The Gold Kloof

"Ja," added Engelbrecht, emptying his glass. "We will keep at least two days' trek behind them. I will have a man or two out in front of us, keeping an eye on them. My Hottentot, Stuurman, is a capital fellow for a business like this. I will pack him off on a horse to-day with some provisions. He can follow the party up, and let us know their movements. At present they are taking the Humpata road-that much I have ascertained. We will get our things together, and start in a day and a half's time. That will be time enough."

"Right you are, Karl," added Minho. "I will be ready in twenty-four hours' time. Send your wagon round to my place, and I'll load up two or three thousand pounds weight of trading stuff. We must leave room for our kartels. Now, let us have one more drink, and be off." The two ruffians drank to the success of their precious conspiracy, and separated.

The English trekkers had negotiated, after considerable difficulty, the great mountain range that lay in front of them. There was some kind of a track, but it lay through wild ravines littered with boulders and overgrown with thorn bush and low timber, and it took them a long day and a half of severe labour before they had accomplished the passage and emerged upon the open country beyond.

The whole camp-oxen, horses, and men-enjoyed a long rest that afternoon, and after a good night's sleep all were refreshed and cheerful upon the following morning. They were up as the sun rose, and after ablutions in a bucket of water, Mr. Blakeney and the two lads sat down to an excellent breakfast of klipspringer chops and fry-Tom had shot one of these little mountain buck on the previous day-with keen appetites. Good coffee and a tin of marmalade rounded off an ample meal. Each of them had a little squat wagon chair, such as the Boers carry on their travels. The frames were made of the tough wood of the kameeldoorn(giraffe-acacia), and the seats consisted of thongs of raw hide. These folded up, and were stowed under the wagon while they trekked. A small folding table did duty for all three of them.

"Now, lads," said Mr. Blakeney, as, having filled and lit his pipe, he stood up and looked over the country in front of them, "Poeskop says that we shall find plenty of game out here. I believe we shall. It looks all over like a game veldt. We may see giraffe, buffalo, eland, blue wildebeest, roan antelope, zebra, lion, leopard, and wart-hog at any time. It's beautiful veldt. It reminds me of part of Khama's Country and Mashonaland. I only hope the game will be as plentiful as it used to be there twenty years ago, when I was a lad a year or two older than you are now, Guy."

And, indeed, the scene was very fair. They stood on the lower slopes of the mountain range through which Poeskop had shown them a path. For some miles in front open forest of giraffe-acacia lay before them. Beyond this stretched a vast plain of grass, here and there dotted with a clump or two of trees or a patch of bush. Through the centre of this great yellow plain ran a dark-green ribbon of thorn bush, indicating the bed of a stream. Far away in the dim distance rested, blue on the horizon, another chain of mountains.

"It's perfectly splendid," exclaimed Tom enthusiastically. "Father, I'll get your stalking-glass."

The boy climbed up into the wagon and took down from a hook at the side a leather case, from which he drew one of Ross's telescopes. Seating himself on the ground, he adjusted the focus and gazed over the plain.

"There's game out there on the flat!" he cried. "I can see clumps here and there. What do you make them out to be, father?"

His father took the glass, and indulged in a prolonged survey.

"I take most of those clumps to be blue wildebeest and quacha," he said presently. "When I say 'quacha,' Guy," he added, "I don't mean the old Cape Colony, half-striped quagga, which is now quite extinct, but Burchell's zebra, which the Boers and up-country hunters still always insist on calling quacha. As a matter of fact, the old Dutch hunters called the true quagga 'quacha,' and Burchell's zebra 'bonte quacha,' which latter means 'striped quacha.' Quacha, by the way, is an old Hottentot word, taken from the neighing call of the animal, which has been corrupted to our English quagga. Well, now, I think I see some other kinds of game, probably eland, hartebeest, or tsesseby-what the Boers call bastard hartebeest-and, I fancy, ostriches. We'll trek in an hour. The wagon will move along across the plain. Meanwhile we'll saddle our best ponies, and see if we can't find a troop of roan antelope or giraffe as we ride through the forest. We'll go ahead of the wagon. Jan Kokerboom knows the route, straight across the plain for the mountain yonder in the distance. Poeskop can come with us and help spoor. Hi! Poeskop!" he called out.

The little Bushman came up.

