The Gold Kloof

"Karl Engelbrecht has been here," he said suddenly.

"Karl Engelbrecht!" repeated Mr. Blakeney. "Surely you are mistaken, Poeskop?"

"No, baas," reiterated the Bushman; "there is no mistake. Karl has been here. I know his spoor too well. He and another white man, the man from Mossamedes, Antonio Minho, have been here."

Mr. Blakeney knew by experience the extraordinary powers of South African natives, and especially those of Bushman blood, in reading spoor. But he was staggered.

"How can you know it is the spoor of Antonio Minho?" he asked.

"Baas," replied Poeskop, "I have followed Minho many a time in the soft, sandy streets of Mossamedes. There is no mistaking his spoor. Once I have seen a man's footprints, or an ox's, or a horse's, I can tell it anywhere. To you it may seem difficult; to a Bushman, no!"

"Well," rejoined Mr. Blakeney, "anything else?"

"Ja, baas," pursued the Bushman. "There are, as you see, two others. They are natives-Karl Engelbrecht's servants."

"This is bad news, Tom," said Mr. Blakeney, with a troubled brow. "Wherever Karl Engelbrecht is there is mischief. Minho is a scoundrel, and we know that he had some inkling of what we were after. The Boer has a grudge against us, which he would like to pay off. I don't half like the look of things." Then, turning to Poeskop, he went on: "Well, what else?"

"You see, my baases," replied Poeskop, "there has been a bit of a scuffle here. These men have caught Baas Guy, tied him up, I think, and put him on his horse, and gone off with him. Now let us follow their spoor."

They followed the tracks up the valley for half a mile, and then came on plain evidences of the Boer camp.

"Here's a pretty how-d'ye-do!" said Mr. Blakeney seriously. "What on earth are these villains doing in this part of the world, Poeskop? We must follow them up."

The Bushman took up the spoor, and they followed the Boer wagon tracks without any difficulty. By afternoon they had cleared the forest region, and were now halted in a small grove of giraffe-acacia trees by a pan of water, about twelve miles distant from the mountain range in which Engelbrecht and his party had ensconced themselves.

"Baas," said Poeskop, "you and Baas Tom must wait here. Karl Engelbrecht has trekked for the berg yonder. He cannot be far in; his oxen could not have travelled much beyond the poort [pass] which you see there" – he pointed to a dark ravine giving entrance to the hills-"in the time. So soon as evening comes, I will ride on, tie up my horse near the poort yonder, and creep about till I find what has been done, and where Baas Guy is. What say you? Is not that the best plan?"

"Yes, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney, "I think that is the best thing that can be done. You will have an hour or two's good moon to-night; and if you can't creep about and find out things, I don't know who can."

Poeskop grinned at the compliment.

"Baas, I will find out all right," he said eagerly. "I like Baas Guy-he is my baas; and I will, somehow or other, bring him away with me if I can. At all events, I will reach him. We Bushmen, you know, can creep like the snake on his stomach. I shall becreep Baas Guy to-night. You will see. Poeskop knows. You stay here. I will come back by morning. If I can bring Baas Guy, well and good. If not, we try some other plan."

"Very well," said Mr. Blakeney, "we will wait here. Do the best you can, but don't run Baas Guy into danger. Get him away if you think you have a fair chance. Now, how many cartridges have you, if these fellows come out and we have to use our rifles?"

"I have seventeen," interrupted Tom, hastily running his fingers over his bandolier.

"And I have fourteen myself," added his father.

Poeskop fingered his greasy old bandolier.

"Nine, baas!" he said, grinning.

"Why, you're as niggardly as a Boer with your cartridges," said Mr. Blakeney, with a laugh. "I've often told you that you don't carry enough for emergencies. Here, when we're in a tight place and may want every bullet we've got, you're short."

"The baas is right," said Poeskop apologetically. "I'll never come so short again. Never mind. Perhaps I may find some more in Karl Engelbrecht's camp; who knows?"

"Well, don't play the fool and do anything rash," added his master. "What we want to do is to rescue Baas Guy, and get away. At our own camp we have plenty of rifles and cartridges, and, with our other men, can give a good account of Karl Engelbrecht and all his blackguards."

