence. It secured Oscar a seat at the captain's table, and brought him to the notice of a select circle, who never grew weary of listening to what the boy had to say regarding the plains and their inhabitants.

The time never hung heavily on Oscar's hands after that. The days were spent on deck in social converse, and the evenings in the cabin, listening to lectures and singing, or in witnessing amateur theatricals.

The colonel looked on in surprise, but made no effort to renew his acquaintance with Oscar. He was afraid the latter might offer to accompany him on his hunting expedition.

At last, much to the regret of Oscar, who wished that the voyage might be indefinitely prolonged, Table Mountain came into view. As there was no table-cloth on it, the vessel moved into the harbor, and in a few hours was safely moored to the wharf.

CHAPTER IX. OSCAR MAKES A NEW ACQUAINTANCE.

As Oscar's freight was all booked for Cape Town, it was necessary that it should go through the custom-house before it could be reshipped on the Ivanhoe, the little coasting steamer that was to convey the young hunter and his outfit to Port Natal.

In superintending this transfer Oscar was kept busy, for he was on deck from the time his goods were taken out of the steamer's hold until the Ivanhoe's hatches were closed over them.

Then he secured his bunk on board the coasting vessel, and, being free from care and anxiety, was at liberty to accept some of the numerous invitations he had received from those of the steamer's passengers who called Cape Town their home.

He dined with one, ate an eleven o'clock supper with another, and at three in the morning was sleeping soundly in his bunk, while the Ivanhoe was skimming over a dark and threatening sea, with a lowering sky above her, and a strong southerly gale howling through her rigging. But the day dawned bright and clear, and at an early hour Oscar was on deck.

The change from the roomy deck of the steamship to his cramped quarters on board the coasting vessel was not a pleasant one, and neither were his fellow-passengers as agreeable as those of whom he had just taken leave, and in whose company he had passed so many happy hours.

They were a boisterous, good-natured crowd, and acted more like Western men than any he had before met on that side of the Atlantic.

The most of them were roughly dressed, and some carried riding-whips in their hands. They did not seem to be very favorably impressed with the appearance of Colonel Dunhaven (who came on deck about midday, languid and sleepy-looking as usual), for the remarks they made concerning him, some of which he must have overheard, were anything but complimentary.

The colonel looked at Oscar through his eyeglass, but did not seem to recognize him.

"That man has certainly mistaken his calling," thought Oscar as he leaned on the rail and looked down into the water. "He hasn't energy enough to carry him through. If he is so helpless now that he has to have a man to wait on him continually, what will he do when he starts on his journey? He would look nice swinging a heavy ox-whip and wading about in mud, knee-deep, wouldn't he?"

The Ivanhoe came to anchor twice before reaching her destination—once at Port Elizabeth, where some of the passengers who were bound for the diamond fields left her, and the next time at East London.

The captain made all haste to transact his business at the latter town, for the open roadstead in which his vessel was anchored was a dangerous place.

Although there was scarcely any wind stirring, and the sea was comparatively smooth, the surf rolled wildly on the beach, and it was a mystery to Oscar how the boats ever got through it.

Besides, there was a suspicious-looking bank of clouds off in the southern horizon, of which the captain and his mates kept close watch.

There was wind in those clouds, but it did not touch the Ivanhoe. She reached Port Natal in safety, and Oscar made all haste to get ashore, his long sea-voyage being happily ended.

He had accomplished the easiest part of his undertaking. Perils, privations, and discouragements were yet to come.

The next day Oscar handed an invoice of his goods to the custom-house officers, and having obtained a permit to land his guns, and seen all his boxes and bales put safely under lock and key, he took his seat in a post-cart, and, in company with the colonel, his body-servant, and two other passengers, was whirled away toward the town of Durban, which lay three miles inland from Port Natal.

Here he was to deliver two of his letters of introduction, which were addressed to Mr. Morgan, the editor of the leading newspaper.

As it was late in the afternoon, he decided to wait until the next morning before he sought out Mr. Morgan.

Having registered his name, and seen his trunk carried to his room, he walked out on the porch, where he was accosted by a "horsey" looking individual, who held a riding-whip in his hand.

Oscar had caught a momentary glimpse of the man when he alighted from the post-cart, and knew, as soon as he laid his eyes upon him, that he belonged to a class with whom Captain Sterling had frequently and earnestly warned him to have nothing to do.

He was a cattle-dealer and speculator—a human shark, who profited by the misfortunes of others.

His first words indicated that he had been looking at the register.

"You're from America, I believe," said he with easy familiarity.

Oscar replied that he was.

"Big nation that, and fine people in it, too. Going up the country?"

"I think some of it," Oscar replied.

"Are you going far up?" asked the man.

"Beyond Zurnst, probably; that is, if I can get there," replied Oscar, taking possession of a chair, and depositing his feet on the railing.

The man opened his eyes and began to look earnest. He ascended the steps, and, taking up a chair, seated himself by the boy's side.

"Are you a clerk?" was his next question.

"No, I'm not a clerk."

"Sportsman, then, most likely?"

"In a small way."

"Then I am just the man you want to see," said the cattle-dealer. "You'll need a wagon, a span of oxen, half a dozen salted horses, and a big lot of supplies."

Oscar said he knew that.

"Well, it's my business to furnish those things to gentlemen who are going up the country, and I will fit you out in good shape without the least trouble to yourself. I have a good, strong wagon—the best in the country—with canvas tent and all complete."

"What is it worth?" asked Oscar.

"A hundred and twenty-five pounds."

"How much do you ask for your oxen?"

"Fifteen pounds apiece."

"Got any salted horses?"

"Plenty of them, and they are worth a hundred each. They are fine runners and good, steady hunters, used to elephants, lions, buffalo, and all that sort of game. You'll be wanting dogs, too," said the man, who began to think he had struck a gold mine.

"Yes; but I don't expect to pay much for them."

"Oh, you'll have to if you get good hunters! You want experienced and well-broken dogs, of course, for green ones would run away the moment they caught sight of big game, and leave you to shift for yourself. Suppose you come over and take a look at that fine outfit."

"I don't believe I care to bother with it to-day. There is no use in rushing things, and I want to rest this afternoon."

"There's no time like the present," said the cattle-dealer earnestly. "Somebody may get the start of you if you don't close the bargain at once, for of course I shall sell to the first man who will give me my price."

"All right," replied Oscar indifferently; "sell if you get the chance. I suppose there is more than one outfit to be had in Durban."

"No, there isn't. Mine is the only good one there is left. It is true there are some rattletrap wagons and broken-down oxen to be had at high prices, but no gentleman would be seen riding after such a turnout. Why, even the Hottentots would laugh at him. Besides," added the man, speaking in a low, confidential tone, "there are a good many swindlers here."

Oscar said he knew that, too.

"They'll sell you a patched-up and freshly painted wagon for a new one, and for salted horses they'll offer you green ones, that have never been further up the country than Maritzburg. If you will take my advice you will come and secure that bargain now."

Just then voices sounded in the hall, and Colonel Dunhaven came out, accompanied by three or four cattle-dealers, the indefatigable body-servant bringing up the rear.

As they passed down the steps Oscar caught enough of their conversation to satisfy him that the colonel had been successfully "roped in."

"There," exclaimed Oscar's companion, "your friend is caught! Those men are all swindlers, and they will cheat him out of his eye-teeth."

"He's no friend of mine," said Oscar.

"Why, you came up in the same post-cart, and went into the hotel together."

"That may be; but still he is not my friend. I am alone."

"You are?" exclaimed the cattle-dealer, who was really astonished. "Do you mean to say that you are going so far up the country all by yourself? You can't do it. You will need a first-class man for a companion and adviser. I know one—a brave fellow, a splendid rider, and a dead shot—who will be glad to go with you. I'll engage him if you say so."

"Not to-day," answered Oscar. "I shall need all the things of which you have spoken, but I say again that I'm in no hurry to get them."

"Well, think over what I have said, and let me know what you conclude to do, will you?" said the man, rising from his chair.

He was growing uneasy. Some of his friends had caught a pigeon that they were going to pluck, and he wanted to have a hand in the proceeding.

"Yes," said Oscar; "I'll think of it."

"All right. Remember that that is a promise between gentlemen, and that I am to have the first chance."

"Gentlemen!" thought Oscar as the cattle-dealer sprang down the steps and walked rapidly in the direction in which his friends had gone with the colonel. "I wonder if he calls himself one? My friend Dunhaven has put his foot in it, sure! I wonder that he doesn't go to some of his countrymen here who are experienced, and ask them to assist him in selecting an outfit."

If Oscar had been better acquainted with the colonel he would not have wondered at it at all.

That gentleman cherished the same opinion now that he did while he was fooling about on the plains. He thought he was fully posted in everything relating to hunting and travelling, and his insufferable egotism and self-conceit would not permit him to ask advice of anybody.

But a few days' experience with unruly cattle, saucy drivers, bad roads, and African treachery changed all this, and he was glad to accept favors at the hands of the boy he had so unmercifully snubbed.

The next morning Oscar despatched a messenger to Mr. Morgan's office with his letters of introduction, and a note similar to the one he had written to Captain Sterling.

Half an hour later the editor answered that note in person. He was profoundly astonished when he saw Oscar, and like everybody else who knew what object he had in view in coming to Africa, gave it as his opinion that our hero was altogether too young in years to engage in any such hazardous enterprise.

