CHAPTER XV.

“WHERE’S MY HORSE?”

“What is it, boys?” asked Uncle Dick, his voice trembling with excitement and alarm. “Anybody hurt?”

“No, sir,” replied Eugene, drawing a long breath of relief; “but if you look about a little you’ll find some _thing_ out there that’s hurt. We haven’t fired thirty-nine shots for nothing, I tell you.”

“What was it, anyhow?” asked George. “A lion?”

“I should think so,” replied Fred.

“Oh, I guess not,” said Mack, incredulously.

“I guess they were lions,” returned Eugene, quickly. “We saw more than twenty prowling about here.”

“That’s a larger troop than I ever heard of before,” said Mack.

“Well, you hear of it now, and if you had been here you would have seen it. Archie shot one, and he jumped clear of the ground, so that we all had a fair view of him. I tell you he was a big one—larger than any I ever saw in a menagerie. He’s out there somewhere.”

“I believe I see him,” said Frank, holding his firebrand above his head, and looking intently at some object on the other side of the fountain.

The three hunters scrambled up out of the shooting-hole, and with the rest of the party followed after Frank, who led the way down the bank. There was some animal lying on the ground on the opposite side of the spring, sure enough; but it was not the immense object they expected to see after listening to Eugene’s description of it. When they had taken a few steps more Mack broke into a laugh, and Eugene began to think that he must have looked through a very badly frightened pair of eyes to make a first-class lion out of the insignificant beast he saw before him. What had at first appeared to be a great shaggy head gradually dwindled into a pair of shoulders, and presently he found himself standing beside an animal a little larger than the wolves he had often seen in his native State.

“This can’t be the thing I shot,” said Archie.

“I don’t see anything else,” replied his cousin, raising his firebrand above his head and looking all around.

“What is it, anyhow?” asked Fred. “It looks like a dog, and a half-starved one at that.”

“That’s just what it is,” said Mack, “a wild dog. It was a pack of these animals you fired into, instead of a troop of lions. I suspected it all the time.”

“We’ll not stop to skin him, for his hide is not worth saving,” said Uncle Dick. “We’ll go back to camp now.”

The three hunters were so greatly astonished that they had not a word to say. Silently they shouldered their rifles and followed the party back to the camp, listening all the while for the words of ridicule which they expected from their companions, but which were never uttered. Nothing was said about the matter until the next morning at breakfast, and then the hunters themselves began to make sport of their night’s work. This led to a long conversation, during which the boys learned two things. The first was, that they had been in just as much danger of an attack from the wild dogs as they would have been had they been visited by a troop of lions. Wild dogs were by no means the insignificant foes they imagined them to be. They were as fierce as wolves, always hungry, and ready to attack anything they met, from a springbok to a buffalo. A single one would take to his heels at the sight of a human being, but numbers made them bold, and it was not often that a solitary hunter met a pack of them and escaped to tell the story. The second thing they learned was, that the reason Uncle Dick permitted them to carry out their plan of watching the fountain, was because Mack assured him that there was no danger to be apprehended from lions at that season of the year. These animals came there to drink only when the springs that lay deeper in the veldt were dry. Had they passed that way two months later, Archie and his companions would have received orders to remain in camp. The boys, however, supposed, from what Mack said, that lions visited the fountain every night, and they showed no small amount of courage in what they had done, but they never again proposed to spend a night in a shooting-hole.

During the next three weeks nothing happened that is worthy of record, and neither did anything happen to encourage the hope that their stock of goods would pay the expenses of the trip. Not a Boer in the settlement—and they visited every one of them—would trade with them. The sight of the fine fat cattle feeding on the farms they passed induced Mack to spend a good deal of time in the effort to dispose of the contents of the wagon, but not a yard of ribbon could he barter. The magistrate’s orders were strictly obeyed. Indeed, at the last farm they visited they found the magistrate himself, who was, if that were possible, more crabbed than when they first met him. No sooner had the wagon halted than he appeared and ordered Mack to move on; but the Scotchman, who had his eye on the cattle, believing that there was more money to be made out of them in Grahamstown than out of the ivory they expected to receive from the Griquas, was not to be driven away so easily. He went directly to the house, found the owner of the farm, and tried his arts with him, but with no better success. This one was as cross and surly as the other, and Mack, finally becoming disgusted at their obstinacy, jumped on his wagon and put the oxen in motion.