Guy, meanwhile, had passed the day by no means comfortably. He had been duly fed, it is true, his hands being untied for the purpose; but while they trekked he had been fastened up again, and placed on Engelbrecht's kartel in the forepart of the Boer wagon. There he lay throughout the long, hot day, wondering what his people were doing after discovering his absence, and what was to be the upshot of his captivity. At evening, after they had passed into the kloof and the entrance had been barricaded, he was taken down from the wagon and placed by the camp fire, where, his hands being again unbound, he was supplied with meat, bread, and coffee. Having made a respectable meal, Guy felt somewhat more cheerful; and the liberty of his hands being allowed him for half an hour further, he was enabled to stretch himself, chafe his benumbed wrists, and restore the circulation.

He noticed various circumstances as he looked about him. Karl Engelbrecht and Minho kept themselves pretty much to themselves, sitting at their own fire, and engaging in a good deal of earnest conversation. Once the big Boer got up and stretched himself, and came over to the fire at which Guy sat. Here were gathered the five natives comprising Engelbrecht's retinue-a villainous-looking Griqua, who had special charge of Guy, two Hottentots, and a couple of Bihé natives. The Boer looked fixedly at the English lad, but said not a word to him. He addressed a few sentences to his servants; told Thebus, the Griqua, to fasten up his captive's hands again, and look sharply after him during the night; and stalked back to his own fire.

Half an hour later he and Minho retired to their kartels, and were soon sound asleep. The natives sat talking round the fire for another quarter of an hour; and then, tired with their hard day's trek, and the labour of barricading the poort, they made their way to Engelbrecht's wagon, beneath which, having ensconced themselves under their blankets, they were not long in following their master's example. There remained by their camp fire, which lay farthest away from the wagon, only Guy and the Griqua. The latter threw a blanket carelessly over his captive, and then settling himself comfortably under his kaross, a few feet away, went to sleep. Thebus was a light sleeper, he had by his side a loaded rifle, and he knew that the English lad was securely fastened.

Guy awoke very quietly some hours later. The moon had sunk; the Southern Cross, which he had last seen glittering bolt upright in the dark, star-sown night sky, now lay well over on its side. What had roused him? He knew that something had touched him; what exactly, his senses could not inform him. Then he felt a quiet, almost caressing touch upon his shoulder, and a voice whispered very softly in his ear, in Dutch, "Lie still, baas; it is Poeskop!" Guy did as he was told, and, immediately, he felt hands busy at the rawhide riem that bound his ankles. Then he became aware that a knife was at work; then his legs were free. A dark figure wormed itself up, towards his hands, and with the same silence and expedition his wrists were set free.

"Now," whispered the voice in his ear again, "creep away to the other side of the fire. Go very gently."

"But Thebus?" whispered Guy.

"Thebus all right; he'll not move again," returned Poeskop. "Come!"

Guy shuddered. He guessed what had happened, but did as he was told, and began to roll himself very gently over the sand towards the other side of the fire. Suddenly a dog barked in its sleep. The three figures-they appeared to be but two, for Poeskop lay crouched close alongside the Griqua-lay motionless as stones. Then all was silent again.

"Now," whispered Poeskop, after a pause of three minutes. They crept away, and after what seemed to Guy to be ages-so great was the strain-had reached the farther side of the fire. Guy looked across. Thebus lay as if sleeping, and Poeskop had so arranged Guy's blanket that it seemed as if he, Guy, were still beneath it. They crept yet farther, and were beyond the light of the now fading fire. It was a warm night, and Guy, what with the labour of crawling and the intense nervous excitement, dripped with perspiration. Still farther they crept into the darkness, and then Poeskop, taking Guy by the hand, led him very softly round the camp towards the mouth of the kloof. They reached the inner end of the poort, now blocked with huge boulders, and began to climb as softly as they could. The Bushman pulled himself over the obstacles with the lightness and the noiselessness of a cat. Guy did his utmost to follow his example, but he was much heavier; and presently a boulder, becoming dislodged under his weight, fell with some little noise. Instantly there rose from the stillness of the camp, sixty yards away, the furious barking of wagon dogs. Men stirred about the wagons.

"Quick!" cried Poeskop, in a hoarse whisper. "We must run!"

They were quickly over the litter of rocks, and running down the gorge as fast as the semi-darkness would permit. The camp was astir; voices were heard calling to one another; they could even make out Karl Engelbrecht's deep tones shouting commands.

