Part 7

We inspected every apology for a track until it branched off into two or more other paths. We rode for several hours, absolutely ignorant whether we went deeper into the forest or towards the open out of which we had entered it, until at last Jack pulled up, tied his horse to a tree, and threw himself down on the ground, rolling from side to side in a paroxysm of laughter, which I found very contagious and in which I joined immediately.

Of course, there was nothing to laugh at that I knew of; on the contrary, our position was somewhat serious. Nevertheless, I laughed simply because Jack did, until he suddenly looked up and pointed, and then at last I saw the reason of his mirth. Our dead eland lay about fifteen paces from us. We had ridden for four or five hours, and had returned to the spot from which we had started!--at which discovery I laughed again until I nearly cried.

*CHAPTER XVIII*

*HOW WE BURIED OURSELVES ALIVE FOR THE LOVE OF SCIENCE*

"Talk of returning to one's mutton!" said Jack; "here's our venison!"

I confess I was uncommonly glad to see that eland; for since breakfast I had scarcely tasted food, and the prospect of camping out for the night upon a little tinned meat and a couple of biscuits had not presented itself to my imagination in the brightest of colours.

Under the soothing influence of roast venison, however, and a comfortable fire, our prospects for the night brightened very considerably, our only source of anxiety for the present being the want of a "long drink." We had our brandy-flasks still nearly full, for we were resolved to keep the spirits for medicinal purposes only; but as the stuff was unmixed with water, we were unable to satisfy our thirst by means of a pull from the flask. We were lucky enough, however, to come across a kei-apple tree which provided us with a kind of dessert; not particularly luxurious certainly, but palatable enough to thirsty souls with nothing to drink.

That night passed without adventure. We heard wild animals in the distance, but none came very near us, and if they had we were growing accustomed to them by this time, and my spell of night-watching was passed without serious attacks of "creeps" and "horrors," such as had rendered my first night or two in the bush periods of mental torture to me.

On the morrow we breakfasted upon more of our eland, and cut and cooked sundry slices to take away with us. Our Kaffir apples again served as substitutes for "drinkables," but I think either Jack or I would have given pretty nearly all we were worth for a cup of tea or a drink of water.

"We must get out of this jungle to-day, Peter," said Jack, "and find some water; kei-apples are not good enough."

I quite agreed. We must get out of this jungle, if only for the sake of having a long drink.

Our horses, which had filled themselves with the cactus-like growths abounding at our feet--elephant's-foot, or Hottentot bread, and other delicacies of a like nature--were presumably as anxious to find water as we were. They carried us in whatsoever direction we urged them, but went listlessly, as though by no means in love with our enterprise.

When we had wandered thus for a few hours, and were growing somewhat depressed by reason of our continued failure to find a way out of the jungle, I proposed to Jack to allow the horses to go where they liked.

"They can't make a worse business of it than we have done," I added; "and they may possibly be guided by instincts which we don't possess."

"Good idea," said Jack; "we'll try it."

The result was rather astonishing.

Those two sagacious creatures, feeling their bridles loose upon their necks, and recognising that they were to be permitted to go where they pleased, pricked up their ears and started off at a quick walk.

"I wonder if they really know where they are going, or whether this is only a kind of 'swagger'?" said Jack. It certainly seemed as though they knew all about it. Why should they not, after all, as well as any other animal that is wild and has a vested interest in the forest? Horses came originally from a wild stock, and doubtless possess the inheritance of their species--namely, the instinctive power to find their way unerringly from point to point as well through pathless jungle as over the easy open.

At any rate, our good steeds had scarcely travelled an hour without our interference when we saw to our delight that the forest grew thinner and the light stronger, and a few minutes later we were actually in the open, with the jungle behind us. We could see our conical hill in the distance, but on the other side of the belt of forest through which we had so laboriously passed. It was also clear to us that there existed a way to Ngami, skirting the forest, which would obviate for us the necessity to plunge again into those dangerous fastnesses; and this discovery was a great relief to our feelings, for it would have been a sore test, to my nerves at least, to re-enter those dark shades in order to get into the road for home.

Meanwhile our horses walked briskly onwards, as though determined to see through the matter which had been entrusted to their instinct; and whether my readers believe it or not, it is nevertheless the fact that they travelled as straight as the bee flies, never diverging by a yard from their line, until presently they brought us up on the banks of a wide stream, into whose cool current they promptly plunged their noses, and we ours, in very abandonment to the luxurious delight of thirst-quenching.

This little adventure, or misadventure, was a lesson to us, and a most useful one, throughout our wanderings in search of big game during the next month or more; and as at this time we passed through several "'scapes" and incidents of an interesting if alarming kind I now purpose to set down one or two of these for the benefit of those of my readers who have a taste for adventure and wild beasts. I do not mean to describe in detail the whole of our month of jungle life, but merely to pick out an incident or two as samples of the rest, for an average volume would not contain the narrative of all we saw and did during those momentous thirty days.