“I hope the Bushmen will jump down on you and steal every ox you’ve got,” he exclaimed, shaking his whip at the Boer as he drove away. “That’s all the harm I wish you, Mynheer Schrader.”

The Dutchman made an angry reply in his own language, and seemed to be giving Mack a little parting advice, for he talked rapidly to him as long as the driver was within hearing of his voice. The boys could not tell what he said, but they thought by the expression that came over the Scotchman’s face, that his words had produced an unpleasant effect. “If I thought that was so, I wouldn’t go a step farther,” the boys heard him say, when the Boer ceased his shouting and went into the house.

“If you thought what was so?” asked Eugene.

“Why, Schrader says the Bushmen will be down on _us_ before they touch him,” answered Mack. “He says there’s a large party of them between here and the Griqua country, and that that farmer back there is going to pack up to-morrow and move his family and cattle farther into the settlement for protection.”

“And you say you don’t believe it?”

“I have no reason to disbelieve it,” said Mack, in a tone the boys did not like to hear. “They’re always roaming about, these Bushmen are. They’re something like what I think your Indians must be from what I hear of them. Although they go about on foot—the only reason they steal cattle is because they want something to eat—they get over a good stretch of country in a day, and jump down on a fellow before he knows they are near him. If I owned this wagon I’d turn back. We’ve got a journey of four weeks to make before we reach the Griquas’ principal town, and if the Bushmen are about they’ll have plenty of time to find us. We shall see trouble before many days.”

The trouble began that very night. It was commenced by the Kaffirs, who had overheard what the Boers said to Mack, and were greatly troubled by it. When the wagon halted for the night, these worthies went about the work of outspanning very reluctantly. They did not shout and sing as they usually did when their day’s labor was over, but went into the sulks, and acted like a lot of children who had been denied something their parents thought they ought not to have. Uncle Dick, who lay on his blanket under his tent enjoying his pipe, watched their actions for a few minutes and then called Frank to his side. “Just keep your weather eye open to-night, and see that the horses all come in,” said he, in a low tone, “and tell the rest of the boys to be very careful of their guns.”

“What’s the matter?” asked Frank.

“You know what that Boer said to Mack about the Bushmen, don’t you? Well, the Kaffirs heard it and are laying their plans to leave us. They are afraid of those wild men of the desert.”

“So am I,” said Frank.

“I am not particularly anxious to meet them,” said Uncle Dick, with a smile, “but I am not going to run until I see something to run from, and neither do I mean that our property shall be stolen. These Kaffirs are noted for deserting their employers when things don’t go to their liking, and they take care not to leave empty-handed. They always steal the best of the horses and the best of the guns, too, if they can get their hands on them. We must have a guard every night from this time forward. Don’t you think it would be a good plan?”

This question was addressed to the driver, who had been standing in the door of the tent long enough to overhear the most of what Uncle Dick said to Frank.

“You surely don’t mean to go on?” said Mack.

“Certainly I do,” answered Uncle Dick. “I am not going to take my stock of goods back to Grahamstown if I can help it.”

“If they belonged to me I should start back with them to-morrow.”

“Now, Mack, I didn’t expect to hear that from you,” said Uncle Dick, reproachfully.

“And you wouldn’t either, sir, if it wasn’t that the Bushmen are prowling about us.”

“Did you ever have any trouble with them?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you ever hear of a trader who did?”

“No, sir.”

“Neither did I. All we know about them is what we have heard of their fights with the Zulus.”

This was only the beginning of the conversation between Uncle Dick and the driver. The latter seemed to be greatly alarmed at the danger they were about to run into, and when he found his employer was resolved to go ahead, he urged him to pay him off and let him go. This Uncle Dick refused to do. He could not get on without Mack, and besides, the latter had agreed to drive the wagon to the Griqua country and back to Grahamstown for so much money, which was to be paid when the journey was ended. It was not yet half completed, and if Mack chose to stop work then and there, he could not expect a farthing for the services he had already rendered.