"Run, Baas Guy!" urged Poeskop, turning to his follower. "If Karl catches us we are dead men."

They ran yet faster. They had a good start, and in fifteen minutes had reached the mouth of the gorge. Here, in a snug corner among some bush, Poeskop had fastened up his horse. It was a risk. If a lion or a leopard had come that way, the Bushman's plans might have been easily overthrown. But the good nag was safe. Unfastening it in an instant, Poeskop led it out into the open.

"Now, Baas Guy," he said, "jump up. I hear them following us. We have no time to waste."

Guy needed no persuasion. He, too, had heard the voices of their pursuers; they could now even discern the beat of their footsteps. He sprang up. Poeskop leaped lightly behind him.

"Ride for the light yonder," he whispered, pointing to a brilliant star right in front of them, low down towards the horizon. A kick from Poeskop's bare heels, and away they went, the pony cantering along sturdily in the semi-darkness, despite the burden of a double load.

"We shall be all right now," said Poeskop. "It will take them half an hour or more to pull down those boulders and make a passage for a horse; but we must push on. Karl Engelbrecht and the Portuguee will certainly ride after us, perhaps also some of their men. They will have blood for the Griqua-if they can. And here comes daylight; we have no time to spare."

Guy looked towards the east, which lay nearly in front of them. It was true. Already the sky was paling. Dawn would be upon them in less than half an hour.

"Poeskop," he said, without turning in the saddle, "did you kill the Griqua?"

"Ja, baas, I did," replied the Bushman. "It was his life or mine. As I crept past him he stirred. I had my hand on his mouth. He struggled, and there was nothing for it but the knife."

"I'm sorry, very sorry," said Guy seriously. "You ought not to have done it. I hate the idea of killing a man like that. I wish now you hadn't come after me!"

"Well, baas, it was, as I say, my life or his. If Engelbrecht had caught me in his camp trying to rescue you, I was a dead man. And you yourself-if it suited his plans best, he would have put a bullet through you as soon as looked at you. Besides, Thebus was my enemy. Many a time he has sjamboked me, and drawn blood, when I was in Karl Engelbrecht's service. He treated me as badly as Karl himself did. I always said I would be even with him, and now I am. Pas op!" he cried, as the horse stumbled in a meerkat hole.

The poor beast floundered, tried to save itself, but came down on its head, bringing both riders to the ground. They were up in an instant, and, getting the pony to its feet again, remounted.

But, alas! it quickly became apparent that the pony had in some way injured its shoulder in the fall. It went very lame; and the lameness, as they rode on, increased instead of wearing off. Daylight was now rapidly overtaking them. The eastern sky was becoming suffused with wondrous hues of gold and crimson and pale green; long shafts of rosy pink were scattered upwards towards the zenith.

Poeskop turned and looked behind him.

"Baas," he said, "this is a bad job. They will all be coming after us soon on their horses, and then, with this lame pony, we are done for, unless we can lie up somewhere and defend ourselves. I don't like it."

"How far away are we from Mr. Blakeney and Baas Tom?" asked Guy.

"About an hour and a half's ordinary riding," replied the Bushman; "less than an hour if we could gallop hard. We must get off, and run alongside."

They slipped off the pony. Poeskop, who had his own carbine slung at his back, handed Guy a rifle and bandolier.

"Why, these are mine!" exclaimed Guy. "How did you get them?"

"I found them by the Griqua," responded the Bushman, "and so brought them away with me. Now, baas, hartloup!"

Guy took hold of the pony by the bridle, and they trotted along on either side at a good pace. For a little while the pony, relieved of its burden, seemed to move more freely. The improvement was but a fleeting one, however; the lameness grew worse. It became evident to the two runners that their pace was rapidly decreasing.

"This will never do," said Guy, looking with dismay at Poeskop. "What's to be done?"

"The pony is dead beat, baas," rejoined the Bushman. "We must just leave him to take his chance, and push on. I'll take the water-bottle, and we must run."

So speaking, and taking the water-bottle, they pressed on. They had now come some three miles from the mouth of the kloof where Poeskop had first left the pony. Another nine or ten miles lay between them and the woodland where Mr. Blakeney and Tom lay waiting the result of Poeskop's expedition of discovery. Guy was a first-rate runner, and had the pace of the Bushman. Poeskop, on the other hand, could go at a steady jog trot during the whole of a long day, and had often compassed fifty miles in a journey of ten or twelve hours. They were encumbered with their rifles and ammunition, and Poeskop carried the water-bottle, all of which tended, of course, to increase their difficulties.

