The Gold Kloof

At dawn he awoke, cold and stiff; the fire was out; his pony was munching the remains of the grass that lay near him. Guy rose, somewhat refreshed, but with a terribly dry mouth and tongue. Saddling up, he now prepared to seek his way home. By the position of the sun and the aid of his compass, he could now steer some sort of way through this perplexing forest, and he steadily pushed on. Two hours later, having cleared the timber country and emerged once more upon the open plains, he came upon the spoor of horses, which convinced him that he was going in the right direction. After another hour of cantering and walking, he struck a wagon track, and knew that he could now find his way to the homestead. Very shortly he heard the reports of two guns, then a third. He guessed that these were fired by his uncle or cousin, now no doubt in search of him. Cantering that way, he soon caught sight of three mounted men, and in five minutes was shaking hands with his relatives. They had with them a native servant, and were riding out to look for him.

"My word, Guy," said his uncle heartily, "I am glad to have come across you so soon. This is a dickens of a country to get lost in-the veldt is so waterless, except during the rains; and I was getting seriously anxious about you. We wandered about firing shots yesterday afternoon, and then made for home to bring out more water, and hunt you up to-day, in case you had completely lost yourself. Didn't you hear our shots yesterday?"

"Yes," answered Guy, "I heard two just before sundown last evening; but they were far away to the east, and I couldn't make anything of them, though I wandered that way after dark. Then I camped, made a fire, and slept, and here I am."

"Excellent, my boy," said his uncle; "but you must be terribly dry. Here, April," turning to the native; "unfasten that water-bottle and give Baas Guy a drink. Drink up, lad; it's cold tea, and will do you good."

Guy drank and drank, and presently returned the bottle.

"Never tasted anything so good in my life," he said, wiping his lips. "It's nectar. I begin to understand what thirst really is. In England we can have no idea of it, in a country where you can't go a mile without coming on water of some kind or other."

"You're quite right," added Mr. Blakeney. "They don't half appreciate the blessings of life at home. You want to rough it out here a bit to understand what English comfort and English luxury really mean. Why, we had a man staying with us a year back, looking at stock, who got lost in the veldt out here for three days, two of which he passed without a drop of water. Ultimately we tracked him to a native kraal on the Molopo, thirty miles away. In this kind of country-in fact all through Bechuanaland, on the Kalahari side-you've got to watch it, or you may easily get lost, and perhaps die of thirst and starvation. Now, let's be off home for breakfast. We have an hour and a half's ride still before us."

Meanwhile, Tom Blakeney had been examining his cousin's hunting trophy. "By Jove, Guy," he exclaimed, "you've got a first-rate head! That's a real good old bull hartebeest; you seldom see finer horns."

"Yes, Tom," rejoined his cousin, "I thought it was a good head; and if I had had to go without water another twenty-four hours, I should have brought it back with me. It's my first hunting trophy, and I shall always be proud of it."

"You'll do, Guy!" exclaimed his uncle, as they rode homewards. "I like to see a fellow keen; and I'm sure you will shoot many a head of big game before you've finished. Some day we'll go into the real hunting veldt, where you can prove your mettle against more formidable beasts."

A week or two later, Tom and Guy were shooting redwing partridges and koorhaan in a pretty piece of country some miles from the homestead. They had quitted the banks of a periodical stream, where they had bagged half a dozen brace of redwings and a steinbuck, and were now in search of black and white koorhaan and Coqui partridges on a wide piece of grassy plain which ran up to a distant line of kopjes. Juno, the pointer, stood; and Tom, slipping quietly from his saddle, walked cautiously forward, his gun at the ready. Still the staunch dog stood, pointing stiffly at something in front of her. Tom advanced yet farther, and then, without a cry and very noiselessly, there rose from the long grass a single bird, with long greenish legs and a big head. It was an easy shot, and Tom fired and brought it down.

"A dikkop," he cried, as he ran forward and picked up the bird. Guy came up and inspected the game, which was of a species he had not yet seen in Bechuanaland.

"Why, it's the same as our Norfolk plover, or thick-knee," he said. "Father shot one years ago in Suffolk, and had it stuffed. I can tell it by its big staring eyes."

