The Gold Kloof

Although they were now fairly in the land of big game, it was not part of Mr. Blakeney's design to waste time by the way. Each day the wagon was to trek steadily on under the guidance of Poeskop towards the appointed goal, that mysterious kloof of gold of which they often talked as they sat together round the camp fire. The wagon moved off after breakfast, therefore, while Mr. Blakeney and the two boys, with Poeskop-who had meanwhile set the course for the day-as after-rider, rode off into the veldt to the right front. They could see clumps of game grazing ahead of them, about a mile away in the distance, and towards these they took their way.

Crossing the river which intersected the plain, and which at this the dry season of the year held only a few pools of water here and there in its sandy bed, the hunters rode on quietly till they came within half a mile of the nearest troop. Mr. Blakeney took out his field-glass from its case-this he carried slung over his shoulder-and surveyed the prospect before them.

"That nearest troop, now getting fidgety," he said, "are tsesseby. It's no use running them across this big flat. They're the fleetest of all the antelopes, and stay for ever. Yonder are ostriches and Burchell's zebra. Tom and I will have a try at those. Do you, Guy, take Poeskop, and ride quietly for the big troop of blue wildebeest on the right. You'll have to ride hard, if they begin to run before you get within shot. But they may pull up when they get over the dip yonder, and give you a chance. Now then, Tom, away we go."

Guy and Poeskop cantered quietly in the direction of the blue wildebeest, a troop of some eighty of which were grazing quietly about a mile and a half away. They approached without difficulty to within some six hundred yards, and then, from the left of them, came the report of a rifle, then another, and yet another. Already, then, Mr. Blakeney and Tom were engaged! Guy looked in that direction, but could see no more than the distant figures of his uncle and cousin scouring away after some specks-the game they were pursuing-in front of them. He now turned his attention to the wildebeest of which he was in pursuit. The noise of the shooting had already disturbed them. Their heads were up, scenting the air for danger, and those animals which had been lying down had sprung to their feet. There was no time to be lost. "We must hart-loup [gallop]," said Poeskop quietly; and shaking up the willing nags, the two dashed headlong for the game. Now, at last, the wildebeest took real alarm. Bunching together in a big phalanx, plunging and capering, and whisking their long black tails, the troop set off at what looked like a heavy lumbering gallop, but was in reality a swift pace, taking a course right-handed in the direction of the river-bed. Guy, as he galloped, watched the herd with intense interest. It was the first time he had run blue wildebeest, or, as he had been accustomed to call them in England, brindled gnu. Their big, heavy, somewhat buffalo-like heads, carried low as they ran, and the masses of dark hair that covered their necks, throats, and faces, gave them a cumbrous appearance; but there was no mistake about the pace they went. They swept over the grass plain as fast as the ponies could gallop, and they were evidently not yet stretching themselves out. It was going to be a long and a stern chase. Pursued and pursuers had run somewhat over a mile, still bending towards the river, with its thick fringe of bush and low timber; five hundred yards separated Guy from the nearest wildebeest. They were stringing out now; it was useless to think of firing just yet; and then a diversion happened.

Disturbed by the trample of four-score fleeing wildebeest, a troop of buffalo, which had been resting in the shade of the river bush, suddenly emerged from their concealment and began to run up wind, taking very much the course of the retreating gnu. They had not gone a hundred yards when there burst from the seclusion of the river greenery, just in advance of them, two huge, unwieldy figures. It needed not Poeskop's excited exclamation of "Rhinoster, baas!" to convince Guy that he now saw before him a brace of rhinoceroses, as well as buffaloes and blue wildebeest. It was a thrilling moment; and the lad, with blithe countenance and the light of supreme joy-the wild joy of the hunter-in his blue eyes, shook up his good pony to yet a faster pace. The blue wildebeest were neglected now; which should he first go for, the buffaloes or the rhinoceroses? His mind was instantly made up. The buffaloes were nearest, no more than two hundred yards away; he would have a try at them first. With a press of the knees and a touch of the spur, Guy sent his pony at his hardest gallop. In less than ten minutes he was close up to the herd. Suddenly reining up, and jumping from his nag, he took aim at a huge old bull, carrying a pair of massive horns. The shot was a good one; and as the troop thundered on, the bull turned aside, galloped on for another fifty yards, and stood.

"Baas, get on the horse again," whispered Poeskop, who had ridden up with Guy's second rifle. "If he charges you on foot he'll catch you."