As they trotted across the open plain Poeskop looked behind him.

"They're not coming yet," he said. "We must make the most of our start."

Away they went, running steadily at a pace of rather better than seven miles an hour, which, under all the circumstances, and seeing that they were moving through longish grass, was excellent going. For a couple of miles they kept this up.

"Baas," said Poeskop presently, looking at Guy with a strange, comical expression on his yellow, pinched face, "your legs are too long for me. I can hardly keep up with you."

"All right," said Guy cheerfully; "I'll slacken off a bit."

But at that moment Poeskop looked round over his shoulder towards the entrance to the gorge.

"They're coming!" he cried. "I shall run your pace after all. Now we must go till we drop. If I were only a hartebeest and you a springbok! Run, baas, run!"

Guy glanced back, and saw four mounted figures just emerging from the dark gorge on to the yellow plain. Broad daylight was upon the veldt. It was evident that their pursuers must have already sighted them. The situation was becoming serious indeed. They ran stoutly on, saying not a word, and directing their course for a clump of bush and low timber which, with two or three other similar patches, rose like islets upon the sea of plain.

But their pursuers were now galloping hard, and were getting over the ground just twice as fast as the two footmen toiling along in front of them. Already the hoof-strokes of the galloping horses could be distinguished by the two runners.

"Baas," gasped Poeskop, "we shall just reach the timber, and that's all. We shall want three minutes to get breath and steady ourselves."

Well and stoutly as they ran, it seemed as if the last three hundred yards that separated them from the islet of bush never would be accomplished. The haven was reached at last, and the two fugitives plunging in, sank down behind a couple of trees having a low screen of bush in front of them, and prepared for action.

The nearest of their pursuers, Karl Engelbrecht, was now but three hundred yards away. A hundred yards behind him galloped a native servant; then followed Minho, the Portuguese, and another mounted native. Engelbrecht drew rein, jumped from his horse, and taking quick aim, fired at the two runners just as they took shelter behind the trees. The bullet whistled idly by. The Boer waited till his comrades came up, and then, spreading out a few yards apart, they advanced at a walk upon the islet, their plan evidently being to envelop it. By the time they had approached within two hundred yards, the fugitives had recovered breath, and were prepared for them.

"Baas," whispered Poeskop, a fierce light gleaming in his set face, "you are the best shot. Fire first. Take plenty time."

Guy nodded. They were lying down; and resting his elbows on the ground and putting up his Martini rifle, he aimed at the big figure of the Boer, who, now mounted again, was advancing upon the patch of covert. Two hundred and fifty yards was the distance. The ivory rifle-sight was upon the Boer's body, Guy's finger upon the trigger. Should he fire? No, the lad thought; he would not spill the man's blood if he could help it. He lowered the rifle, and, taking aim at Engelbrecht's horse, pulled. It was a long shot, but a pretty good target. The result was, perhaps, most unexpected to Karl Engelbrecht himself, who had scarcely anticipated much resistance. At the loud report of the Martini, his horse fell instantly to the ground. In the next minute the poor beast was choking in its death struggle. Karl stumbled to his feet with a big Dutch oath, dropped in the grass, and, taking aim for the place whence the shot had been fired, let drive. It was a good shot; so good that the Westley-Richards .450 sporting bullet hit the tree behind which Guy crouched, striking it a terrific smack, within six inches of the lad's face.

Guy shifted his position and prepared for another shot. Meanwhile, Poeskop had got the Boer within range, and had let drive three successive shots in such close proximity to Engelbrecht's carcass that that worthy had deemed it wise to beat a hasty retreat. Worming himself through the grass, therefore, Engelbrecht crawled back a hundred paces or more, where he was joined by Antonio Minho, who, from that comparatively long range, now fired a shot or two at the patch of bush in front of them.