"Ja, baas!" he said, his eyes twinkling with pleasure.

"We shall go in front of the wagon, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney, "and you can come with us. Take the bay pony, Rooibok; he'll carry you very well. And mind, if we find kameel [giraffe] you are not to shoot; at all events, until the young baases have each had a fair chance. I want them to shoot a kameel apiece. When they have done that, you and I can join in. Shall we find kameel, think you?"

"Ik denk so, baas," answered the Bushman. "I have been out since sun-up in the forest yonder, and I have seen spoor of kameel and rhinoster."

"Splendid," said Guy. "Now let's saddle up and be off."

They soon had their ponies ready, and, strapping on their bandoliers, fastened their spurs, took down their rifles from the wagon hooks, mounted, and rode down the hill.

"Now, boys," said Mr. Blakeney, "I want you to remember two things. If we find giraffe-kameel, as the up-country hunters all call them-we must try and drive them out on to the plain in front. Then we can run them down fairly comfortably. You must ride hard at first. Don't be afraid of using sjambok and spur. Try and push the giraffe beyond their speed, and they are yours. Ride right up to the stern of the beasts and put in your shots as you gallop, as near as possible to the root of the tail. Your bullets will penetrate the giraffe's short body, and you'll bring him down. You, Guy, take the biggest one of the troop. Follow him as hard as you can split, and stick to him till you get him. Blinkbonny, your pony, is a real good one, and knows what to do. You, Tom, take the next biggest, which will be, probably, a tall cow, and run her down. Now we'll get on. No talking, except in the merest whisper. Spread out, and keep an eye on Poeskop. You can't mistake giraffe spoor. It's like the huge, elongated footprint of a colossal ox, if you can imagine such a thing."

They rode into the forest and, spreading out a few paces apart, followed the lead of the Bushman, who, mounted on an upstanding pony of fourteen hands three inches, looked an odd little figure. On they went in silence for half an hour, Poeskop pointing here and there to spoor as they passed it. A big troop of lovely red pallah swept across their front, the graceful antelopes bounding into the air as they shot past. Numbers of guinea-fowl were to be seen moving hither and thither, busily engaged in digging up the bulbs on which they feed. An hour had passed. They had sighted koodoo, and let them go unscathed, hoping for heavier game. Some tracks of buffalo had been crossed. But they were now hot upon the spoor of a good troop of giraffe. The boys noted with the keenest interest the huge, slipper-like impression left in the red sand. Here some of the troop had browsed round a giraffe-acacia; the scraping of their fore feet, as they had stretched themselves to their fullest capacity to seize some tempting morsel of foliage, was plainly apparent in the tell-tale sand. Poeskop, mounted as he was, described the operation in dumb show, with all the dramatic ability of his race.

Suddenly he drew rein and lifted a warning hand. Then pointing through a wide, open glade in the forest, he glared intently. His audience stared hard, and saw nothing stir for a full half-minute. Then something which they had mistaken for the trunk of a tree moved, and they saw instantly that it was a giraffe.

"Go on," whispered Mr. Blakeney; "ride for the right hand. Push them out in the open." They walked their horses forward, and then, on clearing a patch of timber, an amazing and most wonderful sight was before them. A hundred and fifty yards away, gathered round three or four spreading trees of the giraffe-acacia species, stood a troop of more than twenty tall giraffes. Most of the animals were browsing contentedly at the green leafage; some few stood with necks stretched out at an angle of forty-five degrees, quietly chewing the cud and apparently half asleep. The troop varied much in colour. A huge, old, mahogany-coloured bull, so dark as to appear almost black upon his back and shoulders, towered above the rest. Several fine cows of a rich orange-tawny colour stood next. Then came young cows, a young bull or two, and some stilty, half-grown calves, all varying in colour from orange-tawny and rufous-tan to a pale yellowish buff.

All this the hunters took in instantly; then, setting spurs to their ponies, they sprang forward in the chase. There was a strange, confused movement of tall heads and necks among the startled giraffe, and then the troop, having swung round their heads and noted the danger that menaced them, strode off at a curious, gliding shuffle. The hunters cantered, but their canter made but little impression. The shuffling walk of a giraffe is, as a matter of fact, far faster than any one unacquainted with these animals could imagine.

"Gallop hard, boys," shouted Mr. Blakeney excitedly, "or they will get away from us."

