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Off to the Wilds, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 7. How The Boys Found It Was Not Easy To Shoot |
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_ CHAPTER SEVEN. HOW THE BOYS FOUND IT WAS NOT EASY TO SHOOT The oxen were in-spanned and the horses saddled, on as glorious a morning as ever shone over the great African continent. The breakfast things had been stowed away, a glance given round to see that nothing had been left behind; the driver's and foreloper's whips cracked; and with loud shouts of, "Trek, boys, trek!" the great waggon slowly went on its course, every one forgetting the troubles of the disturbed night, in the glorious sunshine and dew-glittering herbage. Coffee and Chicory ran and bounded and spun their kiris in the air, catching them again, and then running on beside the cantering horses of their young masters, while their father ran beside Mr Rogers' big bay. Above all, the dogs showed their delight by barking, yelping, and making insane charges here and there, Rough'un's great delight being to run his head into one or other of the holes made by the burrowing animals of the plains, and then worrying and snapping at nothing until he was called away. As the waggon lumbered on, father and sons wandered off to left or right, exploring, examining the trees and strange plants, and sometimes bringing down some bright-plumaged bird, which was carefully laid in a tin case carried for the purpose by the Zulu, ready to be skinned and dressed to keep as a specimen on their return. That they were approaching the game country was now hourly becoming plainer, for from time to time little knots of bok could be seen upon the hills; but when Dick or Jack eagerly drew the attention of the Zulu to the fact, he laughed, and said it was nothing, bidding them to wait. "We must have some venison for dinner to-day, boys," said Mr Rogers, cantering up; "so one of you had better try your rifle. Who's it to be?" "Let it be Jack, father," said Dick, quietly; "my hands are not steady yet." "Very good," said Mr Rogers; while the Zulu listened attentively, trying to comprehend every word. "Now then, Jack, how shall you go to work? There is a little herd of half-a-dozen springbok there, on that hill, nearly a mile away." "Get close and shoot them," replied Jack, stoutly. "Say, if you can, my boy," replied Mr Rogers, smiling. "Now look here, Jack, this is the way the Boers shoot springbok, and I don't think you will find a better plan. Have a few cartridges handy, so that you can load quickly, and then gallop easily towards the herd, which will begin playing about, till they grow too alarmed to let you get nearer, and then they'll bound off. This is your time: gallop up as close as you can, and when you see they are about to go, leap from your horse and fire--reload, and fire again. If you are very quick you may get three shots at the herd before they are out of range." "But suppose I miss, father?" said Jack. "Don't suppose anything of the kind, my boy," said Mr Rogers, smiling; "but go and do it. Time enough to consider failure when you have failed." Jack nodded, opened the breech of his gun, placed half-a-dozen cartridges ready, leaped down to tighten the girths of his saddle, the cob standing perfectly still. Then mounting once more, he waved his hand, touched his horse's sides with his heels, and away it went like the wind. As he started, Chicory, who seemed to have adopted him as his leader, made a bound at the saddle, caught hold of the pommel, and ran by his side with marvellous speed. The springbok seemed to pay not the slightest heed to their approach, and Jack was beginning to feel excited with the chase, and to calculate how far they should be able to get before having to dismount, when all at once there was a sudden check; he went flying over his horse's head, his double barrel escaped from his hand, and he found himself lying on the hard sandy earth, confused and puzzled, with Chicory trying to pull him up; and Stockings standing close by, snorting and shivering with fear. Jack got up, and limped to where his rifle lay, feeling stupid, and wondering how it was that he had been thrown; and he had but regained his piece, and was ruefully examining it, when his father and Dick came galloping up. "Much hurt, my boy?" cried Mr Rogers, eagerly. "Only my leg and arm a little," said Jack, rubbing first one and then the other; "but I did think I could ride better than that, father." "Ride, my boy? Why, no one could have helped that. Don't you know how it was?" "I know Stockings threw me," replied Jack. "Threw you? Nonsense, boy! He set his fore feet in an ant-bear hole, and turned a complete somersault. We were afraid that he had rolled upon you." "Then a good rider couldn't have helped it, father?" "Helped it? No, my boy." "Oh, I feel better now," said Jack, laughing; and, limping up to his horse, he patted its neck and remounted, though not without difficulty. "Where's the bok, Chicory?" Chicory pointed to where they were, nearly a mile away, and looking exceedingly small, but quite clear in the bright African atmosphere; and without a word he set off again. "Ought he to go, father?" said Dick. "Yes, my boy. He is not much hurt, and it will be a lesson to both him and his horse. I am glad to see that he has so much spirit." A short chuckle close