“You’re made of good stuff, you Yankees are,” said Mack, with more earnestness than the occasion demanded, “and since you are bound to go on, I’ll stick to you to the death. Bet on me every time.”

To give emphasis to his words the driver shook hands with his employer, then with Frank, and hurried out of the tent to see how the Kaffirs were getting on with their preparations for the night.

“Did he speak his real sentiments?” asked Uncle Dick, as soon as he was out of hearing.

“That was the very question I was asking myself,” replied Frank. “To my mind his tongue said one thing and his face another.”

Frank, who had his own duties to perform every time the camp was made, now went out to attend to them. He found the rest of the boys and three of the Kaffirs busy erecting a barricade of thorn-bushes behind the tent, and joining in the work, he found opportunity to report to each of his companions the warning Uncle Dick had given him. The boys were all eager to stand guard, and Frank, knowing that Uncle Dick expected him to arrange the matter, divided them into reliefs, and told them what hours they would be called on for duty.

Supper was served in a few minutes, and while the meal was in progress the horses began to come into camp and take their stations behind the wagon, where they were always tied during the night. As fast as they came up, the owners set down their plates and went out to secure their steeds, taking care to see that the halters were tightly buckled on, and that the tie-reins were well secured. About the same time Mack, who had been missing for the last half hour, came up driving the oxen. Frank told himself that that was something the driver had never done before, and then the matter passed out of his mind until a few hours later, when something happened to recall it very forcibly. During the meal one other thing happened that was unusual, and which soon drew everybody’s attention. When Uncle Dick’s horse was made fast to the wagon, he raised his head, and looking back towards the grove from which he had just emerged, uttered a loud, shrill neigh. This he repeated at intervals, until Uncle Dick and the rest began to think it meant something, and Archie, having finished his supper, went out to look into the matter. “I know what it means now,” said he, at length. “The horses are all here except mine, and Uncle Dick’s nag is calling him.”

The boys then remembered something which they might never have thought of again if this incident had not suggested it to them, and that was, that Uncle Dick’s horse and Archie’s had been almost constant companions ever since the journey began. They never mingled with the other animals when turned loose to graze, but wandered off by themselves; and if any of the nags belonging to the rest of the party intruded upon them, they would turn away as if annoyed by their presence, and hunt up a new feeding-ground. It was the custom of their masters when on the march to ride at opposite ends of the train, Uncle Dick in front, and Archie in the rear with Fred and Eugene. The horses seemed to dislike this arrangement, and annoyed their riders exceedingly by constantly calling to each other. They liked to be in company, and they were uneasy when separated.

“I wonder what has become of my horse!” said Archie, anxiously.

“I saw him a quarter of an hour ago, and he was all right then,” replied Mack. “He will be along directly.”

“I am not so certain of that,” answered Archie. “These two animals are never parted if they can help it, and there must be something the matter. I’ll soon find out. May I take your horse for a few minutes, Uncle Dick?”

“Where are you going?” asked Mack, as Archie, having received an affirmative reply from the captain, hurried into the tent and picked up his rifle.

“I am going out to see what has become of my horse,” was the answer.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do it, if I were you,” exclaimed the driver, who seemed, all at once, to take a deep interest in Archie’s movements. “It will be pitch dark in five minutes—there’s no twilight in this country, you know—and if you lose your way out there in the bush the lions will get you sure. I tell you that you had better stay here in camp where you’re safe,” he added, almost appealingly, when he saw that the rest of the boys were making ready to accompany Archie.

But the youngsters paid no attention to him. Hastily catching up their rifles, they mounted their horses without stopping to put on the saddles or bridles, and followed after Archie, who, giving Uncle Dick’s horse his own way, was carried at a rapid gallop towards the grove. The animal, which seemed to know just what Archie wanted to do, skirted the woods for a few hundred yards, neighing at intervals, and finally succeeded in bringing a faint response from among the trees. Then he turned and was about to plunge into the forest, but his rider checked him. Archie would not have gone in there for a dozen horses. The undergrowth was all thorn-bushes, which stood so closely together that it was only with the greatest difficulty that one could make his way among them in daylight without being terribly scratched and torn. In the dark it would have been almost as much as his life was worth to attempt to force a passage through them.

“We must give him up until morning, if he doesn’t find his way out before,” said Eugene.