"Yes, it's nearly the same bird," rejoined his cousin. "I believe there's some little difference in the species, here we call it by the Dutch name dikkop, or thickhead. They're rattling good eating, and we'll stick it in the bag."

Smoothing the bird's feathers, and placing it in the wallet slung behind his saddle, they went on.

In another half hour, during which time they got no shot, Juno, the pointer, became curiously restless. She seemed to neglect the sport in front of her, and turned perpetually to sniff the breeze which blew from their left flank. Suddenly, after quartering the ground in that direction, she stopped and barked furiously.

"What's the old girl up to?" ejaculated Tom. "I'll go and see."

As he turned his horse that way, the pointer, hitherto standing with hackles up, manifestly in a state of intense anger, suddenly turned and fled, her tail between her legs. Guy Hardcastle, curious to know what had so alarmed the dog, walked his nag that way. The two cousins rode on together for thirty yards, and then, with a curious hissing sound, there rose, ten paces in front of them, the head and neck of an enormous serpent. The reptile reared itself so suddenly, and its aspect was so menacing, that Guy's pony shied violently and swerved off, nearly unseating its rider as it did so.

"Look out, Guy!" cried his cousin. "It's a python. Canter away a bit and slip in louper cartridges [buck shot], and then we'll have a go at the brute. He's been following us." They cantered away forty or fifty yards, changing their cartridges as they did so, and then returned to the charge.

Meanwhile the python, which had undoubtedly been stalking them, had thought better of it, and, seeing more formidable quarry than it had bargained for, was slipping away. The lads galloped to the spot where they had last seen it; and Tom, pointing to a movement in the long grass in front of them, exclaimed excitedly, "There it goes; come on!"

Guy, who was not used to snakes, didn't half like the idea of stalking such a monster; but as his cousin galloped on, he touched his pony with the spur and rode after him. Nearer and nearer they drew towards the rustling grass. Suddenly the movement ceased, and the huge, evil-looking head rose before them. The serpent was undeniably angry, and a big python in a rage is a formidable opponent.

"Shoot," whispered Tom in a steady voice.

Guy needed not incitement. Already his gun was up; they fired together, and as the double report rattled out, the great serpent, stricken in the head and neck, fell writhing into the pale grass. One of the two shots had luckily broken its backbone a foot or so below the head; but the huge serpent was by no means disabled, and now, half impotent though it was, it struggled furiously to reach its adversaries. Beating and flapping the earth in its agony and rage, it writhed itself towards the two horsemen, who now separated and gave it another shot apiece. Then, recharging their guns, they returned, and finished the wounded monster with a couple more charges.

Having ascertained that the snake was really dead, they dismounted and approached it; then, stretching out the reptile to its full length, Tom took a tape measure from his pocket and ran over its dimensions.

"Eighteen feet," he remarked, rising from his task. "The biggest python killed in these parts!"

"Have you many of these brutes about the place?" asked Guy, turning over the monster with his foot, and comparing the greenish white of its underparts with the brilliant markings of its upper colouring.

"No, not many," answered Tom. "They're shy, secretive beggars, and one very seldom, indeed, comes across them. I've not heard of one for two or three years."

"Thank goodness for that," rejoined Guy. "I must say, if I thought there were many of these creatures in the neighbourhood, I should come bird-shooting precious seldom, especially on foot. Surely they are dangerous? They're not poisonous, I suppose?"

"No, they're not poisonous, luckily," returned Tom. "But they can constrict. Whether they can kill a man I don't know. I shouldn't like to try the experiment. Father says they can't. Still, they can try; and if they were big enough-like this one, for example-they might give you a very unpleasant time of it. They certainly do kill small buck occasionally. Three years ago a python-rock snakes, the colonists call them-which father had shot was found to contain the bones of a duyker in its stomach; and our native boys killed another, with their knobkerries, which had killed and eaten a steinbuck just before, and was completely gorged and stupid after its meal."