But he received him very cordially. He ordered Oscar's trunk to be taken to his house, then led him away to his office.

After conversing with him for an hour or more, and drawing from him all his plans and a short history of his former exploits, Mr. Morgan said:

"You seem to be very confident, my lad, and I glory in your unalterable determination to go through in spite of every difficulty. You are the first American who has ever come here on an expedition of this kind. You would have the hardest kind of work before you even if everybody felt friendly toward you and was willing to lend you a helping hand; but, unfortunately, such is not the case. You will find treachery on all sides of you so long as you remain in the settlement. To begin with, steer clear of all cattle-dealers. Don't let one of them approach you."

"I have already been approached by one of them, who assured me that he had the only serviceable outfit that was to be found in Durban," replied Oscar.

"You didn't buy it?" cried the editor.

"No, sir! Captain Sterling told me to look out for them," said Oscar, who then went on to tell of his interview with the cattle-dealer.

"What sort of looking fellow was he?"

The boy described him.

"That's Barlow," said Mr. Morgan. "He and the most of the gang he runs with live in Maritzburg, and bigger scoundrels never went unhanged."

Oscar thought of the colonel, and made the mental resolution that he would warn him against the cattle-dealers as soon as he could find opportunity to go back to the hotel.

CHAPTER X. A BAFFLED SWINDLER.

"Those cattle-dealers are good men to let alone," continued Mr. Morgan. "They want money, and they are not very particular where or how they get it, so long as they get it. They make it a business to do all they can to prevent every traveller from getting beyond the limits of the colony. They will sell you a span of broken-down oxen and a rickety old wagon, charging exorbitant prices for the same, and provide you with servants who are too lazy to earn the salt they eat on their meat. These men are in the pay of the cattle-dealers, and are expected to do everything in their power to discourage you. If they find that you are resolved to go on, they will pound your cattle until they get rusty and refuse to draw the wagon. They will drive you into an ant-bear's hole, and break an axle or smash a wheel by running over a rock they might easily have avoided. The town hill, on the other side of Maritzburg, has proved to be an insurmountable barrier to many a would-be sportsman. Just about the time he reached the steepest ascent smash would go the trek-tow, and an examination would reveal the fact that one of the links had been cut half in two. As you are an American, they will be particularly hard on you; and I warn you that eternal vigilance is the price you must pay for your success."

"Captain Sterling told me that," said Oscar. "He also informed me that the object of these swindlers is to disgust the traveller, so that he will sell off his supplies and outfit at a sacrifice."

"That's just it," replied the editor. "Even the men of whom you purchase your oxen, wagon, and goods will set to work to defeat you in order that they may buy the things back for less than they sold them for. My advice to you is to buy your oxen and supplies in Maritzburg. They are much cheaper there than they are here, and by doing that you will save hauling over a road which just now is in a pretty bad condition, owing to the recent heavy rains. I will give you letters to my friends Donahue and McElroy, who, at my request, will aid you in every way they can and see that you are not imposed upon."

Oscar thanked the editor, and remarked that friends in England had given him letters to these same gentlemen.

"That's all right; but a little additional note from me will not hurt anything," said Mr. Morgan. "You had better buy a wagon here. I know where you can get an excellent one for a hundred and ten pounds, and that includes dissel-boom, trek-tow, yokes, water-butts, fore- and after-chests, and canvas tent."

"That is about seventy-five dollars less than Barlow wants for his wagon," observed Oscar.

"And it is a better one, too," said Mr. Morgan, after he had made a mental calculation to find out how many pounds there were in seventy-five dollars. "I have seen that wagon of his, and I will wager fifty pounds against a shilling that you would never get over Maritzburg Hill with it, to say nothing of the Drackenburg, which is as much worse than any hill you ever saw as you can imagine."

"What are oxen worth in Maritzburg?"

"About ten pounds."

"Then Barlow wants to cheat me out of about $375 and intends to furnish me with a poor outfit into the bargain," said Oscar. "That money might as well stay in my pocket as to go into his."

"Better—much better!" the editor hastened to reply. "Now, if you will excuse me for a while, I will get through with my morning's work, and then we will go and see that wagon. Come in again in an hour, and you will find me quite at your service."

Oscar left the editorial sanctum and went out on the street. He easily found his way back to the hotel, and there he saw Colonel Dunhaven and his servant, surrounded by the same cattle-dealers he had seen in their company the day before.

The swindlers were determined that their prey should not escape them. As he ascended the steps the Englishman and his servant went into the parlor.

"Hello, there!" cried a voice. "Are you ready to keep your promise now?"

Oscar looked up and saw Barlow approaching.

"I have been looking for you all the morning," he said. "Where have you been?"

Oscar was not aware that that was any of Barlow's business, so he made no reply.

"Are you ready to keep your promise now?" repeated the cattle-dealer.

"What promise?"

"Why, to come over and buy that outfit I am going to sell you. It's all here, but the supplies we'll have to get up at Maritzburg."

"I didn't promise to buy any outfit of you," said Oscar.

"You didn't?" cried the cattle-dealer. "Did I not say to you, the last thing before I left you yesterday, 'Remember that that is a promise between gentlemen, and that I am to have the first chance'?"

"You did. And what did I say?"

"You said you would take it."

"You are mistaken. You asked me to think it over, and I told you I would do so."

"What conclusion have you come to?"

"That I don't want any of your things. I can do better."

"Hello! Here's a go. Come, now, that won't go down. It might with some folks, but not with me," said Barlow in a threatening tone. "I have bought six salted horses for you—they cost me a hundred and ten pounds apiece, but I told you that you could have them for a hundred, and I am a man of my word—and hired nine servants for you. I have also engaged that friend of mine of whom I told you, and he is all ready to inspan, and go down to Port Natal after your guns and other truck, just as soon as you give me the stumpy down. Cash in hand was the agreement, you know. Here's the bill, itemized and receipted—all regular," added the cattle-dealer as he drew a folded paper from his pocket, and made an effort to put it into the boy's hand.

"I don't want to see it," said Oscar, who was fairly staggered by the man's effrontery. "You must think I have taken leave of my senses. Do you suppose that I would purchase an expensive outfit without seeing it?"

"I told you it was the best in the colony, and you took my word for it and agreed to buy it."

"I did nothing of the kind! I tell you now that I will not take it!"

"Here is a go, sure enough!" exclaimed Barlow. "What shall I do with these six salted horses?"

"I don't care what you do with them."

"And what shall I say to my friend and to the servants I engaged for you?"

"That is a matter in which I am not interested. If you engaged them at all you did so without any authority from me."

"Come, now," said the cattle-dealer, slapping the folded paper into his open palm, "take the outfit, and I'll knock off half the hundred pounds I have charged you for my services and call it fifty. Can anything be fairer than that? Come, now."

"A hundred pounds!" cried Oscar. "Do you pretend to say that you've done nearly five hundred dollars' worth of work since yesterday afternoon?"

"I don't know anything about your dollars; but I told you I would fit you out, fair and square, without any trouble to yourself, and I have kept my word, as I always do. Of course I expect to be paid for doing it, and a hundred pounds is the regular price."

"You'll not get it out of me."

"Well, then, I'll have you up before the justice for breach of contract!" exclaimed Barlow fiercely.

"Do so, and we will see how much you will make out of it. Be good enough to let me pass."

He brushed by the cattle-dealer as he spoke, and once more started toward Mr. Morgan's office, but before he had made many steps Barlow overtook him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Look here, my fine Yankee lad," said he between his clenched teeth, "you had best make a friend of me. I have known more than one traveller to break down before he got over the town hill."

"I know what you mean by that," replied Oscar; "but you had better be careful how you try any tricks on me. If you think you can bluff me into buying a wagon that is ready to fall to pieces, and a team of worthless oxen, you have reckoned without your host. You picked me up for a greenhorn, but I know more than you think I do. Now from this time forward I want you to keep away from me. I shall have nothing more to do with you."

So saying, Oscar walked on again, leaving the baffled swindler alone with his disappointment.

The latter followed him with his eye and looked down at the bill he held in his hand.

"You won't have anything more to do with me, won't you?" said he between his clenched teeth. "Well, then, I shall have something to do with you. You haven't got out of the colony yet, and never will."

If Oscar could have seen the expression Barlow's face wore as he thrust the bill into his pocket and hurried down the street he would have needed no other evidence to satisfy him that Mr. Morgan knew what he was talking about when he said that eternal vigilance was the price the young hunter must pay to make his expedition successful.

CHAPTER XI. OSCAR COMPLETES HIS OUTFIT.

That Barlow was very angry over his failure to compel Oscar to purchase his outfit and supplies of him at the prices he set upon them was evident from the manner in which he ground his teeth and shook his fists in the air as he strode rapidly along.

He walked the whole length of the principal street, and finally turned toward a dilapidated Kaffir kraal, in the open door of which sat a young man, smoking a dingy pipe and watching a span of oxen that were feeding close at hand.

This was the "friend" of whose varied accomplishments as a hunter the cattle-dealer had spoken in terms so flattering; but if Oscar could have seen him he would have thought twice before consenting to take him as a companion on a long and perilous journey.

His appearance was against him. His face bore the traces of recent dissipation, and there was a swaggering, rowdyish air about him that would not have suited Oscar at all.

