Adventure stories; Gold -- Juvenile fiction; South Africa -- Juvenile fiction; Young men -- Fiction
Guy rode steadily for five or six miles, at the end of which he
discovered that the ostrich had been moving away north-westward, and was
still two or three miles distant. Some light bush now hid it from view,
and, taking advantage of this screen, Guy pressed on until he saw that
he was about to enter upon the plain again. Before issuing from the
bush, he got off and carefully examined the country in front of him.
Yes, there was the ostrich right enough, feeding quietly less than a
mile away. It was a splendid cock bird, and its white plumes, showing
up finely against its black body colouring, made Guy long to possess
them. Walking his horse out of the covert, Guy now touched the good
beast with his spur and galloped for the big bird, hoping to get a shot
at it before it had discovered that the approaching object was anything
more than a zebra. It was a wild, unfrequented veldt, and surely,
argued Guy to himself, an ostrich in these parts would not be very
suspicious. Half a mile was covered. He was now within seven hundred
yards of the bird; surely he was going to get a fair shot directly.
But even as he thus flattered himself, he was discovered. The ostrich’s
head went up, and then, with a limp and a flutter of the wing feathers,
the bird moved off. It went so lame that Guy at once perceived that
something was the matter with it. So much the better--he would have an
easy victory. Suddenly, fifty yards in front of him, there rose from
the long grass veldt another ostrich, a hen bird manifestly. Nothing
ailed her, and she rushed away like a steam engine, covering whole
leagues, as it were, in her enormous strides. Guy reached the place
whence she had started, and saw, as he expected, a nest full of huge,
shining eggs. At a swift glance, as he galloped by, he reckoned that
there must have been twelve or fourteen of them. But he had no time to
attend to them now; he would ride back that way, and take toll of them
as he went to the wagon. For the moment all his energies and attention
were centred on the maimed or sick bird in front of him, the
magnificence of whose plumes he could now plainly discern.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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