Guy looked at the grim beast, standing moodily waiting for his foes, with head down and eye askance, and thought the advice good. Jumping on to his pony again, he took the Martini rifle from Poeskop, handing him his Mannlicher in return, and moved to the right to get a better shot at the beast's shoulder.

Suddenly and without warning the bull charged, galloping down upon them at a pace that, considering its short legs and enormously massive frame, seemed little short of marvellous. The fleeing hunters, looking back as they rode, saw the bull within twenty yards of their horses' tails. Would he catch them?

"Pas op [look out]!" cried the Bushman, as they both turned and fled, digging their rowels into the flanks of their startled steeds. But the beast was too sorely wounded to run far. The charge was a short one, and the buffalo, dripping blood from his distended nostrils and mouth, stood again. Again Guy approached, this time very warily. He walked his pony to within fifty paces of the bull, and then, getting a quick but steady aim from his saddle, fired. As the loud report of the rifle rattled out upon the hot air, the sturdy brute staggered, sank to the veldt, and, with the strange moaning bellow characteristic of these animals in their last moments, yielded up his breath.

Guy rode up to the dead bull, and gazed with interest upon its mighty proportions, and especially at its grand horns, so gnarled about the centre as to remind him of the roots of some tough oak. They were, indeed, trophies to be proud of. Poeskop, who had ridden up, looking as pleased as Punch, was thinking of yet other feats.

"Baas," he said, his bleared eyes gleaming, "you must shoot a rhinoster. Look!" He pointed towards the river-bed, skirting along which two black figures were still plunging heavily.

"Yes, Poeskop, of course," replied Guy; "the rhinoster, by all means. Come along; forrard on! I'll keep the Martini for the present."

Once more they set their ponies at the gallop, and rapidly overhauled the two black figures ahead of them. Far to their left front, the herd of wildebeest were vanishing into the heart of the great plain; the buffaloes had sheered away yet more to the left, and were standing at gaze a quarter of a mile away, evidently meditating a rush for the coveted shelter of the river bush. Galloping on, the hunters were presently within a quarter of a mile of the rhinos, which, considering their gigantic size and unwieldy shape, moved at an astonishingly fast pace. Now the two beasts swerved suddenly to the right hand, and were presently lost to view among the river jungle. As Guy and the Bushman approached the place where the animals had disappeared, Poeskop whispered, -

"They stand somewhere in there, baas. You must look out, for the rhinoster is a nasty-tempered fellow, and they may go for us."

They turned, and rode very quietly into the bush. After two hundred yards of spooring, they were about to emerge from the denser thickets into an open glade, when Poeskop, who was leading, lifted up his right hand. Guy peered from behind their screen of shrubbery, and saw one of the two rhinoceroses standing facing their way. It was evidently scenting the air for danger, and listening intently; its huge misshapen head, garnished, as Guy noted, with a magnificent fore-horn, turning swiftly from side to side, as if peering this way and that. Guy knew from his uncle what poor sight these creatures have, and, dismounting, crept round to obtain a fairer and a closer shot. Poeskop meanwhile remained with the horses. Guy succeeded admirably in his stalk, and getting within thirty paces of the monster, let drive for its heart. The Martini bullet clapped loudly as it struck the animal's thick hide; and upon the instant, the infuriated beast, snorting like a steam-engine, charged for the smoke of the rifle.

Guy had jumped aside behind a tree and reloaded. So quick was the charge that the monster had vanished into the dense bush almost before its assailant had realized that it was past him. He ran for his pony, and met Poeskop bringing the nag to meet him.

"He's turned, baas, and gone up wind again," said the Bushman. "We will follow him up; but you must keep a sharp lookout."

They took the blood spoor, and went on for about a mile, and then crossed another opening in the bush. Suddenly, without a sound of warning, the rhinoceros started from a clump of thorn scrub in their front, and came straight for them. Poeskop's horse whipped smartly round, and took its rider soon out of danger. Not so Guy's mount, which seemed for some seconds paralyzed with fear, and stood rooted in its tracks, staring at the approaching monster. By dint of a violent wrench of the bridle, and fierce spurring, Guy got the affrighted pony's head round. It moved at last. It was too late, however; the rhinoceros, snorting loudly, was upon them. Guy, looking backward out of the tail of his eye, caught a glimpse of a huge, pig-like head and a massive fore-horn close to his pony's flank, and then he was hoisted into the air. There was a violent crash, and he remembered no more.