Close beside the kraal was the wagon that Barlow had tried so hard to force upon our hero, and a most disreputable affair it was. It had been newly painted, to conceal some of the numerous injuries it had received during the long years it had been in service; the dissel-boom and both the axle-trees were strengthened with strips of raw-hide; the canvas tent was torn and patched in a dozen places, and the chests and water-butts looked as though they were about to fall to pieces.

The oxen feeding close by, and which were a part of "the best outfit to be had in the colony," were a fit team for such a wagon as this, for they were in strict keeping with it.

A more forlorn and vicious-looking lot of brutes it would have been hard to find anywhere. The whole concern was not worth half the money Barlow had demanded for the wagon alone.

"Well, Thomas," said the cattle-dealer as soon as he came within speaking distance of his friend, "that little game is blocked."

Thomas uttered a rough exclamation and knocked the ashes out of his pipe. He looked disappointed as well as angry.

It was plain that these two worthies had hoped to make something handsome out of Oscar.

"Yes," continued Barlow, "it's blocked. I had thought to rope him in very easy, but he's much too knowing."

"I didn't expect any of the time that you could do anything with him," growled Thomas. "They say that those fellows from the other side the pond are awful sharp, and cut their eye-teeth early."

"And aren't we sharp, too, I'd like to know?" demanded Barlow. "He hasn't got out of the colony yet. I told him that I had seen more than one traveller break down before he got over the town hill, and we must see to it that he breaks down, too. Understand?"

"I think I do," answered Thomas, with a grin.

Thrusting his hand into the inside pocket of his coat, he took out a well-worn wallet and produced from it something that looked like a watch-spring.

"The teeth are pretty small, but they have cut through a heap of iron," said he, drawing the spring out to its full length.

"If you can give them a chance to cut into the Yankee's trek-tow it will be the best job they ever did for us," said Barlow. "If he buys his oxen and wagons of the farmers, and his supplies at Maritzburg, his outfit will be a splendid one, and breaking him down will be as good as finding a new diamond field. We're going to see fun in a few days. There's another chap in town—a colonel of something or other—who has been taken in hand by Harris and the rest of the boys. They have sold him a wagon and a span of oxen at a good price, and contracted to furnish him with supplies here in Durban. They have hired the right kind of men for him, and when he tries to climb the town hill he'll find himself in a fix. Won't they bleed him, though! I might have made a few pounds out of him," added the cattle-dealer, with a long-drawn sigh, "but I didn't bother with him, for I was sure I could manage this Yankee boy to suit me. No matter; he isn't out of our reach yet, and we'll make him open his eyes."

Meanwhile Oscar, all unconscious of the plans that were being laid against him, returned to Mr. Morgan's office, and reported the result of his interview with the cattle-dealer.

"Wouldn't it be a good plan for you to say a word to the colonel?" he asked, after he had told where and when he first met that gentleman. "You are a countryman of his, and might have some influence with him."

"I'll not go near him. He's a snob. His men will smash his wagon if they can't discourage him in any other way, and then desert him. You see if they don't. Now we will go to lunch, and after that we will ride out into the country to see a man who will sell you a wagon worth your money. He will sell you a span of oxen, too, but I would not advise you to buy of him,—and neither will he,—for you can do much better in Maritzburg."

When Oscar went to bed that night he was the owner of a ponderous Cape wagon, entirely new, and two salted horses, all of which had cost him £310.

He had taken a cordial leave of the editor, after thanking him for his advice and for the interest he had taken in the affairs of one who was an entire stranger to him, and at daylight the next morning seated himself in a post-cart and was driven rapidly toward Maritzburg.

He had also bargained with the farmer of whom he purchased his wagon and horses to haul his goods up from Port Natal.

With Mr. Morgan's aid he had secured a small pack of mongrel dogs, deerhounds, greyhounds, pointers, and curs, which was to be brought up with the wagon.

While on the way to Maritzburg Oscar saw something that made him think of his double-barrel, that was stowed away in his trunk under the seat. It was a flock of white-necked ravens. They sat on the trees by the roadside, and showed no signs of alarm as the post-cart dashed by so close to them that the driver could have touched them with his whip if he had made the attempt.

Oscar looked closely at them, noting the attitude of their bodies and the position in which their heads were held, so that he would know how to set up his specimens after he had shot them.

No sooner had Oscar reached his destination than he was surrounded by a new gang of cattle-dealers, who, having learned that he was going up the country, insisted on selling him an outfit.

But the boy dismissed them in the most unceremonious manner, and lost no time in hunting up Judge Donahue and Mr. McElroy.

These gentlemen received him with the greatest courtesy, and were untiring in their efforts to assist him. They superintended the buying of his provisions, hired for him men who they knew could be trusted, and selected a span of oxen which looked very unlike the one Barlow wanted to sell him.

His driver and fore-loper were Hottentots; his "boss"—who was also the interpreter and man-of-all-work—was a Kaffir, who spoke English well enough to make himself understood; and his cook was an Irishman, with a rich brogue and an inexhaustible fund of humor.

The Hottentots and Kaffir were engaged to go with Oscar wherever he went, and to return with him to Maritzburg; while the Irishman was to go no further than Leichtberg, in the Transvaal, where he expected to find relatives.

Paddy O'Brian was a genuine son of the Old Sod. He wore velveteen knee-breeches, long stockings, and hob-nail shoes, and carried all his worldly possessions tied up in a handkerchief, which, when travelling, he slung over his shoulder, on the end of a blackthorn stick that he had used in more than one faction fight.

He had never seen any animal more to be dreaded than a pugnacious billy-goat, and had never handled a gun, but he had for several months officiated as cook in the family of Judge Donahue, who recommended him as an honest, painstaking man, and one who would not let a hungry sportsman starve while waiting for his dinner.

He excited Oscar's mirth every hour in the day, especially when he addressed him as "me lord."

Although Paddy had kissed the blarney stone, there was no blarney about this. He thought that every man who came to Africa to hunt must of necessity be an English nobleman, for he did not believe that anybody else had money to spend in that way.

The offer of ten pounds for the faithful performance of his duties as cook almost took his breath away.

While Oscar was engaged in making ready for his departure two interesting incidents happened.

The first was the arrival of Barlow and his man Thomas, both of whom lived in Maritzburg. They came seated in their rattletrap of a wagon, and drawn by their span of crow-bait oxen, which acted all the time as if they were on the lookout for an excuse to become "rusty."

The driver's arms must have ached, for he was compelled to belabor them continually in order to keep them in motion.

Barlow and his man were not long in finding out how things were going, and when they saw Oscar's outfit, which was fully as expensive and as complete in all its details as any they had ever seen before, they became all the more determined that they would compel him to sell out, so that they could purchase it for a mere tithe of its value.

But they did not know how wary and resolute a boy they had to deal with.

Acting upon Judge Donahue's advice, Oscar put his oxen and horses into the pound every night, and taking Paddy O'Brian into his confidence, ordered him to sleep in the wagon.

Paddy, being always ready for a row, willingly complied, and it would have given him the greatest pleasure to break the head of anybody who ventured to tamper with that vehicle or its cargo.

One thing that amused Oscar exceedingly was the perseverance exhibited by his landlord in trying to "pump" him and his servants; but he got no satisfaction.

Oscar would not talk about his private affairs, and his men could not, for they knew nothing about them.

In fact, no one knew much about him or his business except the few gentlemen to whom he had been introduced, and he was looked upon by "outsiders" as a very mysterious person.

The other interesting incident of which we have spoken was the arrival of Colonel Dunhaven, who came in grand style, riding a fine horse, and closely followed by his body-servant, who rode another equally as good.

He had fared better at the hands of the cattle-dealers, so far as the appearance of his outfit was concerned, than Oscar thought he would.

His cattle, although they were not to be compared to Oscar's slick Zulus, were in a tolerably fair condition.

His wagon was a very good one, and he had servants enough for half a dozen hunters; but his head man looked too much like Thomas to be trusted.

The colonel galloped up to the porch, threw his reins to Roberts, and went into the hotel.

CHAPTER XII. OSCAR SEES A CHANCE TO GET EVEN.

When Oscar arose the next morning and looked down into the stable-yard he saw that it was empty. The colonel's wagon had gone on toward Howick, and the colonel himself was in the parlor eating an early breakfast, preparatory to following it on horseback.

A glance at his own wagon, which stood in front of the supply store, on the other side of the street, showed him that the cattle-dealers were out in full force, and that those he had seen loitering about the hotel ever since he arrived there had been joined by Harris and the rest of the "boys" who had supplied Colonel Dunhaven with his outfit.

The sight of them did not trouble him, however, for Paddy O'Brian was sitting on the dissel-boom, with his stick in his hand, and the dogs were lying under the wagon.

"That would be a bad crowd for those rascals to meddle with," thought Oscar as he put on his clothes. "Paddy looks as though he could handle two or three ordinary men, and I am certain that there are some dogs in that pack that would just as soon take hold of a fellow as to let him alone. Indeed, I am afraid of them myself. There he goes!" added the young hunter as the colonel and his servant rode away from the hotel steps, neither of them paying the least attention to the boisterous farewells that were shouted at them by the cattle-dealers across the street. "I shall expect to hear from him in the course of two or three days."

Oscar heard from the colonel in less than one day—that very afternoon, in fact. While he was seated in the parlor he heard a heavy step in the barroom, and Barlow's voice addressing the landlord.

"That's one smash-up," said the cattle-dealer in a tone of exultation. "Harris and the rest of 'em worked it pretty slick on that English snob."

