Adventure stories; Africa -- Fiction; Hunting guides -- Fiction; Quatermain, Allan (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
“‘You mean that you have been asleep, and let them stray, you villain. I
will rub your back against a stick,’ I answered, feeling very angry, for
it was not a pleasant prospect to be stuck up in that fever trap for a
week or so while we were hunting for the oxen. ‘Off you go, and you too,
Tom, and mind you don’t come back till you have found them. They have
trekked back along the Middelburg Road, and are a dozen miles off by
now, I’ll be bound. Now, no words; go both of you.’
“Tom, the driver, swore, and caught the lad a hearty kick, which he
richly deserved, and then, having tied old Kaptein up to the disselboom
with a reim, they took their assegais and sticks, and started. I would
have gone too, only I knew that somebody must look after the waggon, and
I did not like to leave either of the boys with it at night. I was in a
very bad temper, indeed, although I was pretty well used to these sort
of occurrences, and soothed myself by taking a rifle and going to kill
something. For a couple of hours I poked about without seeing anything
that I could get a shot at, but at last, just as I was again within
seventy yards of the waggon, I put up an old Impala ram from behind a
mimosa thorn. He ran straight for the waggon, and it was not till he was
passing within a few feet of it that I could get a decent shot at him.
Then I pulled, and caught him half-way down the spine; over he went,
dead as a door-nail, and a pretty shot it was, though I ought not to say
it. This little incident put me into rather a better humour, especially
as the buck had rolled over right against the after-part of the waggon,
so I had only to gut him, fix a reim round his legs, and haul him up. By
the time I had done this the sun was down, and the full moon was up, and
a beautiful moon it was. And then there came down that wonderful hush
which sometimes falls over the African bush in the early hours of the
night. No beast was moving, and no bird called. Not a breath of air
stirred the quiet trees, and the shadows did not even quiver, they only
grew. It was very oppressive and very lonely, for there was not a sign
of the cattle or the boys. I was quite thankful for the society of old
Kaptein, who was lying down contentedly against the disselboom, chewing
the cud with a good conscience.
“Presently, however, Kaptein began to get restless. First he snorted,
then he got up and snorted again. I could not make it out, so like a
fool I got down off the waggon-box to have a look round, thinking it
might be the lost oxen coming.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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