“Then he’ll never come out,” returned Archie, dolefully. “Something will make a meal of him before daylight. Good-by horse!”

“What do you suppose makes him stay in there anyhow? That’s what I can’t understand,” said Frank. “If he went in there of his own free will he ought to be able to find his way out.”

“Are there any natives about here who would be likely to dig pitfalls for game in these woods?” asked George.

“Listen!” cried Eugene, suddenly. “That neigh certainly sounded louder and plainer than the others. Yes, sir, he’s coming.”

Archie thought this news was too good to be true. He held his breath and listened until the next shrill neigh was uttered, and then told himself there was no mistake about it. Presently the boys could hear the horse forcing his way through the bushes, and in ten minutes more he came out into the open ground, and galloping forward to greet his companion, rubbed noses with him, and said as plainly as a horse could say, that he was overjoyed to see him once more.

When the boys reached the camp Mack was the first to greet them. Indeed, he was so anxious to know whether or not the horse had been found, that when he heard them coming he ran out and met them a hundred yards from the wagon. “It’s all right,” said Archie, gleefully.

“You haven’t brought him back?” exclaimed the driver, in tones of astonishment.

“Yes, we have.”

This declaration seemed to surprise Mack. He stood motionless for a moment, and then moved around to take a look at the horse, which was following the one on which Archie was mounted. He saw the animal, but it seemed as if he could not be satisfied until he had put his hand on him. This familiarity, however, the horse would not permit. He bounded out of the driver’s reach, and turned his heels toward him as if he had a good notion to kick him.

“There wasn’t any rope on—I mean—”

“Rope!” exclaimed Perk, when Mack hesitated. “Now I’ll tell you what’s a fact, of course there wasn’t. Who should put a rope on him?”

“I mean it’s wonderful that you’ve got him back safe and sound,” said the driver, quickly. “I was afraid some wild beast had found him before this time.”

The boys thought the Scotchman acted very strangely, but they were so glad to recover the horse that they did not stop to think about that. Archie’s first care was to fasten the animal to the wagon beside Uncle Dick’s horse, and when he had done that he went into the tent where the rest of the party were arranging their beds preparatory to retiring, and trying to decide what it was that had kept the horse out so long after his companion had come into camp. The conclusion at which they arrived was that he had become separated from the other horse and got bewildered in the woods. This was the opinion advanced by the driver, and the rest all thought he was right—all except Uncle Dick. The latter said nothing, but he thought there was something suspicious about the whole proceeding, and that it would be a good plan to set a watch over the driver. He could not speak about it then, for Mack was present; but he resolved that he would do it the first thing in the morning.

It was now dark and time to post the guards, so Frank called the first relief, which, singularly enough, consisted of Walter and Bob, the very ones who were on duty the night two of Potter’s men made a raid on their camp in the Rocky Mountains. The latter Frank posted at the upper end of the camp in plain view of the barricade, behind which the four Kaffirs were lying, and the other he stationed near the wagon, to keep an eye on the horses.

“I hope you will not get into as much trouble as you did the first time I put you on guard,” said Frank.

“I think there is little danger of it,” laughed Walter. “There are no outlaws in this country, and besides I have learned wisdom since then. I’d like to see a man approach me to-night and deceive me as completely as those two fellows did. It couldn’t be done.”

“I don’t suppose that any one will try it. As long as the Kaffirs know that we are watching them and the horses, they will probably behave themselves. We’d be in a nice fix if all our help should desert us, wouldn’t we? Good-night. Keep up the fire, and call Archie at ten o’clock.”

Frank went back to the tent, wrapped himself up in his blanket, and went to sleep, lulled by the yelping of a pack of jackals, which made it a point to serenade the camp as regularly as the prairie-wolves did when the travellers were journeying on the plains. In half an hour more every person in the camp seemed to be sound asleep except the two sentries. These paced their beats alert and watchful, one thinking of home and friends, and the other recalling the thrilling incidents that had happened once upon a time while he was guarding camp away off in the wilds of his own country. He went through the adventures of that night again in imagination, and just as he got to that particular part of them where he first discovered the outlaws approaching the camp, he heard a footfall near him, and turning quickly about saw the driver step over the wagon-tongue.