"What has happened?" inquired Mr. Dibbits.

"Trek-tow broke—that's all; and the colonel is up to the blacksmith shop getting it repaired, and swearing about the beastly hills we have here in Africa. I say, old fellow, we must break up that little Yankee in some way. He's got a splendid outfit, everything top-notch, and there's a pile of money in it if we can only make him sell out. Harris tried to bribe that Irishman of his to leave the wagon, but Paddy told him to hold his jaw and wouldn't stir a step."

Barlow went out, and Oscar laid down his pen and walked to the window. His wagon, fully loaded and ready for the start, had been backed under one of the sheds, and Paddy O'Brian sat at his ease on the dissel-boom, puffing at a short pipe, and blowing the smoke into the eyes and nostrils of the dogs whenever they showed a disposition to become too familiar. Oscar raised the window and called to him.

"Take off your caubeen, if that's what you call it in Irish," said he. "I've got something for you."

Paddy doffed his hat, and his employer tossed a couple of sovereigns into it.

"That isn't to be taken out of your wages, Paddy," Oscar explained. "It is a present from me. You may want to buy something for yourself or your sweetheart before we start. Judge Donahue tells me you have a sweetheart."

"Long life to your honor!" cried the Irishman as soon as he had recovered from his surprise.

"That is to reward you for being faithful to your trust," continued Oscar. "You see you didn't lose anything by refusing to take the bribe Harris offered you this morning."

Paddy began to understand the matter now. He backed away from the window, and, looking through the gateway, saw the man who had tried to bribe him passing along the street.

"There he is overbeyont. Say the worrud, your honor, an' I'll go an' bate him."

"No, no!" said Oscar quickly. "That would never do. The way for you to beat him is to keep a close watch over the wagon. Don't allow a stranger to go near it."

"Bedad, I won't, then," said Paddy.

He went back to the shed, and Oscar closed the window, but stood looking through it, watching the motions of his faithful servitor.

The latter took the money out of his hat, jingled it in his closed hands, and finally put it carefully away in his pocket. Then he jumped up and executed a wild Irish war-dance, at the same time whirling his stick viciously in the air and uttering suppressed whoops.

"The only thing that man needs now to make him supremely happy is a head to crack," thought Oscar as he went back to his writing. "I don't think it would be quite safe for anybody to make another attempt to bribe him."

Having completed and mailed his letters, Oscar went about his unfinished business, feeling perfectly satisfied that the care of his outfit had been committed to trusty hands.

Two or three times during the afternoon and evening he heard from Colonel Dunhaven through Judge Donahue, who told him that the man who knew so much about travelling in Africa that he would not ask advice of anybody was having an exceedingly hard time of it.

His oxen, after breaking the trek-tow faster than the blacksmith could mend it, had at last turned "rusty" and run the wagon into an ant-bear's hole, in which it was so hopelessly "stalled" that it would take an extra span of oxen to draw it out.

"But even if he finds anybody who is accommodating enough to haul him out on hard ground, he will not be any better off than he is now," added the judge. "His whole rigging has been sawed into, and if the town hill does not prove to be an obstacle he cannot get over, the Drackenberg will."

The next morning Oscar dressed himself in one of the moleskin suits he had purchased in England and packed his trunk, which was stowed away in the wagon.

He had ordered his driver to start for Howick at an early hour, and when he went downstairs he found everything in readiness for inspanning as soon as the oxen were brought from the pound.

His interpreter and the two Hottentots had gone after them. Paddy O'Brian occupied his usual seat on the dissel-boom, twirling his stick in one hand and holding fast to a saddled horse with the other. Oscar opened the window and Paddy got upon his feet.

"Good-morning to your honor!" he exclaimed. "An' can I go now, I dunno?"

"Yes, go on," answered Oscar. "But be sure and join the wagon when you hear it go by the house."

Paddy got into the saddle and rode off to pay his last visit to his sweetheart, and to present her with a few trifles he had purchased with the two sovereigns he had earned by his devotion to duty.

Barlow, who was always on the watch, saw him ride out of the gate, and, believing that the wagon was left unguarded, made all haste to send his man Thomas into the stable-yard to operate on the trek-tow with his saw. But Oscar, who was on the watch, detected him in the act, and defeated his plans, as we have already described.

While the boy stood at the window Colonel Dunhaven, utterly disgusted with his short experience of African life, came into the room, and after using some pretty strong language regarding the country and Oscar's business in it, began to talk of selling out and going home.

Our hero had a long conversation with him, and during its progress the colonel was amazed to learn that the humble American youth had brought with him letters from some of the best known men in England.

Then his icy reserve melted, and he was as affable as one could wish; but he did not succeed in working his way into Oscar's good graces. It was too late. The boy, as we have said, had seen quite enough of him.

"When I saw you with those cattle-dealers in Durban I knew that you were going to be cheated," said Oscar as he and the colonel seated themselves. "I tried to make you understand it, but you told me, in effect, that it was none of my business. One of those men behind us tried to force a most inferior outfit on me, and threatened to prosecute me because I declined to be imposed upon. Did you examine your trek-tow to see if anybody had been fooling with it?"

"No," said the colonel in surprise.

"You ought to have done so. I know that you are a victim of treachery."

"I know that, also. Didn't I tell you that my servants had deserted me, and that my cattle and horses had been allowed to stray away?"

"The men from whom you purchased your outfit are responsible for all that. They intend to keep you here if they possibly can."

"And for what purpose, pray?" asked the colonel, still more astonished.

"They want to force you to sell your goods back to them for a good deal less than you gave for them. I know what I am talking about, for I have heard stories of their villainy told by a dozen different gentlemen who are acquainted with their way of doing business."

Just at that moment, as if to corroborate these words, Barlow approached and laid his hand familiarly on the colonel's shoulder.

The surprised Englishman quickly brought his eyeglass to a focus and stared up at him as if he meant to annihilate him by his angry glances.

"Fellow!" he vociferated, promptly shaking off the cattle-dealer's hand.

"No offence, sir," said Barlow, who, having an eye to prospective profits, could not afford to make the colonel angry. "I heard you say something just now about selling out."

"And if I did speak of it what's that to you, I would like to know?" demanded the colonel angrily.

"It is just this much to me," answered Barlow in his free-and-easy way. "If you want to sell out I am the man you are looking for. I want a rig just like yours, and a wagon-load of supplies; and if you are open for a bargain I will make you an offer now, and pay you cash in hand."

"I decline to exchange any more words with you," said the colonel.

"Well, think it over, then, will you, and let me know what you decide to do. Remember, I want the first chance."

The Englishman made no reply. He turned his back to the cattle-dealer, and, taking off his eyeglass, thrust it into his pocket with a rather vicious movement.

"What did I tell you?" said Oscar when Barlow had gone back to his companions at the bar. "That man is probably working for the ones of whom you bought your outfit. They are all in league, and don't mean to let you get over the town hill if they can help it."

"I don't see how you have escaped their persecutions," said the colonel.

"I haven't escaped them altogether. I saw a man in the act of cutting into one of the links of my trek-tow just now, but when I went out to catch him the landlord, or some other friend of his, warned him, and he got safely off. He did the chain no damage, however, for I gave him no time. I bought a good outfit all through—and I'll warrant it didn't cost me as much money as you paid for yours—and after I got it I kept watch over it night and day."

"I don't know what to do," said the colonel, looking down at the floor in a brown study. "My wagon is in a terrible fix, but I don't like to give up."

"I wouldn't give up," said Oscar promptly. "If I were in your place, I should go back to the wagon. It must be watched every minute, and your man Roberts can't stand guard all day and all night too. He must be relieved, so that he can get some sleep. I shall be detained in town until one o'clock, probably, and then I shall go on after my wagon, and spend the rest of the night with it. To-morrow we will put our two teams together and see what they can do. What do you think of the proposition?"

The colonel thought it a good one, and was glad to accept it. Acting upon Oscar's suggestion, he ordered out his horse and rode away.

The boy watched him as long as he remained in sight, frequently saying to himself:

"I knew I would some day have a chance to get even with him, but I didn't think it would come so soon."

CHAPTER XIII. HOW OSCAR GOT EVEN.

"Hurrouch! Look out there! Bedad I'll break the head of yez!"

This was the way in which Oscar Preston was welcomed when he dismounted in front of his wagon, about three o'clock in the morning, and put his foot upon the dissel-boom, preparatory to climbing in and taking possession of the swinging cot that was slung up under the arches which supported the canvas tent.

He had passed a very pleasant evening in the company of the gentlemen he had invited to enjoy his hospitality at Mr. Dibbit's hotel. The dinner was excellent, for the worthy landlord knew how to serve those who had the money to pay for his attentions, and after full justice had been done to it, and he had taken leave of his friends, each of whom gave him some additional advice in regard to the route to be pursued, and the manner in which he ought to conduct himself in certain emergencies, Oscar mounted his horse, which, for want of a better name, he had christened "Little Gray," and rode toward Howick.

About a mile beyond the blacksmith shop he discovered a wagon on the veldt, or open field, which he judged to be Colonel Dunhaven's. It was lying almost on its side, and there were no living things to be seen about it, no oxen or horses, or even a dog to challenge him.

His own camp, which he reached after he had ridden about ten miles further on, presented a more cheerful appearance. The huge wagon was right side up, and there was a fire burning brightly beside it.