When he came to himself he was lying on the ground, his head supported by a saddle, and Poeskop looking anxiously into his face.

"That's better, my baas," said the little Bushman cheerfully. "Now you will soon be your own man again. Here, drink some more of this."

Guy drank from a flask of brandy, which Poeskop put to his lips, and felt better. His mind and recollection came back to him.

"What's happened?" he asked.

"Take another soupje, and I'll tell you," replied Poeskop. The lad did as he was told, and then the Bushman went on. "Well, what happened was this," he said. "That rhinoster caught you, and just ran his horn through your horse, and threw you both over his head. I caught sight of you flying through the air, and I thought, Well, Baas Guy is done for, and his hunting has soon come to an end."

"Not quite yet, Poeskop," returned Guy, a smile flitting over his white face. "I feel better already. Here, help me to sit up."

Poeskop lifted him up, and propped him in a sitting posture.

"Why!" exclaimed the lad, rubbing his eyes, and looking at his pony, which lay near, "there's Bantam-dead!"

"Yes, baas," added the Bushman. "Bantam is dead. The rhinoster's horn ran right through his lungs and heart, and I saw he was dying, and put a bullet into him to hasten his end and save him suffering. He was a fool, and might easily have escaped. As it was, he nearly did for you as well as himself by his stupidity. It's a pity. He was a right good pony, and could gallop like a springbuck."

"Poor Bantam!" groaned Guy, "what an untimely end. He was a duffer to behave as he did, but I shall miss him badly. What's happened to the rhinoceros, Poeskop?"

"He is dead, too," said the Bushman. "That was his last charge. He lies in the bush yonder, two hundred yards away. Now you must rest here while I make a fire and get some food for you. Baas Blakeney will see the smoke presently, and will come this way in search of us. Let me see if you can get to your feet, and you shall rest against yonder tree."

Guy, who was already feeling much better, rose to his feet with the aid of the Bushman's hand. He felt strangely stiff and sore and much shaken, but he had no broken bones, and his severest injury, beyond the shock of the fall, was a sprained thumb.

"On the whole, Poeskop," he said, as he sat down against a tree, "I think I got off rattling well. A toss from a rhinoster isn't an every-day sort of a business, is it?"

"No," returned the Bushman, grinning hugely, "it isn't. I have known two men tossed by rhinosters, and they were both dead men after it. But you are born to be lucky as well as rich. I saw it in your face when first I set eyes on you. You will be a great hunter, and have already made a first-class beginning. But you must beware of three things in the hunting veldt-a wounded buffalo, a wounded rhinoceros, and a hungry lion on a dark or stormy night. The last is the worst of all, and nothing, neither guns nor fires nor thorn kraal, will stop him."

So talking to his young master, Poeskop busied himself in making a big fire and getting some food out of the saddle-bags. Guy having eaten some bread and meat, and drunk a little more brandy and water, felt vastly stronger. Poeskop now set to work, and with a light native hatchet chopped the horns from the snout of the dead rhinoceros. Then, taking some of the flesh, he made a neat bundle against the coming of the other hunters. By three o'clock Mr. Blakeney and Tom had ridden up and learned the story of Guy's adventure.

Chapter VIII.

THE ELEPHANT COUNTRY

"It's a bad job," said Mr. Blakeney, after hearing the news, "but it might have been worse. The pony is a loss, it is true; but I'm heartily glad you got through with so little damage, Guy. The fact is, I never imagined we were going to encounter rhinoceros so soon. I should never have forgiven myself if anything had happened to you. You must go steady, my lad, and don't be too adventurous. And in future, as we are likely to tackle rhinoceros and elephant, it will be better to have always in reserve a heavier gun, the double .500 or the eight-bore 'Paradox,' for a second shot. Poeskop, or whoever is with you two boys as after-rider, can carry it for you. Few beasts, not even rhinos, or elephant, or buffalo, can stand up against the smashing blow dealt by such a bullet. Still, these are heavy guns, and kick a good bit, and you needn't use them except in case of emergency, to turn a charge or stagger an animal at close quarters." As for Tom, he was so much overjoyed by Guy's supreme feat in slaying a rhinoceros, that he felt he would gladly have accepted the risk of that adventure, even to the extent of being tossed bodily into the air-horse, foot, and artillery.