Following his example, the two lads now put spurs to their ponies and galloped in right earnest. Even in this open forest the chase was by no means an easy one. Guy, being the best mounted, pressed ahead, and, passing his uncle, rode for the great dark bull, which was lunging along at the head of the troop, evidently trying to sheer right-handed for the deeper parts of the forest. But Guy's blood was now up, and, pressing his good pony yet more, he galloped faster than the flying giants. The troop swung across an open glade, and, as they strode along like tall, dappled spectres, it seemed to Guy that he must surely be gazing upon some long-forgotten pageant of the earth's primeval past. These extraordinary creatures could surely scarce belong to this modern world! The whole thing seemed almost unreal. Still he galloped on, and presently achieved his purpose. The big bull, seeing that he was foiled in his attempt to plunge deeper into the forest, sheered left-handed and increased his pace. The troop began to string out, the calves and younger animals falling behind. Guy was riding, like his uncle and cousin, in his flannel shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. It was a warm morning, and their coats were as usual strapped to their saddle-bows.

On they went, through thorn jungle, over fallen timber, dodging tree trunks. Now the big bull tacked round a tree with the deftness of a well-handled yacht. Now a tall cow bent her swan-like neck and ducked marvellously under the spreading branches of an acacia. Guy felt many a scratch and stab as his excited pony plunged through the thorny brakes. In a patch of haak-doorn, through which they forced a passage, his left stirrup-leather and stirrup were ripped clean from the saddle. He lost his hat. These were mere nothings in the heat of a chase such as this, and he galloped on. At last they were clearing the forest. Now they were on the grass, with nothing but wide, open plain in front of them. Barring falls, that big bull must surely soon be his. The great giraffe was now running apart from the rest of the troop, going great guns, and manifestly thinking only of the safety of his own skin. The smooth, long, shuffling walk had been long since exchanged for a strange rocking gallop, in which the hind legs were straddled widely, and the long neck swung up and down in a rhythmic motion, which reminded Guy of a gigantic pendulum. Meanwhile the long black tail, screwed oddly up, was executing wild and fantastic flourishes. The chase swept headlong over the pale yellow grass plain. A mile and more had been accomplished since they quitted the timber. The great bull was running well, but Guy noted with a sense of exultation that he was now no more than eighty yards ahead. Another mile slipped by. The bull was tiring; he was now no more than sixty yards ahead. Guy shook up his pony and gave him just one firm touch of the spur. The gallant beast answered by a wonderful and prolonged spurt, which carried his rider to within twenty yards of that great dappled figure, rocking and swaying, like some tall ship on an uneasy sea, in front of them. One more touch of the spur and Guy was within eight paces of the giant's tail. Dropping his reins, he raised his rifle and fired. The heavy Martini bullet struck the giraffe fair, close to the root of the tail, and the great beast staggered to the shot. Still it pressed on. Guy instantly reloaded, and, taking aim as well as the motion of his pony would allow him, fired again. This time his bullet raked the giant's heart. Guy saw that its end had come, and galloped wide to the left. The bull faltered in his stride, staggered, strode on again, again staggered, and then with a crash that literally shook the earth fell to rise no more. The mighty limbs kicked twice or thrice, once the long neck was raised, then a shiver passed over the dappled frame, and the beast was dead.

Guy leapt from his reeking pony and, wild with excitement, turned to wave his rifle to the rest of the party. A quarter of a mile away on the left he saw Tom and his father riding close up to the rear of the main troop, which now contained about twelve giraffes. In a matter of a hundred yards Tom was right up behind a big cow. He fired, and the cow, turning away from her fellows, stood. Tom jumped off and finished her. Meanwhile Mr. Blakeney, having seen Tom bring his chase to a standstill, was himself galloping hard to make up leeway. He was soon up behind another tall cow, and she too went down. Three giraffes in the space of five minutes! Guy shouted congratulations to his fellow sportsmen, and turned to attend to his prize.

It was a magnificent beast, indeed, that lay before him. As Guy examined it, handled it carefully, almost lovingly, he realized the mighty proportions of the creature. His fingers could make no impression on the thick, tense skin of the back and ribs and neck. Almost the mighty beast seemed to be enveloped in a mantle of bronze. Presently Mr. Blakeney, having picked up Tom, rode up.