His oxen, fastened two and two in their yokes, were lying at their ease, "chewing the cud of contentment"; the horse Paddy O'Brian had ridden away from the hotel in the morning was tied to one of the hind wheels of the wagon, and the dogs were curled up under it.

Awakened by the sound of his horse's feet, they came out in a body and welcomed him vociferously.

Having quieted them, Oscar dismounted, and while he was taking the saddle off Little Gray and tying him beside his mate he heard a rustling in the wagon and a voice muttering:

"Hould aisy there, ye blackgarrud!"

Oscar laughed silently, and told himself that he had not the slightest reason to fear that his property would be interfered with so long as Paddy O'Brian had anything to do with it. He walked around the wagon to warm his hands at the fire (it was cold, and the heavy overcoat he wore was not at all uncomfortable), and saw his native servants sleeping there, covered up, head and ears, with their skin cloaks.

"I am all right so far," thought Oscar as he looked about him with a pleased expression on his face, and thought of the trials that had been so graphically described to him. "Thanks to my good friends, I have escaped every annoyance. I am almost sorry I offered to assist the colonel, for I shall lose much valuable time by it. I know he never would have offered to help me if I had been in trouble. How he would have stared at me through that eyeglass of his if he had seen me hopelessly stalled and my oxen rusty, while his own team was moving smoothly along the hard road! But that's the way I am going to get even with him."

Having thoroughly warmed himself at the fire, Oscar turned toward the wagon; but no sooner had he laid his hand upon the fore-chest than Paddy O'Brian's blackthorn stick whirled through the air and struck the lid with a sounding whack.

Fortunately he missed his aim in the dark, but the unexpected attack startled Oscar, who jumped back with an angry exclamation.

"If I hurted yez I beg yer pardon," said Paddy in a sympathetic tone. "But kape away from that wagon, for I'm the best little man in Afriky."

During his long intercourse with the honest but combative Irishman Oscar could discover but one fault in him, and that was, it took him forever to wake up. Oscar could spring from his cot, rifle in hand, at any hour of the night, and the moment he landed on his feet all his senses came to him, and he knew just what he was about, but Paddy never found his wits until he had done something he ought not to have done.

He gave a ludicrous example of this one night, and came very near sealing his death warrant by it. What it was shall be told in its proper place.

"If you think you are going to get a fight out of me you are mistaken," said Oscar.

Paddy, who was wide awake now, was profuse in his apologies.

"It's all right," said his employer; "but in future don't be quite so free with that stick of yours. Be sure you are striking at the right man."

Oscar slept soundly in his comfortable bed, and at daylight was awakened by his cook, who called him to breakfast. He ate alone, sitting in a camp-chair beside a cheerful fire which Paddy O'Brian had kindled for his especial benefit, and as he sipped his coffee and looked around at his possessions he felt like a young monarch.

This was his first taste of African life. In this way he was to live for long months to come.

Breakfast over, Oscar began to bestir himself and to issue some rapid orders, which were as rapidly obeyed. A saddle was put on Little Gray, the oxen were fastened to the trek-tow and started back toward Colonel Dunhaven's disabled wagon, led by the fore-loper and followed by the driver and interpreter, the latter being armed with a jambok, which is a long, pliable whip made of rhinoceros-hide.

After seeing them well under way Oscar gave his cook some minute instructions regarding the duties that were to occupy his attention during his absence, and then mounted his horse and set out at a gallop.

When he came within sight of the colonel's wagon he did not see anybody about it. Greatly surprised at this, he rode up, and, drawing aside the fly, looked into the tent, fully expecting to find it deserted; but there was the colonel, fast asleep in his swinging cot, and Roberts snoring on the fore-chest.

"You are a pretty pair, I must say," thought the boy, whose first impulse was to go back to his own wagon, leaving the colonel to get out of his predicament as best he could. "I have come ten miles on purpose to help you, only to find you both fast asleep. Look here!" he shouted. "This will never do. You ought to have been at work on this wagon at the first peep of day."

"Aw!" said the colonel, raising himself on his elbow and rubbing his eyes, while Roberts rolled off the fore-chest with alacrity. "Is that you, Mr. Preston?"

"Yes, it is I; and I have caught you both in bed," replied Oscar in no very amiable tones. "If you want any of my help look alive. Where is your jack-screw?"

"Jack-screw?" repeated the colonel languidly, sinking back on his pillow and putting his hands under his head. "Really I don't think we have such an article in the outfit! Have we, Roberts?"

"No, sir," replied the latter promptly.

Oscar could hardly believe his ears. One of the most necessary implements—one that is used in African travel as often as a spade or a pick—had been left behind. The colonel might as well have come away from Maritzburg without his "battery."

"Harris said we didn't need any," added Roberts.

"That wasn't the only falsehood he told you," said Oscar in disgust. "How do you suppose you are going to get that wheel out of there?"

"I don't know, I am sure, unless we pull it out with the oxen," drawled the colonel.

"There are not oxen enough in the country to pull it out, and neither was there a trek-tow ever made that would stand the strain," answered the boy, who was almost ready to boil over when he saw how indifferent the person most interested in the matter of extricating the wagon seemed to be. "Neither have you any oxen—at least I don't see any," he continued, looking all around the field.

"Why, didn't you bring any with you?" asked the colonel, raising himself on his elbow again.

He looked interested now, and there was something in the tone of his voice, and in the expression of his face, that provoked Oscar, who knew then, as well as though the colonel had explained it to him, that his offer of assistance had been taken in a very broad sense.

The colonel expected that Oscar would draw his wagon out on firm ground, and that he himself would have no trouble about it. He expected to pay, and to pay liberally, for the service, but he wanted nothing to do with the work.

While it was being done he would sit by in a camp-chair and smoke his pipe and look on, while Roberts held an umbrella over his head.

But Oscar did not intend to waste any of the committee's time in working for money. He had simply offered to assist the colonel, but he did not expect that all the responsibility would be shifted upon his own shoulders.

"My oxen are coming," replied Oscar, "but it will be an hour or more before they will get here. By that time the dew will be off the grass, and they must be turned loose to graze. Why didn't you bring your oxen up yesterday?"

"My dear fellow, didn't I tell you that my servants have all deserted me?" answered the colonel.

"Then, why didn't you go in search of them yourself?"

"Because I don't choose to do work that others are paid to do for me."

"You'll have to act as your own servant if you get anything done," said Oscar. "Suppose you send Roberts down to the blacksmith shop after a jack-screw."

This proposition fairly staggered Roberts, who looked first at Oscar and then at his own spotless livery.

"What harm is there in it?" demanded the boy sharply. "You'll have to do worse things than that before you get back. You had better put your pride in your pocket while you stay in this country, for if you think you are going to keep those clothes looking as nice as they do now you will be disappointed."

"Why can't you send one of your own men?" asked Roberts.

"Because they are not here, and when they arrive they will have to herd the cattle to keep them from straying away. I didn't agree to boss this job—I only offered to help; and seeing that you are not going to do anything about it, I will bid you good-day."

"Stop! stop!" cried the colonel in an imperious tone. "Set your price, and go to work and get the wagon out the best way you can."

"I can't get it out with one team and only three men to do the work. You ought to have had your oxen and servants here bright and early."

"How in the world was I to get them when I didn't know where they were?"

"You ought to have found out where they were. But I have wasted time enough. Good-day."

Oscar turned his horse's head toward his own camp, and rode rapidly until he had met and sent back the oxen.

After that he allowed his horse to settle down into a walk; and as he rode along he thought over the events of the morning, and wondered how much the outside world would have known about Africa if all Englishmen had been like Colonel Dunhaven.

Oscar had not been able to "get even" with him, after all, but he had shown his good will.

As soon as the oxen reached the wagon they were turned loose to graze. By the time they had eaten their fill it was too hot to travel, and so Oscar took to his wagon and wrote up his diary.

At three o'clock in the afternoon he gave the order to inspan, and shortly after sunset went into camp within sight of the town of Howick.

CHAPTER XIV. LETTERS FROM HOME.

We wish we could say that from this time forward Oscar prosecuted his journey without any mishap, but such was not the case. Accidents of all kinds were of almost daily occurrence, and that was no more than one could expect in a country in which the roads are left to take care of themselves, and are passable only for the strongest of wagons, drawn by teams the most powerful.

Before the foot of the Drackenberg Mountains was reached Oscar had fashioned three new dissel-booms with his own hands, and the trek-tow had been repaired more than once. But there was something of which he no longer stood in fear, and that was treachery. His men were all capable, honest, and willing, and never shirked their share of the work.

Before attempting the ascent of the dreaded Drackenberg Oscar off-loaded and had his wagon thoroughly overhauled by a blacksmith.

He afterward told himself that it was well he did so, for he found the pass to be the worst place he ever got into. His own oxen alone never could have pulled his heavy wagon up that steep incline.

But, as good luck would have it, he came up with a couple of Dutch farmers, who had spent two days in camp at the foot of the mountains, smoking their pipes, and looking first at the pass and then at their wagons, and trying to make up their minds whether or not they could reach the top with two teams to each vehicle.

It was three o'clock in the afternoon when Oscar found them. He immediately out-spanned a little distance away, and, in company with his interpreter, went over to invite the Boers to drink coffee with him; but, to his surprise, the men flatly refused to have anything to do with him.

"What's the matter with them, Thompson?" asked Oscar.

"They say they don't like Englishmen, and won't drink coffee with them," answered the interpreter.