Jack and I slept that night by the river which the instinct of our horses (as I suppose) had discovered for us; and, it being a warm evening, we determined to do without a camp fire for once, and to conceal ourselves by means of deep holes dug in the ground, in which we would crouch with our heads and shoulders concealed in the scrub, or by boughs lopped from tree and bush. We had heard of hunters adopting this plan at spots by a river's bank to which wild animals were in the habit of coming down to drink at night, in order to obtain easy shots from their ambush at the unsuspecting lion, leopard, antelope, elephant, or what not, that came to slake its thirst at the stream.

So Jack and I dug holes, being provided with spades brought for quite a different purpose, and lopped heaps of branches and scrub with our hunting-knives; and when darkness fell we got into our graves, a yard or two apart, within whispering distance, and piled branches and greenery around the mouths of each pit so that we might put our heads and shoulders out, if need be, and still not be seen; and then we waited for developments.

The night was full of a holy calm, warm and still, and instinct with a kind of sense of waiting for something to happen. One felt that the silence and peace were very delicious, but that this sort of thing could not continue long, and must not, for it would grow intolerable after a while.

Then, just as one began to weary of the strain of the stillness and utter noiselessness, a leopard, or some such creature, came to the rescue, far away, and roared half a dozen times on end.

I thought, and whispered my conviction to Jack in the next grave, that this habit of roaring when about to go a-hunting was a very foolish trait in leopards, tigers, and other beasts of prey. It amounted to calling out, "Now, then, all you fat deer and juicy antelopes, you'd better clear out or I'll have you for supper!"

Jack said it reminded him of a master at school, who used to call out "_Cave_, gentlemen, _cave_!" before going the round of the studies, and was, in consequence, the favourite master in the school.

I was just beginning to propound my opinion as to which was the greater and which the lesser fool, the master or the leopard, when suddenly a sound as of a gust of wind broke in upon us, came nearer, disintegrated itself into the noise of the scurrying of many feet, and in a moment we were in the midst of a splendid squad of antelopes, plunging, bucking, kicking, boring, leaping, grunting, squeaking,--all intent upon the water, and each creature apparently in mortal fear lest its companions should drain the supply before it had its share.

One or two of the beautiful little animals actually leaped over my head as I ducked to avoid being kicked, and I put out my hand and patted another which stood close by, to its unspeakable surprise and terror, causing it to dive madly in among its fellows and raise a pandemonium in the ranks, for which, I am sure, the rest could have discerned no reason. Probably my friend obtained the character of being a mad antelope among his companions from that night forward.

All this--the confusion and the trampling of the mud at the water's edge and the drinking--lasted about five minutes; then, as though they had suddenly realised that they were doing an exceedingly rash and foolish thing, the whole family, as with one accord, turned right about and galloped away into the darkness. A moment--and they were here; another--and they were gone thither whence they came, and where that was, no man knows.

What had startled them? The plunging of our horses, perhaps; for those poor picketed beasts were, for some reason or other, very nervous, and we could hear them stamping their hoofs and shaking their heads as though anxious to break away. A hyena or two were prowling about in the neighbourhood, disagreeably noisy as usual, but the horses could scarcely be nervous on their account.

Suddenly all is explained: the hasty "skedaddle" of the antelope herd; the agitation of our horses; the sudden hush of all voices of the forest. Somebody is arriving--a great and majestic and terrific personage, at whose coming my coward heart goes with a jump into my boots. It is a lion--and a hungry one!

*CHAPTER XIX*

*A NIGHT WITH A LION*

Without a sound, without a roar, without warning of any kind whatever, the great creature is suddenly standing before us. He was on his way to the river, doubtless, and became aware, by means of his acute gift of scent, that visitors were somewhere in the neighbourhood.

This is Leo Rex; and he is saying to himself, "Well, I may be mistaken, but unless I were assured to the contrary I should be inclined to think that there was a man about! Yes, I am sure of it. And--yes, upon my life, horse too; is it horse, now, or bullock? Certainly something civilised--horse it is! Well, now, this is really very surprising and delightful! You are in luck to-night, your majesty! Let me see, shall it be man first or horse, or a long drink?"

Then the king decides that he will first roar. That, he thinks, will start the game. At present he does not know _exactly_ where the man is; after a good roar from him there will probably be a rustle and a bolt; as when a terrier gives tongue at a thorn bush in order to set a-running the rabbit that lurks therein.

So the great king set up a terrific roar, and the immediate effect was--besides nearly deafening Jack and me, and frightening me half out of my wits--to terrify our poor horses to such an extent that both broke away at the same moment and fled. We heard the clatter of their hoofs as they galloped away into the sanctuary of the darkness, and we could make out also that the great beast standing so close to us raised his head to listen.