The wagon came along presently, and they loaded up the trophies, and some meat from the buffalo and rhinoceros. Then they moved across the plain, making a long trek far into the evening before they outspanned for the night. Next day, after a rather restless and uncomfortable night, Guy felt far too stiff and sore from his fall to sit a horse. He remained with the wagon, therefore, taking things easily, and amusing himself by skinning half a dozen birds which Tom and Mr. Blakeney had recently shot. These included several very interesting species. First, there was a most lovely roller, a bird usually known to South African colonists as a blue jay. This, as Guy discovered by looking up the species in "Layard's Birds of South Africa," a most valuable book for the bird collector, turned out to be the lilac-breasted roller (Coracias caudata), a bird more than ordinarily remarkable, even in a country thronging with brilliant birds, for the beauties of its plumage. The upper colouring was a ferruginous green, the reddish hue showing most strongly on the back; the under parts were pale, bluish green, as were the tail feathers; the rump was bright blue, the lilac breast touched with streaks of white and rufous, the forehead and chin buff. At each outer edge of the blue-green tail feathers there extended a single long feather of dark, blackish green. These are much sought after by certain native chiefs, of whom one was the redoubted Moselikatse, father of Lobengula, king of the Matabele. For this reason this roller is known as Moselikatse's bird.

Having finished with this handsome species, which is about the size of our English jay, Guy took next in hand a perfect little gem of a feathered creature-one of the curious bee-eaters, known to naturalists as Merops bullockoides. The upper colouring of this diminutive bird was a light green, the rump and vent blue, the throat a brilliant scarlet, the front, chin, and moustache white, with a greenish tint. The back of the head was rufous. These tiny creatures, which in the wonders of their colouring remind their captors of the glorious humming-birds, take their names from their family habit of devouring bees. They have longish bills, and, seizing the bee deftly across the body, give it a sharp squeeze and swallow it. There are various kinds to be found in Africa, all distinguished by most beautiful colouring. One species, the European bee-eater (Merops apiaster), passes to and fro between South Africa and South Europe. In the former country it exists largely on a red wasp, of which it seems particularly fond. All these little creatures, none of which measure more than eight or ten inches in length, including a tail of four to five and a half inches, are fond of water, and are often to be seen flitting after their prey over some deep river pool or quiet lagoon.

Having carefully divested the bee-eater of its skin and rubbed in a preservative powder known as taxidermine, the young collector put it beside the other to dry. Guy, while at school, had been a fair amateur bird-skinner, even with no more aid than the small blade of his pocket-knife. Before leaving England he had bought a small case of instruments at Rowland Ward's in Piccadilly, for the more careful manipulation of skins. He had also procured at the same place an excellent book, known as "The Sportsman's Handbook to Practical Collecting," which gave him all sorts of useful information on the preparing and setting up of skins, from birds and small mammals to the biggest of big game. By the aid of this book he was able to settle at once the sex of the bird he skinned, a matter of much importance to all collectors. In addition to these birds, he skinned and prepared an Angola kingfisher; a rufous-necked falcon (Falco ruficollis); a red and black weaver-bird (Ploceus oryx), a very handsome species, seen near the river in large numbers; and a pink-billed lark. To all of these skins, after having got them ready, Guy affixed a label with short particulars, showing the species, sex, and when and where they were shot.

Towards four o'clock Mr. Blakeney and Tom returned to the wagon. They had had an excellent day's sport, and Tom was in a state of high exultation, having run down and shot a fine gemsbuck cow, carrying a splendid pair of horns, measuring no less than thirty-eight and a half inches in length. Mr. Blakeney had secured from the same troop a good bull. It is a somewhat remarkable fact that the females of these grand antelopes carry longer and finer horns than do the males. In most species of African antelopes the converse is the case; and in many specimens, such as the water-bucks, the koodoo, the reedbuck, steinbuck, klipspringer, and others, the females are hornless.

In two days' time Guy had recovered from his toss by the rhinoceros, and was longing to be in the saddle again. They had reached the second range of mountains, and, after a long and hard day of trekking up and down hill, had surmounted the pass by which Poeskop guided them, and outspanned on the farther side. The spoor of elephants had been found near this camp, and next day was to be devoted to a hunt, if the party could come up with a herd. Poeskop alleged that this country was full of "oliphant," as he called them in Boer Dutch, and attributed their plenty to the growth of a favourite tree, the machabel, which grew in this locality.