"But I am not an Englishman," said Oscar. "Ask them if they ever heard of America. I don't suppose they ever did," he added to himself.

In this the boy was happily mistaken. The Boers could not understand all he said (it turned out afterward that they were by no means as ignorant of the English language as they pretended to be), but they caught the word "America," and straightway began to exhibit a lively interest in our hero—that is, as lively an interest as men of their temperament could exhibit in anything.

They took their pipes out of their mouths and looked at him, while something that was doubtless intended for a smile overspread their faces.

When the boy walked up and offered them his hand they took it and shook it cordially.

"Now, Thompson, ask them again if they will come over and have some coffee," said Oscar.

The men did not refuse this time. A Boer is very fond of coffee, and although there are few of them who will spend any of their own money for it, they are quite willing to drink it when it is provided at the expense of somebody else.

Oscar's guests emptied their cups almost as fast as Paddy O'Brian could fill them, and poured the hot liquid down their throats in a way that made that worthy individual open his eyes.

"Now, Thompson," said Oscar when the huge coffee-pot had been drained of its last drop, "tell them that if they will help me pull my wagon over the Drackenberg I will help them pull theirs over."

This was a very plain and simple proposition, and it seemed as though anybody ought to have understood it; but it was evident that the Boers did not.

When Big Thompson repeated his employer's words to them in Dutch they arose from their seats, went a little way from the wagon, and held a long and earnest consultation.

Then they came back, and, through the interpreter, asked that the proposal might be repeated. This they did so many times that Oscar began to be provoked, and to wonder at their stupidity.

He afterward learned that this way of doing business was characteristic of the Dutch farmers. They never would accept any offer until they had consulted with some of their friends, and it was impossible to hurry them.

Oscar's guests, although they were anxious to get over the mountains, were fully half an hour in making up their minds whether or not they would accept the proposition that had been made them; but they did accept it at last, and after the bargain had been ratified by another pot of coffee, liberally sweetened, they went back to their camp, and Oscar proceeded at once to inspan. Half an hour afterward his wagon moved off, drawn by thirty-six oxen, and began the toilsome ascent.

It was ten hours' hard work to reach the summit. Strong and willing as most of the oxen were, they could not draw the heavy vehicle more than fifty feet without stopping to take breath, and then it was necessary that the wheels should be blocked with large stones, the brakes not being powerful enough to hold them.

While Oscar was toiling up the pass behind one of the wheels, carrying in his arms a stone weighing between twenty and thirty pounds, one of the Boers, similarly provided, following close behind the other, he often thought of Colonel Dunhaven, and wondered what the man who had been ready to give up in despair because his wagon had been "stalled" on level ground would have thought of such work as this.

There was danger in it, too, as Oscar learned before he had gone a great way, for whenever they reached a particularly bad portion of the road, where the rocks arose on one side and a gulf yawned on the other, the Boer, who had by this time found out that he could talk a little English, was sure to remark that a wagon had gone over there only a short time before.

If Oscar's had gone over it would have taken a good many cattle with it unless the trek-tow broke; but, fortunately, no accident happened.

The skilful drivers—there were two of them besides Oscar's—accomplished the ascent in safety, and at last the summit of the pass was reached.

There a breathing spell was taken and more coffee drank, after which the Boers unhitched their oxen, leaving Oscar to take care of himself.

In two hours more his wagon was standing in the edge of a grassy plain, and Oscar was sleeping soundly in his cot, while Paddy O'Brian nodded over his pipe, and the Hottentots toiled back over the mountain to assist the Boers.

About noon Oscar awoke, feeling perfectly refreshed, and, drawing aside the fly of his tent, took a look at the dreaded Drackenberg by daylight.

It had been a bugbear to him from the start, and he had repeatedly been warned that, unless he were possessed of an unusual amount of pluck and determination, his journey would end when he reached it.

But it had been passed in safety, thanks to the friendly Boers, and it was a relief to him to know that he need not bother his head about it again, for a year at least.

Two days afterward Oscar reached Harrismith, and after outspanning below the town he climbed the hill and made inquiries for Mr. Hutchinson, to whom he had letters of introduction.

That gentleman said he was glad to see him, gave him a large package of letters and papers which Mr. Donahue had forwarded by post-cart, and invited him to dinner.

Oscar looked first at his letters and then at his clothes—which were beginning to show signs of wear—and wondered how he could decline the invitation.

"Never mind your clothes," said Mr. Hutchinson—a jolly old gentleman who reminded Oscar of his friend Captain Sterling. "We don't expect hunters to look as though they had just come out of some lady's bandbox."

"I am greatly obliged to you, sir," replied Oscar; "but when I tell you that these are the first letters I have received from home since leaving Maritzburg I know you will not press the matter."

"Oh, oh—of course! Then say to-morrow—to-morrow evening at six, sharp."

Oscar accepted this invitation, and, picking up his package, hurried down the hill.

"Dinner at six," thought he as he quickened his pace almost to a run. "These English cling to their old-time customs wherever they go. I wouldn't delay the reading of these letters for the sake of all the dinners that were ever served up."

The wagon seemed to be a long way off; but Oscar reached it at last, and throwing himself upon his cot, tore open the package, and began sorting out its contents.

He found there several letters from his mother; others from Sam Hynes, Leon Parker, Captain Sterling, and Mr. Donahue.

The letters were long and full of news, and Oscar became so deeply interested in reading them that he did not know that Paddy O'Brian had twice called him to dinner.

"I don't want anything to eat," said he when Paddy had at last succeeded in attracting his attention by thumping the fore-chest with his stick. "I have something better on hand."

Oscar had not gone very far into his third letter before he felt as homesick as Leon Parker did when he found himself, friendless and alone, in the fort at Julesburg. A lump rose up in his throat, a mist gathered before his eyes, and, throwing down the letter, he sprang off his cot and rushed out of the wagon. It seemed to him that he would suffocate if he stayed in there a moment longer.

"Paddy," he exclaimed, "put the saddle on Little Gray!"

"And don't ye want any dinner at all at all?" asked the cook.

"No, I don't. Hurry up!"

Paddy made all haste to obey, and then stood and looked wonderingly after his employer, who, as soon as he was fairly seated on Little Gray's back, set off over the plain as if all the lions in Africa were close at his heels.

CHAPTER XV. A GOOD SHOT AND A SURPRISE.

"I wish that wagon and its contents were at the bottom of the sea, and that I were safe in Eaton again," said Oscar to himself as he flew over the plain. "If I had gone through with my expedition and was on my way to the coast it would be bad enough; but as it is I don't wonder that Leon Parker had to take his bed. The doctors say that people have died of homesickness before now, and I believe it."

For a few minutes Oscar was certainly in a very bad way; but the fresh air and Little Gray's easy, rapid motion seemed to have a soothing effect on him, and after he had ridden a mile or more at a headlong gallop he turned about and went back to the wagon.

He knew that he must do something to keep up his spirits, and for want of something better he seated himself on the dissel-boom and talked to Paddy O'Brian.

It was the best thing he could have done. Paddy was as witty as any of his race, and after Oscar had enjoyed a few hearty laughs he climbed into the wagon and finished the reading of his letters. Then he set to work to answer them.

He was busy until long after midnight, writing by the light of a lantern that stood on the fore-chest, and he did not complete his task until three o'clock the next afternoon.

Then he took out of his trunk one of the extra suits of moleskin which he had not yet worn, and after making his toilet with a great deal of care, picked up his letters and climbed the hill to Harrismith to keep his appointment with Mr. Hutchinson.

That gentleman, who was acquainted with almost everybody in the country, gave him a letter to a friend who lived about a hundred and fifty miles distant, and before the dew was off the grass the next morning Oscar had left Harrismith a long way behind him.

Up to this time the young hunter had secured but a very few specimens, and they were mostly birds.

He had not taken a rifle out of its holster but once, and that was to shoot a baboon he saw frisking about in a rocky ravine through which the wagon passed, and whose skin was now stowed away in one of his chests.

He was getting into a game country, and almost every day he saw small herds of spring-bucks and wilde-beests feeding in plain view.

The temptation to stop and try a shot at them was strong, but he resisted it, for the reason that he thought it would be a waste of time.

He did not know how to hunt African game, and his object was to reach the home of Mr. Lawrence, a gentleman to whom he had been given letters of introduction, and whom he hoped to induce to act as his instructor.

Mr. Lawrence was a prosperous farmer as well as an enthusiastic sportsman. He had been in Africa long enough to know how to bag all the different kinds of game with which the country abounded, and he was engaged in his favorite recreation, riding to the hounds, when Oscar met him. It came about in this way:

When on the march the young hunter always rode quite half a mile in advance of the wagon, and one morning he had the good fortune to come within easy shooting distance of the largest herd of spring-bucks he had ever seen.

The little animals crossed the track not more than a hundred yards in advance of him, and Oscar had a fair view of them. They ran at the top of their speed, bounding along like so many rubber balls, and clearing from twelve to fifteen feet at a jump without the least apparent effort.

When they reached the wagon-track they sailed over it as easily as if they had been furnished with wings, and then trotted along with their noses close to the ground, as if they felt in a very sportive mood.

Being unarmed, Oscar could do nothing but sit in his saddle and look at them, reproaching himself the while for not bringing a rifle with him.

If he had had one of his double-barrels in his hands he could have secured a couple of specimens and some fresh steaks for dinner without the least difficulty.

