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Off to the Wilds, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 46. The Bay Runs His Last Race |
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_ CHAPTER FORTY SIX. THE BAY RUNS HIS LAST RACE During the long backward journey, poor Smiler the chestnut and Toothpick the grey succumbed to the poison of the tsetse fly, gradually waning away so, poor beasts, that Mr Rogers felt glad when on one occasion a lion leaped upon the half-dead chestnut and dragged it down--dying in the act though, for Dick's rifle sent a bullet crashing through the monster's head. There was the same feeling about poor Toothpick the grey, which lay down to rest one night, and was found stretched out dead the next morning. The bay, however, held out; and it was wonderful what vitality he possessed. Poor beast! he was faithful to the end, his last act being the saving of his master's life. They had out-spanned one night at the edge of avast plain, meaning to start again early the next morning; but as they rose and gazed at the vast expanse of sun-dried grass and bushes, dotted all over with great herds of pallah, koodoo, hartebeeste, and springbok, with zebras and quaggas, more than they had before seen, both Mr Rogers and the boys felt that they must have one more day's hunting amongst them; and, each with his faithful Zulu, they set off to try and stalk one of the herds. The horses were brought into requisition, and the miles of space intervening was got over before, by means of his glass, Mr Rogers saw that they were not alone in the field. He could just discern horsemen and a waggon on the far side of the plain, miles away, but their shapes distinctly visible with the glass in that pure atmosphere, as they lay on a distant ridge, the waggon standing out against the sky. They had excellent sport, consequent upon the party on the other side driving the game in their direction, and, lured on by the fascination of the pursuit, Mr Rogers had gone farther and farther, till suddenly he heard a shout from the General. He needed no telling why the Zulu had been guilty of so unsportsmanlike a proceeding, for on his right, travelling before the wind at a tremendous rate, was a perfect hurricane of fire. By some means the Boers on the other side had set light to the thick dry grass and bushes, and to his horror Mr Rogers saw that unless he could get back to where he had left his horse and gallop off, he would be overtaken by the flames. What was worse, he found that the fiery tempest might overtake his sons unawares, for the probabilities were that the horses would not stand. Signing to the Zulu to run to the horse, he set off himself, with the air becoming thick and murky with smoke, so that he feared that he had lost his way. But, to his intense delight, upon turning the corner of a clump of bushes there stood the faithful bay where he had left it, and with the Zulu at its head holding the reins. Mr Rogers leaped into the saddle, the General caught hold of the mane, and away they went at a rapid trot in the direction in which the boys were believed to be. But the fire gained upon them so fast that the rider insisted upon the Zulu mounting behind him, in spite of his remonstrances. "Quick!" he cried angrily. On this the General leaped up behind, and they went at full gallop, tearing over the ground, the bay straining its sinews to the utmost, while, as he saw the fire gaining upon him fast, Mr Rogers' heart sank within him, for he could see no sign of either Dick or Jack, and yet he was obliged to dash on, for the fire was wrapping round from his left as if to cut him off. "Where are the boys?" he groaned as he reached the top of a small eminence, and drew rein to look around. "There!" cried the Zulu, pointing. To his great relief Mr Rogers saw the boys galloping towards him, evidently coming to his aid. Waving his hand to them to go back, he galloped down, and before long had overtaken them, and they rode on side by side, each with a Zulu behind his saddle, for the fire seemed to come on now with lightning speed. "The waggon stands just in the way of the fire, boys," groaned Mr Rogers, "and we shall never save it unless the oxen are already in-spanned." It seemed to be only too true, and they urged on the horses to their fullest speed. It was a race for life, and they could hear the flames roaring hungrily behind them as they tore along, the horses needing neither whip nor spur to send them at their best pace over the crackling grass. "Hurrah!" cried Jack. "I see the waggon." "And the oxen?" cried Mr Rogers. "Yes, father--in-spanned. And they are flying from the fire!" Mr Rogers uttered a prayer of thankfulness as he rode on, till at the end of a quarter of an hour they were close up with the waggon, while the oxen, with Dirk the foreloper at the head and Peter on the box, were going along in a clumsy gallop, urged by the shouts of their drivers and their natural dread of the fire, coming after them with the fury of a whirlwind. The smoke was now blinding, the heat increasing, and it was hard work to check the horses, who strove to gallop madly away as soon as they were lightened of half their loads; for Coffee and Chicory followed the example of their father in leaping down and running to the side of the team to help urge on the frightened oxen, till they plunged along in their clumsy race. Faster and faster in the wild race for life! the flames roaring as they came nearer! the waggon thundering over the ground, swaying from side to side, and threatening each moment to overturn! Twice it ran upon two wheels for some distance, and the boys knew that if a stone of any size was met the waggon must be irretrievably wrecked, and they saw in anticipation the flames overtaking it, scorching up the valuables it contained, and ending by reaching the ammunition, when everything must be blown to atoms. Mr Rogers felt that the case was hopeless. The flames were close upon them, and he was about to shout to the people to cut loose the oxen and leave the waggon to its fate, when he saw Dick spring forward to the side of the Zulu, who was with Dirk the foreloper, by the leading oxen. Mr Rogers could not hear what his son said in the deafening roar, but he saw him point, and the foreloper and the General urged the leading oxen out of the course they were taking before the flames to one nearly at right angles, turning them so sharply that the waggon again nearly overset. It rose upon two wheels, but sank back on the others with a crash; the oxen lumbered along in their awkward gallop, and the whole business seemed madness. Five minutes later, though, the leader saw that his son's act had been guided by sound reasoning, for he had directed the team into a broad open space where there was nothing to feed the flames. The consequence was that as the wall of fire reached the edge of the opening it gradually flickered out there, but rushed along on either side in two volumes of flame, which joined hands, as it were, below them, and the fire went roaring along as swiftly as before. Where they were grouped, in the midst of the open space, they felt the scorching, were blinded by the smoke, and had a hard matter to keep the beasts quiet, the leopard howling dismally, and the giraffe thrusting its head beneath the back of the waggon-tilt, while the horses snorted and plunged, and the oxen shook their heads, elevated their tails, and behaved unpleasantly to each other with their horns. But the danger was past, and at the end of an hour they were able to trek on over the blackened plain, till they reached the first pool, where, unpromising as everything was, they were glad to outspan and rest for a few hours before once more resuming their journey. But there was no renewal of the journey for the bay. Poor beast, it had used up its remaining strength in that, last gallop, and when the time had come for the renewal of the journey the bay was lying down. Mr Rogers spoke to it, and the poor animal made an effort to rise, but merely laid its head quietly down again, uttering a low sigh--and the faithful beast was dead. _ |
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