Adventure stories; Gold -- Juvenile fiction; South Africa -- Juvenile fiction; Young men -- Fiction
"No; on the whole, I don’t think they would," said Mr. Blakeney. "And
if they did, although they might frighten you and even hurt you, I don’t
think they could kill a man. They could kill a child, as they do
undoubtedly kill a young calf sometimes; and for that reason I’m not
over fond of them--in fact, I destroy them whenever I come across them,
if I can. They’re slippery brutes, however, and once let them get near
rocks or bush and you’ll never see them again."
"The natives about here, father, don’t like them?" queried Tom, as he
finished his part of the task, and together he and Guy rolled the
stripped body of the serpent from its skin, which they had now
completely flayed away from the flesh.
"No, the Bechuanas don’t like them," rejoined Mr. Blakeney. "At the
same time they don’t care about molesting them. In Zululand the natives
will never touch them. They have an idea that the souls of their
ancestors return to the bodies of these serpents, and will even allow
them to live close to their huts. For my part, I don’t like the
proximity of such neighbours."
Having carefully scraped every fragment of fat or flesh from the skin,
the two lads rubbed in arsenical soap, and pegged it out on the shady
side of the wall of an outhouse, where in a day or two the cure was
complete.
In a few more weeks Guy Hardcastle had acquired a very fair knowledge of
the far-spreading pastures of Bamborough Farm. He began to pick up,
too, some knowledge of stock and stock-farming, for he was a quick lad,
who always had his wits about him, and was anxious to gain any sort of
information that might be useful to him. He had seen mealies and oats
reaped, and assisted in other operations. He had had a very good time,
for, mingled with the preliminaries of a pastoral farmer’s life, to
which his uncle had introduced him, he had had a fair amount of
shooting, several pleasant excursions with his cousins to neighbouring
farms, and a trip to Mafeking to bring home stores. At the end of
January he accompanied his uncle to Johannesburg with a herd of fat
cattle, which were disposed of for excellent prices on their arrival
there.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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