When the afternoon march began he rode out with an Express rifle on his shoulder, but he waited in vain for another herd of spring-bucks to cross the track. There were plenty of them in sight, but they took care to keep out of range.

The dogs, as usual, went off hunting on their own hook, but instead of driving the game in his direction they drove it farther away, and finally disappeared among the hills.

"Such a chance as I had this morning doesn't happen more than once in a fellow's lifetime," thought Oscar regretfully. "However, I have learned something by it. I know now how to set up a spring-buck if I ever get one, and have been convinced that in this country a hunter had better keep a rifle by him all the time."

Oscar went off into a revery, which lasted nearly an hour, and from which he was finally aroused by the baying of a hound. He did not pay much attention to it at first, but when he found that there was more than one hound giving tongue, and that their music was growing louder every moment, he straightened up and began to look about him.

All at once a large, dark-brown animal appeared over the brow of a hill about a quarter of a mile to his right, and came toward him with the speed of the wind.

In an instant Oscar dropped to the ground, and looking over his horse's back, watched the movements of the game. He had scarcely taken up his position before a number of dogs came into view. They did not run in a compact body, as hounds usually do, but were spread out in a sort of skirmish order so as to cover each flank of their quarry. Oscar was quick to notice this, and he could not help congratulating himself on the intelligence displayed by his pack of mongrels.

"I had no idea they had so much sense," said he to himself. "The game, whatever it is, can't turn either way without running the risk of being caught. Its only chance is to keep straight ahead and outrun the dogs; but whether or not it can do that is a question. I never saw them move so swiftly before."

Oscar drew his head further down behind the saddle as he cocked both barrels of his rifle and waited with a beating heart for a chance to shoot.

Just then the game, discovering an enemy in front, swerved from its course, presenting a full broadside, and giving the excited young hunter the first fair view of a wilde-beest (the gnu of the naturalist) he had ever had.

This movement sealed its fate. As quick as thought Oscar sprang around the head of his horse, which stood motionless in his tracks, raised his rifle to his shoulder, and holding far enough in advance of the gnu to make allowance for distance and motion, pressed the trigger.

The first shot was a clean miss, but the second bullet told loudly, and when the smoke cleared away Oscar had the satisfaction of seeing the gnu lying on the ground all in a heap.

"There's something for Yarmouth!" he shouted. "That was the best shot I ever made."

Oscar at once ran forward to secure his prize and to prevent the dogs when they came up from spoiling its skin. He was greatly delighted, as well he might be, for he had secured a splendid specimen.

He straightened it out and looked at it, lost in admiration. It was a little more than four feet in height at the shoulders, and its mane and tail looked so much like those of a horse that, had it not been for its horns and hoofs, it might have been taken for rather a long-legged Shetland pony.

"It is a beautiful specimen," said Oscar aloud as he walked slowly around the animal, so that he could view it from all sides.

"It certainly is, but I should like to know what business you have shooting my game?" said a voice near him.

Oscar looked up in the greatest surprise and saw a horseman standing within twenty feet of him. Where he came from so suddenly was a mystery.

"That's my wilde-beest," continued the stranger. "I have been following him for more than an hour. Turn him over and you will see the mark of my bullet in his flank."

Oscar acted like a boy who had just been awakened out of a sound sleep. He rubbed his eyes to make sure that he was not dreaming, and then he saw that the dogs which had gathered about him, and whose speed and style of hunting he had so much admired, were not his own.

They were magnificent Scotch deer-hounds, and looked about as much like the members of his own pack as Oscar looked like the grinning little Hottentot who sat on his horse a short distance behind the man whose sudden and unexpected appearance had so startled and surprised him.

CHAPTER XVI. A TASTE OF CIVILIZED LIFE.

"How came you here?" asked Oscar as soon as he could speak.

He straightened up and took a good look at the hunter, and this is what he saw: A thick-set, broad-shouldered man, a gentleman on the face of him, dressed in a suit of white duck, cut in regular Boer style. His short jacket was open in front, showing the broad belt he wore about his waist and in which he carried his ammunition—at least Oscar thought so, for he saw a large powder-horn sticking out of one of his pockets. He wore a wide-brimmed hat on his head, and as much of his face as could be seen over his whiskers was as brown as sole-leather.

He carried a heavy double-barrelled rifle across the horn of his saddle, and rode a magnificent horse, whose glossy breast was flecked with foam, showing that he had been ridden long and rapidly.

Close behind the stranger, on another horse that looked equally as good, sat his Hottentot after-rider, who also carried a heavy rifle in his hands.

The hunter's face wore a good-natured smile, and there was a merry twinkle in his eye. He evidently enjoyed Oscar's surprise.

"Who are you?" continued the boy.

"Seeing that you have had the impudence to bag my game, I think that is a proper question for me to ask," was the reply.

"I beg your pardon, sir," said Oscar, who had by this time fully recovered himself. "I supposed this gnu had been started by my own dogs. I didn't know that there was another white person within two days' journey of this place."

"Gnu!" repeated the stranger. "I haven't heard that word before in years. You are not English?"

"No, sir. I am an American."

"Ah, indeed!" exclaimed the hunter, now astonished in his turn. "And what in the world are you doing out here, so far from home, may I ask?"

"I came here to procure specimens of natural history for a university museum," answered Oscar.

He expected that the hunter would be surprised, and he certainly was. Everybody was surprised when the boy told what his business was. Probably no one of his years had ever been engaged in such an undertaking before.

"You did!" exclaimed the horseman.

"Yes, sir, I did," replied Oscar, who thought his new acquaintance looked a little incredulous. "And I have the papers to prove it."

"Where are your companions?"

"They are with the wagon. If you will ride on with me until I outspan I shall be glad to have you drink coffee with me. Of course this is your game, you having had the first shot at it, but, if you will permit me, I will put it into my wagon and save you the trouble of carrying it."

The horseman made no reply. The wagon came up just then, and while Paddy O'Brian and the Kaffir were putting the wilde-beest into it the strange hunter looked all around, as if he were searching for something or somebody he could not find. When the wagon moved on again Oscar mounted his horse and rode on ahead, in company with his new acquaintance.

"Where did you say your companions were?" the latter asked at length.

"These are all I have," answered Oscar—"a driver, fore-loper, interpreter, and cook."

The stranger was greatly amazed.

"Do you mean to tell me that you are the owner of this wagon and the leader of this expedition?" said he.

"I do, sir."

"And you, a mere lad, who has hardly got out of pinafores, have come out here all by yourself to—— It beats everything I ever heard of!"

"I have got on very well so far, sir, although I have taken but very few specimens. You see, I don't know how to hunt the game one finds here, but I do know right where I can go to get instructions. Do you know a gentleman living somewhere in this country of the name of Lawrence?"

"I have a slight acquaintance with him."

Oscar looked at the stranger. There was something in the tone of his voice and in the expression of his face which told him that he was at that moment in the company of the man he wanted to see.

Hastily excusing himself, he rode back to the wagon, climbed into it, and took from one of the pockets a package of letters, with which he galloped back to his companion's side.

"Mr. Lawrence," said he, "my name is Oscar Preston, and there are letters of introduction to you which some of your friends were kind enough to give me."

The gentleman took the letters and read them as he rode along. When he had made himself master of their contents he turned in his saddle and shook the young hunter's hand.

"I am glad to see you, and I give you a hearty welcome," said he.

Then he issued some hasty orders in Dutch to his after-rider, who wheeled his horse and hastened back to the wagon.

"My house is only ten miles away," continued Mr. Lawrence, "and I have sent word to your driver not to outspan until he gets there. I confess that I am very greatly surprised at your—your—I was going to say foolhardiness; but no one can be called foolhardy who goes coolly and deliberately about a thing after he has counted well the cost, so I will say your courage and perseverance. I supposed, of course, that you had some person of years and experience with you to superintend matters. Young man, you have already done wonders, and if you keep on as you have begun there is no telling what you may not accomplish before you pass along this track again on your way to the coast. There is plenty of game about here belonging to the order Ruminantia. I suppose you know what I mean by that?"

"Certainly, sir. You mean animals that chew the cud."

"Exactly. You can see for yourself that there are plenty of them, and you must stay with me as my guest until you learn how to hunt them. It will give me great pleasure to assist you in any way I can. You will find that I am something of a naturalist as well as a hunter. Of the Carnivora——"

"They are the flesh-eaters," said Oscar when his companion paused and looked at him.

"Well, we don't have many of them here, and you will have to take your chances with them when you find them, for it is little that I can tell you about them."

Oscar was soon on the best of terms with his new friend, who chatted away as familiarly as though he had known the boy all his life.

In about three hours they reached Mr. Lawrence's house; and if we were to say that Oscar was surprised at the sight of it we should but feebly express his feelings.

Here, in the midst of a wilderness more than fifty miles from any neighbor, the English gentleman had created a perfect little paradise.

The road led through an extensive orchard of orange, apple, plum, peach, and walnut trees, and after that came a vineyard that was fairly purple with grapes.

At the lower end of the lawn, which must have contained a hundred acres, was a large pond sheltered by weeping-willows and covered with ducks and geese.

The house was in perfect keeping with its surroundings. It was a large, roomy structure, well built, and furnished in a style which made Oscar wonder.

The first room into which he was conducted was the library—think of a library in the heart of Africa!—and there he remained until Mr. Lawrence brought in his wife and children, who greeted the visitor in the most cordial manner.