They finished their shoot across the flat, adding three brace of koorhaan and Coqui partridges to their bag, and then came back to the dead python. Fastening this to the end of a piece of cord which Tom carried with him, they trailed the serpent behind them and struck for home. Arrived at Bamborough towards four o'clock, they stretched out the great serpent in the front garden, and invited all and sundry to come and view their conquest. It was agreed that so large a python had never before been seen in that part of the country.

"Yes," said Mr. Blakeney, as he watched Tom and Guy divesting the creature of its beautiful skin, "it's a big snake. Three years ago I got quite a fright with one of these reptiles. I was shooting alone and on foot about two miles from here. Juno was with me, and she seemed very uneasy, just as she was with you to-day. Suddenly, as I turned round-I don't know what made me do it-I saw, sticking out above the grass not ten yards behind me, a python. Just for one second I was in a real fright, I promise you-the thing was so sudden. However, the brute looked very nasty, and I put up my gun and fired at once, smashing its head to pieces. It struggled a bit, and another shot finished it. Now, that snake had followed me right across the flat from the river bed-where, I imagine, it had its holt or hiding-place in some bush or among the rocks-for a distance of more than a mile. It was rather uncanny, wasn't it?"

"Very uncanny, indeed," answered Guy. "I don't like the brutes at all. Do you think they would go for one?"

"No; on the whole, I don't think they would," said Mr. Blakeney. "And if they did, although they might frighten you and even hurt you, I don't think they could kill a man. They could kill a child, as they do undoubtedly kill a young calf sometimes; and for that reason I'm not over fond of them-in fact, I destroy them whenever I come across them, if I can. They're slippery brutes, however, and once let them get near rocks or bush and you'll never see them again."

"The natives about here, father, don't like them?" queried Tom, as he finished his part of the task, and together he and Guy rolled the stripped body of the serpent from its skin, which they had now completely flayed away from the flesh.

"No, the Bechuanas don't like them," rejoined Mr. Blakeney. "At the same time they don't care about molesting them. In Zululand the natives will never touch them. They have an idea that the souls of their ancestors return to the bodies of these serpents, and will even allow them to live close to their huts. For my part, I don't like the proximity of such neighbours."

Having carefully scraped every fragment of fat or flesh from the skin, the two lads rubbed in arsenical soap, and pegged it out on the shady side of the wall of an outhouse, where in a day or two the cure was complete.

In a few more weeks Guy Hardcastle had acquired a very fair knowledge of the far-spreading pastures of Bamborough Farm. He began to pick up, too, some knowledge of stock and stock-farming, for he was a quick lad, who always had his wits about him, and was anxious to gain any sort of information that might be useful to him. He had seen mealies and oats reaped, and assisted in other operations. He had had a very good time, for, mingled with the preliminaries of a pastoral farmer's life, to which his uncle had introduced him, he had had a fair amount of shooting, several pleasant excursions with his cousins to neighbouring farms, and a trip to Mafeking to bring home stores. At the end of January he accompanied his uncle to Johannesburg with a herd of fat cattle, which were disposed of for excellent prices on their arrival there.

On this expedition, although they were assisted by native servants, they had to experience some of the roughs and tumbles of veldt life. They lived for the most part in the saddle, sleeping at night in a light mule wagon which accompanied them. The weather was broken and unsettled; the rains, which began in December, still fell heavily at intervals, and they were often drenched to the skin. Even their wagon tent by no means sufficed to protect them from the tropical downpours that periodically fell from the lowering heavens. Nevertheless, to the secret satisfaction of Mr. Blakeney, Guy bore all the discomforts that overtook them with the most cheerful spirit, and arrived at Johannesburg in excellent heart and fettle. He had proved himself a very useful auxiliary, and his uncle was more than well pleased with his behaviour. The return from the gold city was made with much less discomfort, and, unencumbered with a big herd of cattle, they reached home within a fortnight.

One evening, a short time after their return, Mr. Blakeney called Guy into his own room, the "den," as he called it, in which he did most of the office work connected with the farm, and kept his papers, books, and accounts, as well as his guns, rifles, and ammunition. Guy was just then engaged in a game of chess with his aunt, who was a skilful player, and was teaching him something of the rudiments of the art.