After much discussion it was settled that they should hunt on foot. The ponies wanted a rest, and, to the uninitiated, shooting elephants from the saddle is not an easy matter. Moreover, so far as they knew, none of their nags had ever been in pursuit of these animals, and it was by no means certain that they would behave properly in the presence of such formidable beasts of chase. At dawn next morning they had breakfasted and were away. Mr. Blakeney carried his .500 express, a weapon powerful enough, with solid bullets, to account for the heaviest game. Tom, who was to accompany his father so soon as the hunt began, was armed with a double Africander rifle, carrying Martini-Henry bullets. Guy was armed with a .303, in which his uncle had a good deal of confidence; but Poeskop, who was to accompany him, carried the Paradox eight-bore in case of necessity. The Bushman had the strictest injunctions to stick close to his young master, and to hand the spare rifle instantly in case of a charge. All were clad in their lightest kit. They anticipated much walking, and probably a good deal of running. They wore, therefore, no more than flannel shirts, old breeches or flannels cut down to the knees, and velschoens. Their legs and arms were bare, their heads protected by the usual broad-brimmed felt hats. Poeskop appeared in nothing but an old shirt and a pair of velschoens. An odd little figure he cut, indeed, loaded as he was with the weight of a heavy rifle. The Bushman stepped out briskly, however, and by the end of the day his masters were fain to confess that, in spite of severe exertions, he was as fresh and as fit as any of them.

For three miles Poeskop conducted the little party along the lower slope of the mountain. Finding the spoor he expected, he led them at a rapid walk, with an occasional jog trot, on the tracks of the gigantic game. They descended to the level ground; and presently, after another hour had elapsed, the Bushman whispered that they were approaching the troop. They were now in a fairly level piece of country, the open parts of it consisting of grass veldt. There was a good deal of timber and bush. On the whole, the veldt seemed favourable for hunting: it was not too open, and in case of pursuing or charging elephants, as Mr. Blakeney had carefully explained to the two lads, there were plenty of opportunities for dodging behind bush and tree-trunks, and so evading a charge.

The wind was light. Poeskop picked up a handful of dry sand and let it run through his fingers. The direction was all right, and the falling sand was puffed gently towards them. On they went, now stepping with the greatest caution so as not to break a twig or make any kind of unnecessary noise. Now they crossed the bed of a dry streamlet, negotiated some more bush and timber, and then suddenly, in a great opening of the forest, dotted here and there with islets of heavyish bush, came upon the herd. It was a wonderful spectacle. Sixty or seventy elephants, big and little, but most of them full-grown bulls and cows, were shambling slowly along; some plucking at clumps of bush, some tearing at branches of trees; two or three, with their huge gleaming tusks, stripping the bark from some good-sized timber and conveying it to their mouths. One or two great cows were caressing with their trunks some half-grown babies that moved alongside them.

With a motion of his hand Mr. Blakeney signified that he and Tom would take a big bull that was engaged in stripping a tree of its bark. Guy nodded, and indicating that he would go farther up the herd for his shot, turned back into the shelter of the forest and ran swiftly along. As he ran he heard the loud report of two barrels from his uncle's rifle; then Tom's Martini rattled out twice. In an instant the forest, but a moment before so silent and so peaceful-for the elephant moves with singularly noiseless tread-was in an uproar. Wild trumpetings conveyed the danger signal from one to another. The great beasts massed more closely together and moved on. Yet, at present, they were no more than walking quickly. They had not broken into a run.

Guy skirted the glade, and reached the point he had aimed at just in the very nick of time. As he crouched behind a patch of bush the troop came right past him, within fifteen yards. He let two or three cows and calves go by, and then, as a huge bull with immensely long tusks shuffled up, looking, as Guy thought, like some gigantic mammoth of the primeval world, the lad knew that the supreme moment had come. Raising his .303 very gently, he took aim for that part of the great beast's skull which lies between the eye and the orifice of the ear, and let drive. To his immense astonishment the mighty beast went down like a shot rabbit. The tiny sporting bullet had pierced the brain, and the elephant never moved again. Full of confidence now, Guy rapidly worked another cartridge into the breech, and seeing that a bevy of big elephants, which were following hard upon the great bull, had swerved to the right, he left his concealment and ran in after them. Picking out the best bull he could see, he ranged up within twenty paces, and, not being able to get the head shot, fired for the shoulder.