This was the first taste of civilized life that Oscar had had along the route outside of the towns he passed, and he thoroughly enjoyed it.

It seemed like old times to find himself seated at a farmer's table once more, and to have educated and refined people to talk to. But when he went to bed his trouble began. His couch was too soft and he could not sleep.

After rolling and tossing for half the night he spread one of the quilts on the floor, and in five minutes more was in dreamland.

Oscar spent a month under Mr. Lawrence's hospitable roof, and during that time he received all the instructions he needed. What they were it is not necessary to tell here, for we shall learn something about them when we find him alone on the plain, dependent on his own resources and surrounded by wild beasts which disturbed his camp every night, and often did something worse.

He made some improvements in his new friend's stuffed specimens, gave him lessons in taxidermy, and Mr. Lawrence, in return, presented him with two of his fine Scotch deer-hounds.

One of these went back to Eaton with him and took the place of Bugle, who died of old age during his master's absence, and the other—well, Oscar did not keep him a great while, and we shall soon tell how he lost him.

One bright morning Oscar, with many regrets, took leave of his kind host and his family and resumed his journey. The oxen, invigorated by their long rest, walked off in the most lively manner with the heavy wagon, which had been thoroughly overhauled by Mr. Lawrence's blacksmith.

He was bound for new hunting-grounds, far beyond Leichtberg, at which place Paddy O'Brian was to take leave of him.

CHAPTER XVII. A MIDNIGHT ALARM.

"What in the world is the matter with those horses?"

Oscar had just finished writing up his diary, and was getting ready to tumble into his cot. The camp, which had been made in the edge of a little grove a quarter of a mile from the nearest water-hole, had been put in order for the night.

The trek-tow was stretched from one of the hind wheels of the wagon to a tree that stood twenty yards away, and to this the oxen were tied. The horses were fastened to the rear of the vehicle, and under it were all the dogs and three goats which Oscar had purchased of Mr. Lawrence.

Paddy O'Brian was sitting on the dissel-boom smoking his pipe. A little distance away a fire was burning brightly, and around it were seated the Kaffir interpreter and the two Hottentots, who had erected a high fence of thorn bushes to protect them from the attack of any hungry beast which might be disposed to make a meal of one of their number.

It was the first time they had taken this precaution, and when Oscar saw them building the fence he told himself that at last he had got into a country in which dangerous animals abounded.

The reader will bear in mind that when our hero hunted in Africa game was by no means as plenty as it was in Gordon Cumming's day.

The settlers, who increased in numbers every year, made savage war upon the antelope to supply their tables, and upon the beasts of prey to protect their flocks and herds, and now it was a rare thing to find any very dangerous animal between Zurnst and the coast. Consequently Oscar had thus far been allowed to pass his nights in peace.

The building of that fence of thorn bushes, however, was as good evidence as he needed to show him that he might begin to expect trouble now, and, in fact, it came that very night.

While he was writing in his diary, by the dim light of a lantern, using the fore-chest for a desk, Little Gray and his mate suddenly began pulling at their halters, and snorting as if they were greatly alarmed about something, whereupon the men about the fire brought their conversation to a close, and the Kaffir arose and peered into the darkness.

"Now, then, what's the matter with the cattle?" exclaimed Oscar, who knew by the sudden jar communicated to the wagon that the oxen had also become alarmed, and were pulling at the trek-tow. "If there is any varmint about why don't the dogs say so? Go out there and speak to the horses, Paddy, and I will look around a bit."

After putting his writing materials away in one of the pockets that hung against the arches by which the tent was supported Oscar picked up a rifle, and made the circuit of the camp, much to the surprise and dismay of his native servants, one of whom called out in his broken English:

"Hi, baas! you'd best have a care. Something might spring out at you."

It was rather a dangerous proceeding to stroll around in the darkness, so far away from the protecting glare of the camp-fire, and the thought that possibly there might be some beast of prey loitering about, waiting for his supper, made the boy's heart beat a little faster than usual; but his hand was as steady as a rock.

He had unbounded confidence in himself. He knew that he seldom missed his aim, and he calculated to make a specimen of the first animal that showed himself.

He walked around the camp without seeing anything (there was something there that saw him, however, and made all haste to get out of his way), and as the horses and oxen had by this time become quiet he climbed into the wagon and went to sleep.

About midnight a terrible hubbub arose. The first thing that Oscar heard was the bleating of one of the goats that were tied under the wagon.

Then the dogs barked vociferously, the horses snorted and tried hard to escape from their fastenings, the oxen bellowed and pulled at the trek-tow, and the native servants shouted in chorus, and ran toward the wagon, waving aloft the blazing brands they had snatched from the fire.

Oscar, always cool and collected, sprang out of his cot and caught up a rifle, while Paddy O'Brian—who had doubtless been dreaming of Donnybrook Fair—rolled off the fore-chest, with his ready stick in his hand. It is probable that he had heard of the instructions given by one of his countrymen to a novice during a riot, "Whenever you see a head hit it," for he carried it out to the very letter.

"Hurrouch!" yelled Paddy, striking up a war-dance, and twirling his stick in his hand. "Sorra one of me knows what the foight is about, but take that, ye spalpeen!"

As he uttered these words he brought his stick down in the most approved fashion, and it landed on the head of Big Thompson (who just then came rushing up with a firebrand in one hand and an assegai in the other), flooring him in an instant.

Had it been a white man's head the consequences might have been serious; but the Kaffir's thick skull was his protection. He was on his feet again in a twinkling, and the honest Irishman was never before so near death as he was when the native drew back his spear in readiness for a throw.

"Hould aisy, ye blackguard!" cried Paddy, who was now wide awake.

At that instant Oscar Preston sprang between him and the enraged Kaffir, and the native, cowed by his employer's bold front, and not liking the looks of the rifle he held in his hands, all ready for a shot, lowered his spear and walked back to the fire.

The next thing was to ascertain the cause of the disturbance. One of the goats was missing; that fact was established at once, for the piteous bleatings of the poor animal could be heard growing fainter and fainter as the daring robber hurried away.

All attempt at rescue would have been unavailing, and, to tell the truth, Oscar did not think of making any.

The night was pitch dark, and the actions of the dogs, which followed close upon the heels of the robber and barked at him, but dared not lay hold of him, made the boy believe that the animal was one that had better be left alone.

What species he belonged to Oscar, of course, could not tell, but everything proved that he had been very sly about his work.

He had taken his prey from under the very noses of the sleeping dogs, and neither they nor the horses or oxen knew that there was anything wrong until they were alarmed by the bleating of the goat.

"He must have been a powerful as well as a cunning beast," thought Oscar as he examined the broken rope, which was almost as large as a clothes line. "That goat must have weighed sixty or seventy pounds. When Mr. Lawrence gave me those hounds he assured me that they would attack anything from a porcupine to a leopard; but they didn't dare take hold of this fellow. Where was he, I wonder, while I was walking about the camp? Whew! I don't want anything to do with such a varmint in the dark."

The dogs came in one after another; and when quiet had been restored Oscar went to bed again.

It was a long time before Big Thompson forgave the Irishman for knocking him down. He looked savagely at Paddy whenever the latter came near him, and muttered something between his clenched teeth, and it took a good share of Paddy's tobacco to restore the Kaffir to his usual good nature.

After this nothing worthy of interest happened until the wagon reached Leichtberg, where Paddy O'Brian was to leave Oscar's employ.

Oscar had letters of introduction to Mr. Evans, an English gentleman living in Leichtberg, and, as usual, he was cordially received.

During the progress of one of his conversations with Mr. Evans, who, like all the rest of those whose acquaintance he had made since leaving his native land, was an ardent and experienced sportsman, Oscar spoke of the loss of his goat, and asked what sort of an animal it was that carried it off.

"It was a hyena—a spotted hyena—the pest of this country," replied his host. "It was well for your dogs that they did not take hold of him, for he would have made mince-meat of the whole pack before they could have yelped twice. In point of cunning and rapacity, the spotted hyena surpasses every beast of prey in Africa. I except nothing. An animal that can take a child out of its mother's arms when both are asleep, and get away with it without alarming anybody, would not have much difficulty in stealing a goat from under a wagon, would he?"

Oscar could only look the surprise that these words occasioned.

"What I am about to tell you I know to be a fact, although you will scarcely credit it," continued Mr. Evans. "When I first came to this country wolves, as we call them here, were in the habit of paying regular nightly visits to the streets of Cape Town, and it was not so very long ago that their howling (the cries they utter sound more like laughing than howling, and for that reason they are sometimes called laughing hyenas) was heard from Table Mountain.

"In the Kaffir country they are so numerous and daring that they make a business of entering the villages of the natives and carrying off young children. When a native builds a house, which is in form something like an old-fashioned straw bee-hive, the floor is raised two or three feet from the ground, and covers only part of the house—the back part. In the space between this raised floor and the door, which is nothing but a piece of antelope hide, the calves are tied every night, for protection from the storms and from wild beasts. Now you would suppose that when a wolf got into one of these houses he would grab the first thing he came to, but he won't do it. He'll not look at lambs or calves if he has once tasted human flesh. He will pass them without alarming them, get upon the raised floor, and take a child from under its mother's kaross, and he will do it in so gentle and cautious a manner that no one is awakened. What do you think of that?"

Oscar did not know what to think of it. It beat anything he had ever heard of.

CHAPTER XVIII. OSCAR REACHES HIS HUNTING-GROUNDS.