I daresay he was blaming himself in the worst feline language for being so foolish as to drive away good food in this way. I do not know for certain what he thought, for at this moment Jack took his turn at the game of startling poor me, and, before I had any idea of his intention, crashed off first one barrel and then the other, the two reports being almost simultaneous.

I do not know how it was, but I had not thought of shooting; I do not think my rifle was out of the pit. It had been understood between us that we were to observe, this night, not kill; the fact being, of course, that we had not expected a lion to come down to the water, but at most a herd or two of antelopes or zebras, or perhaps an eland. I was not prepared for action when Jack fired, and the succeeding events somewhat took me aback.

It all happened in a single moment, however, so that my confusion did not last more than a second or two at most. It was like this: at Jack's shot the huge brute first gave forth the most awful roar that ever assailed human ears, then in an instant it launched itself into the air, alighting, as I saw to my horror, exactly upon the spot from which Jack had fired. Probably the smoke hung over the place and attracted it.

For an instant I gave up Jack for lost, and the sudden horror of the catastrophe so paralysed me that I had neither thought nor power of action. The next moment the idea came to me that I might at least discharge my rifle into the brute's body, and perhaps prevent it from carrying poor dead Jack into the jungle and eating him there.

The lion was standing over Jack, roaring loud enough to be heard at the Cape, and doubtless tearing the flesh from my friend's bones; but it was too dark to see anything. I could distinguish an opaque mass standing close at my elbow, and I knew this to be the lion; but it was impossible to discern what he was doing.

I put my rifle to my shoulder, but could not see the sights; then I stretched the weapon to arm's length until I could feel the end of it against the brute's ribs, and pulled the trigger--both triggers.

I thought that the great roar to which he had previously treated us had been a fairly effective production, but a terrific noise, half roar, half bellow, to which he now gave vent, put the first completely into the shade. At the same time the brute, so far as I could distinguish, seemed to rise up on his hind legs, paw the air, and fall over backwards.

I thought of dead Jack, and fury lent me courage; I reloaded both barrels of my rifle, climbed out of my pit, and placing the muzzle once more to the brute's side--though he lay quite still and did not seem to require a second dose--I fired both cartridges simultaneously. At the same moment a wonderful thing happened.

Out of the pit in which he had lain hid suddenly popped Jack's head, and Jack's voice cheerily hailed me.

"Peter, old man!" it said, "I'm really awfully obliged to you!" At the words so fierce a flood of joy rushed up to my throat that all utterance was choked and I could say nothing. "You have saved a very precious life," continued Jack. "Do you know the brute was simply feeling for me with his claws when you fired and stopped his game? Look here!"

It was not of much use to look, for the night was pitch dark; but I may say that afterwards, by the firelight, I was somewhat shocked to observe that Jack's Norfolk jacket about the left shoulder was torn to shreds, and that his arm was considerably scratched beneath it. If the pit had been an inch or two shallower, Jack's arm would have been lacerated in a fearful way; as it was, the brute only just touched him.

We found the lion was as dead as a post when we had fired some brushwood and were able to examine him, which we did without loss of time, for it was unpleasant to feel that the brute might possibly be still alive, and gathering up his dying energies for a little _vendetta_, to be enacted upon us so soon as one of us should come within grabbing distance of that tremendous mouth of his!

I confess that I was very proud and happy over that dead lion. It was "my bird" undoubtedly; for though Jack was a crack shot and had fired both barrels at it, at a distance of about ten paces, or not much more, yet he had missed it clean. He could not see the end of his rifle, he explained, and had simply pointed the weapon according to the grace that was in him, hoping for the best results. The results were a clean miss and a big lion sitting, as he picturesquely put it, on the top of his head and digging at his arm. As a matter of fact, I believe this is what happened: the lion, enraged by the shot, instantly sprang towards the only visible thing that it could see, which was the white smoke of Jack's rifle.

It had alighted with its great carcass stretched over the pit, the hind legs short of the aperture, head and shoulders beyond it, but one of its front legs happened to fall just inside the hole; and it was in struggling to regain its footing and draw its great arm out of the mysterious hole into which it had fallen, that the brute spoiled Jack's coat and very nearly spoiled his arm and shoulder as well.

My shots came at the right moment, and the mystery which that lion must have already felt to exist with regard to the banging and the hole in the ground, and things in general, was, for that lion, never solved. He went away to the Happy Hunting Grounds with his last moments in this world made mysterious by unguessable and incomprehensible riddles, leaving me a very proud and elated young person.

Perhaps other lions who have been shot by a visible creature, and with whom my first victim has by this time scraped acquaintance in those shady retreats, have now explained it all for him, and have described what an artful, tricky, fire-spitting, incomprehensible race are we humans, who have about as much strength in our whole bodies as lions have in one muscle of their forearms, but who can nevertheless spit fire at a lion from the other end of nowhere, and burn him up in an instant from out of sight.