"Well, aunt," he said, as he rose with a cheery laugh, "I'm defeated again, I see. You have mate in another move, haven't you?"

"I'm afraid it is so, Guy," replied Mrs. Blakeney. "Never mind; you are getting along very well. This has been quite a good fight, and in another six months you will be crowing over me, I expect."

Guy walked quickly to his uncle's room, where an oil lamp shed a bright glow over everything. Mr. Blakeney was a man of methodical habits. His books and papers were always in their right places; his guns gleamed brightly on their racks; everything was in apple-pie order.

"Sit down, Guy," said his uncle, pointing to the chair near him; "I want to have a bit of a talk with you. First of all, I want to know something about your views of cattle-farming and South African farming life generally. Is it the kind of life you think will suit you, and can you make up your mind to settle down to it? You have now had a three months' apprenticeship, and have probably formed your own opinions."

"Well, Uncle Charles," replied Guy, "my answer is a very short one. I like the life immensely, and mean to stick to it. I can think of nothing that will suit me half so well as to settle down steadily to the same kind of existence that you lead here. I should like it above all things, and I have thought the whole matter very carefully over."

"Remember, Guy, my boy," said his uncle kindly, "that hitherto, except for the journey to Johannesburg, which wasn't a very pleasant one, although from a financial point of view it answered excellently, you have seen rather the bright side of things out here. This place, although I say it who perhaps shouldn't, is rather a cut above the average. We have put capital into the thing, my cousin and I-I mean, of course, George Forster, who farms the adjoining land, and is my partner. We do the thing well, and our homesteads are exceptionally good. We have, as you see, some of the refinements as well as the comforts of civilization about us. And hitherto we have had good seasons and great luck. But you have to remember that there come times of drought; various diseases attack stock, locusts destroy the veldt, and the farmer's losses are often very heavy indeed. They say rinderpest is on its way south, and will in time reach us even here. It has got as far as Nyasaland, and will probably work its way right through the continent to the very shores of Cape Colony. You must look at all these things before you decide."

"Well, uncle," repeated Guy, "I can only say that I have honestly tried to look at the thing all round. I know-and many thanks to you all for it-that you have shown me the best and brightest side of everything, and that I can't always expect to live in the lap of luxury, as I do here. Please take my word for it. I want to go in for this kind of life. I mean to stick to it seriously and learn the business, and try and make something out of it; and I do hope you will do what you once said you might be inclined to do-that is, teach me the business, and let me in time get hold of some land near you. I have quite made up my mind, and that's my decision."

"Well, Guy," said his uncle, with a pleased look on his kindly, expressive face, "I'm very glad to hear this. I like you, my boy. I believe you will stick to your business, and not look at it merely as a hobby or a plaything; and I can only say, for my part, that I will do all in my power to help you on. For your father's sake, as well as your own, I shall do this; and I hope in a few years, when you've got experience, you will do very well for yourself. Meanwhile, I've lately had my eye on two farms, hitherto unoccupied, which touch our north-west boundary. They are called Hartebeestfontein and Bushman's Kraal. I can get them cheap. They are the usual six thousand acre farms, and I can buy them from Government for £600 the pair. I shall write to my agent at Vryburg to-morrow to secure these farms, which I shall henceforth take to and stock. I shall hold these at your disposal, either one or both of them; and in two or three years' time, if you like to try and make a start on your own hook, why, we'll put up a decent house for you, open up the water supply-I know on Hartebeestfontein there is a spring, and I believe there are some likely aars [veins] in the limestone, where more water is pretty certain to be found-and stock the place, so that you can make a fair beginning. But we must go slow for a time, and meanwhile you've got to learn your business. Still, I am bound to say that I believe and hope you'll do very well. You are steady, or I am very much mistaken; you have brains; and I know, I can see, that, like your dear father, you will always go straight, which in this life is a good deal more than half the battle."

Chapter IV.