Meanwhile, one of the natives was riding round to the left, evidently with the object of getting a flanking shot into the defenders' position. Guy had no intention of being thus outflanked. He realized that his opponents meant business, and that this was no time for leniency, or any half-hearted measures. The mounted native came round within less than two hundred yards. As he turned and pulled up his horse, in order to fire from the saddle, Guy got a fair bead on him, and, pulling trigger, sent a bullet into the man's shoulder. The native staggered in his saddle, dropped his rifle with a loud yell, and, sorely wounded, lay forward upon the neck of his horse and rode off. Circling away from the dangerous proximity of the islet, the man rejoined his master, and fell fainting to the soil. Poeskop was delighted with the success of the defence thus far. The group of assailants was now some three hundred and fifty yards away, but a well-judged bullet from the Bushman's rifle struck the wounded native's horse, and completed the discomfiture of the party. Karl Engelbrecht, cursing the young Englishman and his assistant, and swearing horrible vengeance at some future time, now deemed it well to retreat. A dead and wounded horse, and a badly injured native, was sufficient punishment for him. Tying up his man's wound, and putting him upon the spare horse, the Boer and his party now drew sullenly off, their retreat hastened by the figures of two horsemen which they descried far off upon the plain behind Guy and Poeskop. On the way back to their mountain retreat, Minho rode a little off the route to secure the Englishman's unfortunate horse, which was now grazing on the veldt. Finding that the poor beast was too lame to travel, he shot it dead. This brutal act was witnessed by Poeskop from a tree into which he had climbed.

"Poor Blesbok," said Guy, at the intelligence. "I'll do my best to make things level with the brutes. I'm sorry now I didn't shoot Engelbrecht instead of his horse. I had a fair chance, and let it go. As for that Portuguese cur, I'll be even with him, somehow or other."

"My baas," returned Poeskop, grinning in high contentment, "if you'll take my advice, you'll never give Karl Engelbrecht another chance in this world. You might as well offer a good joint of meat to a stinking hyæna. If you don't watch it and kill Karl, he'll kill you. I know him. He'll never rest till he has another slap at us. Never mind; we've bested him this time, and we'll best him again… Hurrah! here come Baas Blakeney and Baas Tom. They'll be pleased, anyway."

Guy and the Bushman stepped out of the covert which had proved so timely a refuge for them, and, waving their rifles, drew the attention of the two horsemen, who were now cantering towards them. In twenty minutes they were together once more.

Chapter XV.

THE KLOOF

The mutual congratulations that ensued were very real and heartfelt.

"My dear Guy," said his uncle, as he threw himself from his horse and wrung his nephew's hand, "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you safe and sound. I have imagined all sorts of dangers from your captivity. Now tell us what has happened."

Guy related as shortly as possible all his adventures since he had left their camp. Then Poeskop told of his doings, and how he had managed the rescue.

"Well, you have both done excellently well," said Mr. Blakeney. "It's a clever feat to have outwitted these scoundrels, and beaten them off as you have done. We heard your firing as we waited at the edge of the forest yonder, and galloped this way. But you had really finished the fight, and well beaten Engelbrecht, before we could take a hand. I congratulate you, Guy. Here comes in the advantage of an athletic training and early practice in rifle-shooting. An old veldt man could not have done better. The question now is, What are these rascals likely to be up to? I don't think Engelbrecht, after this mauling, will be very keen to attack us again. And in our own camp, and with all our own men about us, we should have no trouble in repelling him. Still, we must keep a sharp lookout."

Poeskop, questioned as to his idea of the Boer's future movements, was of opinion that Engelbrecht would never think of attacking them with his present force. He might go off and try to raise more men. But that would take time; and in the meanwhile they would be at the Gold Kloof, and could make more ample preparations against further assaults. On the whole, the Bushman was of opinion that Engelbrecht would certainly try to take his revenge; but he inclined to the belief that it would probably be more in the way of an ambush on the coastward trek. This could be guarded against by careful scouting.

They returned to their own camp, where Jan Kokerboom and the other men welcomed them with great delight. Guy's first action on getting back was to do something to show his gratitude to Poeskop for his clever and courageous rescue. He knew that the little Bushman had always immensely admired a Marlin repeating carbine which he (Guy) sometimes used. Taking this out of the wagon, he now handed it to his follower.

"Here, Poeskop," he said; "here's a little present for you. You did me a real good turn, and I shall never forget it. You are a good fellow, and when we come to the town again I hope to do something more for you. I was in a very tight place when you crept into Karl Engelbrecht's camp and got me out of it."