"Well done, my lad," he said. "You've got the finest camel of the troop. A tremendous old fellow. Let me tape him. I never saw a bigger."

The tape measure was carefully and scientifically applied.

"Eighteen feet nine, from hoof to tip of false horns! That's a great measurement," said Mr. Blakeney. "You seldom hear of a better. Only once or twice in five years of knocking about in the interior have I heard of giraffe of nineteen feet."

Chapter VII.

ADVENTURES IN THE VELDT

They were now busily employed for the rest of that morning and some way into the afternoon in skinning and cutting up their game. The flesh of an old bull giraffe is not good eating, and they were content to take portions of the hide, the feet-which make excellent trophies-the tail, and the skin of the head. From the other two they took further trophies, and a large quantity of flesh. The wagons came up with them presently, and the meat was loaded up. Then they trekked on for the river, where they camped for the evening. After the oxen had grazed, they were brought in at sundown, and fastened to their yokes for the night. Big fires were lighted, and the two parties, masters and servants, enjoyed a banquet of giraffe venison. The flesh of a fresh young cow-giraffe is excellent, somewhat like good veal, with a game-like flavour of its own. But the bonnes-bouchesof the evening meal were the marrow-bones of these gigantic quadrupeds, roasted in the hot ashes. These were then sawn in half, and the marrow scooped out with long spoons of wood improvised for the occasion.

"Why, father," exclaimed Tom, as he finished his second helping of the savoury stuff, "this beats boiled beef marrow-bone out of the field. I never tasted anything so delicious."

"No, I don't suppose you ever have," said Mr. Blakeney. "Giraffe marrow-bone is the king of veldt fare. There's nothing to equal it. But we must cry enough. It's rich food, and I've known men in the low country bring on a fresh attack of fever simply from over-indulging themselves in too much of this good thing."

They sat after supper near the blazing fire-the boys writing up their diaries by its cheerful light, Mr. Blakeney smoking his pipe and skinning a beautiful crimson-breasted shrike which he had shot that afternoon in some thorn bush along the river. He and the boys had already begun a collection of birds, which they meant to take home with them.

There was no moon, but through the dark, velvety pall of the night-sky myriads of stars pricked forth in an array of marvellous brilliancy. Down the river there came the curious wailing titter of a jackal, then another. Not long after, a low moaning roar was heard from the same quarter. This was answered by another roar nearer the camp.

"Lions!" exclaimed Mr. Blakeney. "Seleti, put more wood on the fires. Do you, Mangwalaan, light another there, beyond the leading span of oxen. We shall have to look out."

The Bechuana boys piled up the firewood, and soon had yet another blaze going.

Just then Poeskop came up to his masters.

"I say, Poeskop," said Guy, who had finished his diary of the day's doings, "is it true that the jackal is the lion's provider, and goes ahead for him and smells out his food, and lets his master know of it?"

The Bushman squatted down near the fire, and smiled a broad smile that wrinkled up his whole face and nearly concealed his eyes.

"Nay, my baas," he said, "I don't think that. But the lion knows from the jackal's cry when he winds food, and comes after him."

Now, from the winding river, not more than a quarter of a mile away, there rose the loud roar of a single lion, then another, and then yet another across the river. Then the three roared in unison, creating a volume of sound that was not only strangely majestic and awe-inspiring, but seemed to make the whole air vibrate and tremble.

"Ah!" said Poeskop quietly, "they won't hurt us to-night. When they roar like that, lions have full stomachs, and are not hungry. It is only when they purr and growl, or, still worse, when they are silent, that you must look out for them."

"They've got our wind, Poeskop," added Mr. Blakeney, "and they're telling one another of the fact."

"Ja, baas," said the Bushman. "They smell meat and oxen; but they won't touch us to-night-at least, I don't think so. There's the old manikin, the father lion-that was the first roar; then his wife; and then a young, nearly full-grown lion, their son."

"How on earth do you know that, Poeskop?" exclaimed Tom.

"Well, Baas Tom," replied the little man with a snigger, "I was brought up in a wild country, much wilder even than this, and I learned to know every sound in the veldt by day and night, and the voice of every beast, big and little. My food and my life depended on it; and my parents, and theirs before them, knew all about these things, and told me of them. You may say I sucked them in with my mother's milk."