*CHAPTER XX*

*OUR TRUSTY NIGGER TO THE RESCUE*

We did not attempt to skin that lion, for the best of reasons--because we did not know how.

Simple Jack was very much inclined to try, because, said he, it could not be very difficult. He had heard that if one cut it straight down the proper place one could pull the whole skin clean off over the beast's head, like a fellow having his football jersey pulled off after a match. But I did not encourage his enterprising spirit in this matter, because I did not think Jack's theory would "come off," or the lion's skin either.

We made up a splendid fire after this adventure, and passed the rest of the night in comfort and self-laudation. We could not expect to see much more animal life out of our pit ambushes after all the banging and talking in which we had indulged.

But we heard several hyenas--probably the pilots and squires of Lord Leo, departed--which came around and said a great many things in derisive tones, as it seemed to us; but whether they intended thereby to rejoice over the downfall of a tyrant, or to abuse us for depriving them of their patron and food-provider; or whether, again, they were addressing their remarks to the lion himself, ignorant of his death, and assuring him, wherever he might be, that he was wasting invaluable time, inasmuch as two fat and juicy young men were ready and waiting for his kind attention down by the river, I really cannot say, not knowing hyenese.

But this I know, that once, when Jack and I had both (oh, how imprudently!) just dozed off for a few minutes of repose, I suddenly awoke to the consciousness--like a person in a ghost story--that we were "not alone."

Up I started, and up started Jack also, aroused by the same sound that had awakened me. What was it?--another lion?

Not only was it not another lion, but lion number one had disappeared. We sat up and rubbed our eyes. We stood up and looked carefully around, and asked one another what in the name of all that was mysterious was the meaning of it?

At the sound of our voices there was a scuffle behind the scrub close in front of us, and a pattering of feet; growlings, moanings, yelpings followed the scuffle: and we ran, rifle in hand, to solve the mystery.

There lay our lion, dragged from the spot in which he had died, and there, under the lee of a prickly-pear bush, his friends the hyenas would, in another minute or two, have torn him to pieces.

I did not know then that the hyenas would have eaten their lord and patron. It struck me that they had dragged away his carcass in order to hide it, in honour, from his enemies, perhaps to bury it. I mentioned this to Jack, who laughed rudely.

"Bury it?" he said. "Yes; in their stomachs."

I had conceived quite a wrong idea of the relations between the hyena and the lion, it appeared. The respect of the former for the latter, I now know, though great during life, vanishes with the breath of his nostrils. The hyena flatters and adores the lion while he can roar and kill food for him; but when the lion dies the hyena instantly eats him if he can get hold of the royal carcass.

The morning after our exploit with the lion, which had first so nearly eaten Jack and afterwards been itself so nearly devoured by hyenas, we left our quarry to take care of itself, for this was the only course open to us, and went on foot towards Ngami, leaving it on the ground at the mercy of vultures or hyenas, or anything else that should smell it out and descend upon it. We went on foot, because our horses had broken away and departed, as we feared "for good," whither we knew not.

But to our great joy and surprise, when we reached a grassy glade near the village (having walked about ten miles from the spot in which we had passed the night), we suddenly came upon them feeding quietly, with their torn halters dangling on the ground, neither surprised nor disconcerted to see us.

They allowed themselves, moreover, to be caught by us, which was really exceedingly obliging of them, for there they were with the whole of Africa to run about in if they pleased, and no one to prevent them; and yet they submitted tamely to be placed once more under the yoke, and to enter into bondage upon the old conditions!

At the village of Ngami we found our waggon, with its, to us, invaluable accompaniment of native hunter and Kaffir driver, and its welcome load of little luxuries such as bottled beer, and big luxuries such as express rifles, with other delights.

The native hunter was a Somali, and knew a little English. His name, for those who liked it, was M'ngulu; but we felt that we could never do justice to such a name as that without a special education, and called him "M" for short. He had convoyed other bands of young English sportsmen, and knew enough English words to convey his meaning when he wanted anything, such as tobacco, which he called "to-bac," or whiskey, which he called "skey," but which, since we soon found that he was better without it, we never offered him.

I do not think our Kaffir driver had a name of his own; we called him "Nig," or, sometimes "Hi!" and he was equally pleased with either, being an extremely good-natured person.

M'ngulu, or M, took to us at once. I think it was on account of the lion of the previous night, to whose remains we very quickly introduced him. I had made sure that the hyenas would have picked its bones by the time we reached the spot, but, to my joy, there the brute lay, untouched. As we neared the place, however, three huge vultures rose from a tree close by and flapped lazily away to another a few yards farther down the bank, which showed that we were only just in time to save our property.