THE GOLD SPOOR

"There is another matter I want to speak to you about, Guy," continued Mr. Blakeney, "which has been perplexing me a good deal. It is this: When your father wrote me the first of the two last letters he sent me before his death, he sent also a short statement, sealed in a packet and marked 'Important.' This statement concerns a very rich discovery of gold in a far-away part of the interior of South-west Africa, somewhere on the border of the Portuguese territory of Benguela. I have worried over this problem for many weeks past, and the conclusion I have come to is that I ought to tell you about the whole business. The shortest and best plan is, I think, to show you your father's letter. Here it is; I'll read it to you: -

"'ABAQUESSA, GOLD COAST, March 19, 1896

"'MY DEAR CHARLIE, – You will see from the letter I have already written you that I am in a very precarious state of health, and that I doubt greatly if I shall get over these repeated attacks of fever. In case anything happens to me, I must unburden my mind on one other matter, which seems to me, though it may not to you, very important. A year ago, as you know, I was making some mineral explorations for copper in the mountains behind Mossamedes, Portuguese West Africa. There was little copper to be found worth speaking of, and this business came to an end. One day towards the finish of this work, a Bushman in my service, named Poeskop, came to me and said he thought he could show me something better than copper; that he had once found gold, and that he would show me the place where he had found it. Poeskop was a Bushman from the country north-east of Ovampoland, in German territory. He had worked for Germans and others, and had afterwards drifted into the service of one of the Trek Boers who came to the Mossamedes country fifteen or sixteen years before. He had been brutally treated by this Boer, and, running away from him, came to me. I treated him kindly, and he became exceedingly attached to me, and would do anything for me. He speaks Boer Dutch and one or two native languages of his own country, besides a smattering of German. Well, I asked Poeskop what he meant, and where was the gold he spoke of. He took from the bottom of a dirty old pouch he always wore a piece of skin sewn up with sinew. Cutting this open, he took out four small nuggets of gold, manifestly water-worn. He said that where they came from there were plenty more-plenty. He had come across the place years before as a lad, and he had discovered what gold was, and its value, when he was working for some German prospectors in Damaraland. He knew now also the worth of gold money in English, and German, and Portuguese. I asked him how long it would take us to reach the place. He said more than a month. I was then under contract for this work at the Gold Coast, and it was impossible to throw it up, or to spare the time-about three months in all, reckoning the return journey to Mossamedes. I told the man I would return, if possible, the following year (1897), or, if not that year, in 1898, in the month of June, which is their healthy season, and go with him to the place. Meanwhile, would he promise not to say a word to any other person? Poeskop replied that he cared for no other white man but me; that he would wait till I came, and would meet me in Mossamedes in June the next year (1897), and the year after, and the year after that; and that each year he would wait for me a month. "But," I said, "supposing I can't come, and wish to send some one else in my place? I may be ill, or dead, or anything may have happened to me." "Well, my baas," replied Poeskop, his little drooping eyes twinkling in the oddest kind of way, "if you can't come, and send any one in your place, let him show me that funny steenje which you wear on your watch-chain, and I shall know he is your man, and will do what he asks me." The steenje, I must tell you, was nothing else than a piece of New Zealand jade, carved rather curiously in the shape of a fish. Well, there's the end of my yarn. I am dead tired, and feeling very ill. The ague is coming on again, as you can see by my handwriting."

"Here," interjected Mr. Blakeney, "as you can see, Guy, your poor father's writing has become very shaky. But he has underscored the remaining lines of his letter, and they run thus: -

"'My dear Charlie, I consider this discovery is very important. Poeskop, who was in my service five months, is a most shrewd and reliable little chap. I know he is not lying. I know he has found a place very rich in gold. Of this I am absolutely confident. If I'm right, there is a fortune for all of us. If I get through this bout of fever I shall ask you to give up your ranching for six months, and come and join me at Mossamedes in June. If I go under-and something tells me I shall-I beg you to go on my behalf. Take with you a good and reliable mining engineer; and if Guy is with you, take him. If you cannot go this year, go next. I can't finish … what I meant to say. This fever is too much for me. You and Guy are to go shares if the gold is right. – From yours ever,

"'J. S. HARDCASTLE.'

"Well now, Guy," added his uncle, "there's the yarn. Look over the letter yourself."

Guy read the letter again, with a serious face, from beginning to end.