"Talking about jackals," he went on musingly; "they are funny beasts-the cleverest and most quick-witted in the veldt. We Bushmen have many tales about them. Shall I tell you one?"

"Yes, yes," said Guy and Tom together. "Fire away, Poeskop!"

"Well," proceeded the little Bushman, "there was once a jackal that lived in Namaqualand, not far from the sea. He saw one day a wagon laden with fish; and as he was fond of fish, and wanted a change of food, he tried to get into the wagon from behind. But it was filled up, and he could not do so. But he bethought himself of a plan. So he ran and lay in the road as if dead. He was a silver-backed jackal, and had a beautiful skin; and the fore-louper [ox-leader] came along and picked him up, and said to the driver, 'Here's a fine jackal skin for your vrouw!' 'Throw it up,' said the driver, and the boy threw the jackal into the wagon. It was a fine night, just like this, and the jackal busied himself in throwing the fish out of the wagon as far as he was able, sniggering to himself as he did so. Then, presently, he slipped down, and went back along the road to his feast. But he found, to his great annoyance, that a great spotted hyæna and his wife had already found and eaten up most of the fish. Master Jackal thought a little, and decided to hide his vexation, and then explained to the hyæna his plan; and the hyæna said it was good, and he would try it one of these days. So a little while after the hyæna saw the wagon coming from the sea again, laden with fish, and, just as the jackal had done, stretched himself out for dead on the road in front. The fore-louper boy came up, and seeing a mangy hyæna said, 'Here's an ugly brute!' As he said this, he dealt the hyæna a heavy kick. The hyæna flinched, and the boy, smelling a rat, as you English say, ran back to the wagon-driver and told him. The two returned with sticks, and belaboured the hyæna within an inch of his life. But the hyæna, as he had been told to do by the jackal, lay still till they had finished with him. Then he got up, sore all over, and dragged himself off. He told his misfortune to the jackal, who pretended to sympathize.

"'Ah!' said the hyæna, 'it was your handsome skin that helped you. Never mind, I shall find another way next time.'

"The jackal sniggered to himself, and went off with his tail up, having enjoyed a very pleasant revenge."

There was much laughter at this simple Bushman yarn.

"Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney, "what part of the country do your people come from, and what race are you?"

"Well, baas," returned the little man, "my people are San or hunting Hottentots, and my clan is the Matsana Khoi-San, who lived once in the country north-east of the Ovampo tribes. We say that our forefathers were once paramount in all this country, from Ovampoland to the Orange River. But we have had many wars and troubles, and have been hunted about by stronger tribes, until there are few of us remaining. And so we live in the deserts with the wild beasts, and pick up our living as best we can. There are other Bushmen tribes among us-that is, San-Hottentots-the Ai-San and the Kun-San, and the Au-ai-San and the An-San, and others. They lead hard lives, and have many enemies. My mother was taken by a lion one night, when I was a child, and my father was killed soon after in a raid by the Ovampos. These people made a slave of me, and sold me afterwards to a white trader from Walfish Bay, who treated me well, and gave me my freedom. I was with him a long time, and he was a good master."

"How did you get your name, Poeskop?" queried Tom. "Did your father give it you?"

"No, Baas Tom," said the Bushman. "That was given me by a Dutchman with whom I worked for some time. He had been in the Old Colony, and knew all about the coast. He said my face reminded him of a seafish called poeskop, so he called me by that name, and it has stuck to me ever since. My Bushman name was Akabip."

Poeskop pronounced this word with two appalling clicks of the tongue, which Guy and Tom vainly tried to imitate. The little man went into fits of laughter over their struggles, and they all roared together.

It was now time to turn in. In the hunting veldt most men are glad to retire by nine o'clock, often even earlier. Guy and Tom said good-night, and betook themselves to the tent, in which stood their low beds, constructed of iron and canvas. These folded up into wonderfully small space, and were put away on the wagon each morning. The two lads were at this time allowed to sleep the night through without being disturbed. Mr. Blakeney, Jan Kokerboom, the driver, and Poeskop each woke once in turn during the small hours, and saw to it that the fires were kept up and the camp in safety. As Poeskop had predicted, they were not disturbed by lions; and at dawn next morning the whole company were awake and astir, vigorous and refreshed, and ready for the adventures of another day.