by made Mr Rogers turn his head, and he saw that the Zulu understood his words, and was smiling approval. "Brave boy! Make big hunter warrior, some day," said the Zulu. "Boss Dick big brave hunter too," cried Coffee indignantly, as he went and laid a hand upon the neck of Dick's horse. "Boss Dick go shoot bok?" "Not now, Coffee," replied Dick, smiling; and then the little group remained watching Jack, who was in full chase of the springbok, which, as he came nearer, began to skip and bound and gambol together, leaping over each other's backs, but all the time watching the coming enemy. It was an exciting time for Jack, and in it he forgot the pain in his shoulder and the stiffness of his leg. He had the rifle-barrel ready cocked, and his feet out of the stirrups, and at last, when he had galloped up to within a couple of hundred yards, he saw such evident preparations for flight on the part of the little bok, that he leaped down, dropped upon one knee, and fired straight at the flying herd. Before the smoke had risen he had another cartridge in the rifle, and fired again. Once more he threw open the breech and loaded--and fired, though by this time the bok were seven or eight hundred yards away. But in spite of the care in the aim taken, no bok fell struggling to the ground, and Jack rode back slowly to join his father, wondering whether the bore of his rifle was true, for he knew, he said to himself, that he had aimed straight. When he hinted at the possibility of the rifle being in fault, his father smiled, and Dick gave him so comical a look that Jack said no more, but rode on silently by the side of the waggon, till, seeing his disappointment, his father joined him. "Why, you foolish boy," he exclaimed, "it was not likely that you would hit one of those flying bok. It is a matter of long practice; and even the Boers, who have studied such shooting for years, often miss." "But you see, father, I did make such a dreadful mess of it," pleaded Jack. "I came off my horse; and then I shot over and over again, and missed. I can't help feeling what a muddle I made." "Well, for my part," said his father, "I am rather glad that you failed. If you had succeeded, my boy, without effort at the first trial, it would have made you careless. These failures will teach you the necessity for using care, and trying to perfect yourself as a marksman." "But there'll be no bok for dinner," said Jack ruefully. "Never mind," replied Mr Rogers. "I daresay the boys will bring in something." He was right, for Coffee and Chicory brought in six great plain partridges, which they had knocked down with their kiris, and these were roasted at the midday meal, and eaten with the appetite found in the desert. As the day wore on, and after the refreshed oxen were once more doing their duty, the effects of the last night's scare began to show itself, Peter, Dirk, and Dinny declaring that they had seen lions creeping after the waggon in the distance, ready to pounce upon the oxen as soon as it was dark. Dirk reported this to Mr Rogers, who gave them all a good, talking to about their cowardice. "Why, look at these Zulu boys," he cried; "they don't show any fear, while you grown men are almost as bad as children." "Sure, sor, an' the Zulu boys don't know any better," said Dinny. "They're little better than the bastes themselves." "Well, there are my own boys," exclaimed Mr Rogers. "They are not afraid. I wonder at you, Dinny, an Irishman, and to set such a bad example to these blacks." "And is it afraid?" said Dinny. "Not a bit of it. I'm not a bit afraid at all; but I can't help thinking of what my poor mother's feelings would be if she came to know that her only son Dennis had been aiten up by wild bastes. I don't mind a bit, but I wouldn't hurt her feelings for the world." "Then oblige me, Dinny, by holding your tongue, for if I hear any more complaints I shall send you back." "Sind me back!" ejaculated Dinny, as soon as his master had gone. "Sind me back across the big desert all alone by meself. Why, it would be worse than murther. It's meself wishes I hadn't come." Whatever he may have wished, these sharp words had the effect of silencing Dinny for the time being; but when the Zulu had led them at last, just at sundown, into a dense patch of forest, where the overhanging trees made the gloom quite oppressive, Dinny's eyes showed white circles round them; and if it had not been for the fact that they found a Boer and his family encamped by the water they had been seeking, the Irishman would have probably turned, and at all risks have fled. People are ready enough to make friends out in the desert, and the Boer gladly offered the use of the fire he had made, and a part of the springbok he had shot, on receiving a share of some of the good things brought by the newcomers. Then, with the great camp-kettle simmering over the fire, and with the boys patiently waiting for their share of the provisions, guns were cleaned and laid ready for use, the men the while busily attending to the oxen and horses, while the Zulu and his boys collected wood into a pile to keep up the fire. "Sure an' it's a dreadful melancholy-looking place," said Dinny with a shudder. And then he listened attentively while the Boer expressed his belief that there were lions in the neighbourhood, though they were not often seen. _ |
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