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Off to the Wilds, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 5. A Taste Of Something To Come |
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_ CHAPTER FIVE. A TASTE OF SOMETHING TO COME There was but little in the way of incident for some time. The dogs seemed to be never weary of hunting here and there, thrusting their noses under every rock, their heads into every hole; but they found nothing till after the midday halt, when a furious barking from the setter Rough'un took the attention of all, and Mr Rogers and the boys cantered up to a thin cluster of trees, where, on what seemed to be at first a broken stump, but which on nearer inspection proved to be a tall ragged ant-hill, a vicious-looking snake was curled, swinging its head about threateningly, and darting out its forked tongue at the dog, which kept its distance, barking furiously. "A poisonous fellow--cobra evidently. Now, Dick, bring it down." "No; let Jack shoot, father," said Dick. "My head aches, and I'm tired. Well, yes, I will." "That's right, my boy. I want you to master this weakness," said his father. "And besides, I want you to try how your horse stands fire. Nip him tightly with your knees." Dick cocked his double-barrelled breechloader--fired--and the serpent hissed loudly and began to descend, but a shot from Jack's rifle laid it writhing on the ground, when, before it could be prevented, Rough'un seized it behind the head, worrying it furiously. Fortunately the creature was mortally wounded, or it might have gone hard with one of the dogs, its poison being very violent; and the others coming up soon tore it to pieces. "Your horses behaved admirably," said Mr Rogers. "You must train them, my boys, so that they will stand where you leave them, and take no more notice of a shot fired over their heads than at a distance." They halted directly after for a midday meal, the oxen finding a plentiful supply of fresh grass and water, and after a good rest they were once more on the way, the horses behind under the care of Dinny and the Zulu warrior. Mr Rogers and his sons were close to the oxen, Coffee and Chicory were close behind, and they were inspecting the team, which was pulling steadily and well, when Mr Rogers said,-- "Well, boys, we may as well get our guns. We shall soon be in the hunting country now." "Hi! Yup-yup-yup!" shouted Coffee. "Ho! Yup-yup-yup!" yelled Chicory. The dogs began to yelp and bark; and in the excitement, as they saw an animal like a great long-eared spotted cat dash out of a clump of trees and make for some rocky ground, all joined in the chase; Mr Rogers ran as hard as the rest, forcing his pith hunting-helmet down over his head. Coffee got well in front, waving his arms and shouting; but Chicory trod upon a thorn and began to limp. As for Jack, in his excitement he tripped over a stump, and fell sprawling; while Dick had hard work to save himself from a similar mishap. Last of all, whip in hand, came the foreloper, who had left the oxen in his excitement, flourishing and cracking his lash. There was a sharp hunt for a few minutes, during which the followers toiled on over the rocky ground, seeing nothing after their first glimpse of the lynx--for such Mr Rogers declared it to be; then they met the dogs coming back, looking very stupid, and quite at fault. Rough'un, however, went on with Coffee, and Jack followed, to find that the lynx had evidently gone down a deep rift, where it was impossible to follow it; so they went back to the waggons, both Jack and his father determining that in future they would never be without either gun or rifle in hand. Every minute, almost, as they journeyed on, the boys realised the value of having the waggon made in the best manner, and of the strongest wood that could be obtained, for it bumped and swayed about, creaking dismally beneath its heavy load, and making the casks and pots slung beneath clatter together every now and then, as it went over some larger stone than usual. They saw too the value of a good foreloper; for if a careless man were at the head of the oxen, the waggon might at any moment be wrecked over some rugged rock or sunk to the floor in a black patch of bog. The dogs seemed rather ashamed of themselves after the chase of the lynx, and went with lolling tongues to trot behind the waggon, Pompey now and then making an angry snatch at Caesar, while Crassus threw up his muzzle and uttered a dismal yelp. Rough'un, too, did not seem happy, but to have that lynx on his conscience; for he kept running out from beneath the waggon, and looking back as if bound to finish the chase by hunting the cat-like creature out; but he always altered his mind and went under the waggon once more, to walk close to the heels of the last pair of oxen, one of which looked back from time to time in a thoughtful meditative way, with its great soft eyes, as if in consideration whether it ought to kick out and send Rough'un flying. This act made Rough'un run forward, and as the ox bent down snuffing at it, the dog leaped up at its muzzle, then at that of the next ox, and went on right along the whole span, saluting all in turn without getting trampled, and ending by retaking his place beneath the waggon front. For Rough'un was a dog of a different breed to his fellows, and though he hunted with them he did not associate with them afterwards, but kept himself to himself. There was not much to interest the boys after the first excitement of the start was over, for they had to travel over plain and mountain for some distance before they would reach ground that had not been well hunted over by the settlers; but every step took them nearer, and there were endless matters to canvass. For instance, there were the capabilities of their horses, which grew in favour every time they were mounted; the excellences of their guns, presented to them by their father for the expedition, light handy pieces, double-barrelled breechloaders, the right-hand barrel being that of an ordinary shot-gun, the left-hand being a rifle sighted up to three hundred yards. It would be hard to say how many times these guns were loaded and unloaded, slung across their owners' backs and taken down again, while the eagerness with which they looked forward to some good opening for trying their skill was notable. But beyond an occasional bird which fled with a loud cry at the approach of the waggon, and a little herd of springbok seen upon the edge of a low hill quite a mile away, there was little to break the monotony of the journey over the hot sandy waste, and every one was pretty weary when, just at sundown, they came in sight of a low house, the abode of a Boer who had settled there some years before, and who, with his large family, seemed to be perfectly content, and who smiled with satisfaction on being presented with some sweets in return for his civility in pointing out the places where the out-spanned oxen could find an abundance of grass and water. Here the first experience of sleeping in a waggon was gone through, and very comical it seemed to boys who were accustomed to the comforts of a well-regulated home. Dick laughed, and said that it was like sleeping in the attic, while the servants slept in the kitchen, for the drivers and the three Zulus made themselves snug under the waggon, Dinny joining them very unwillingly, after a verbal encounter with Dick, who, however much he might be wanting in bodily strength, was pretty apt with his tongue. "Sure, Masther Dick, sir, Dinny's the last boy in the world to grumble; but I'm a good Christian, and the blacks are as haythen as can be." "Well, Dinny, and what of that?" "Why, ye see, Masther Dick, I'm a white man, and they are all blacks; and," he added with a grin, "I shouldn't like to catch the complaint." "What complaint, Dinny?" "Why, sure, sir, it would be very painful to you and Masther Jack there, and the masther himself, if you found poor Dinny get up some fine morning as black as a crow." "Get along with you," cried Jack. "Oh, be easy, Masther Jack, dear," cried Dinny; "and how would you like to slape under a waggon wid five sacks of smoking and living coals like them Zulus and Kaffirs is?" "I wouldn't mind," replied Jack. "We are on a hunting expedition, and we must take things in the rough." "Sure an' it is rough indade," grumbled Dinny. "I'm thinking I'd rather go sthraight home to my poor owld mother's cabin, and slape there dacent like, wid nothing worse in it than the poor owld pig." _ |
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