Part 15 (2/2)
”There's a buck coming out, right at you.”
He starts, throws open the breech of his gun, but the cartridge jams half-way, and will neither come out nor go in again, and at that moment another antelope breaks cover and crosses the open, if anything rather nearer than the first. It is a female and hornless, and its dappled skin gleams in the sun like gold as it bounds along. Immediately afterwards Jim emerges from the bush.
”How is it you didn't shoot?” he asks, wonderingly, reining in his horse. ”Why, the buck ran right over you.”
”Look at that!” showing the state of the defaulting piece, in which the cartridge was yet jammed.
”Oh! What a nuisance! And didn't you get the first one?”
”No. Missed him clean. You see, Jim, you build all your bucks eighteen inches or so too short hereabouts.”
Jim laughed. Jeffreys, who had also come up, did likewise, but sneeringly. ”Well, you've had the two best shots of the day,” said the former.
”My dear fellow, I'm aware of the fact. Spare my blushes,” answered Claverton, nonchalantly.
And now dogs and beaters straggle out of the bash, the latter vehemently discussing the ins and outs of the recent undertaking. Kafirs are inveterate chatterboxes, and when a number of them get together the amount of promiscuous ”jaw” that goes on is well-nigh incredible--and the shooters a.s.semble, preparatory to making a fresh start.
”How many came out?” says Jim. ”Let's see--two went up above, one of them we got--two pa.s.sed Claverton--one I got inside, and one went out by Naylor--six. Not bad for the first draw. How is it Naylor didn't get his?”
”He did,” said the voice of that maligned person at his elbow. ”Just bring some of the dogs up--there's a blood spoor as wide as a footpath.
It's a thundering big old ram, too.”
They put the dogs on the track and followed as quickly as they could, for the bush was thick, but before they had gone far an awful clamour and a frenzied scream told that the quarry had been found. The bushbuck is the largest of the smaller antelopes, the male standing higher than a large goat. When wounded and brought to bay he is apt to prove dangerous, as his long, nearly straight horns, from twelve to fifteen inches in length, can inflict an ugly enough wound. This one was striking right and left with his horns as they came up, but being weakened by loss of blood was soon pulled down, though not before he had scored the sides of a couple of his canine foes with a nasty gash.
”By Jove, that is a fine fellow,” said Jim, as he surveyed the brown-grey hide with its white specks, and measured the long, pointed horns. ”Who hit him first?”
”I didn't hit him at all,” said Allen, somewhat ruefully.
”Never mind. We've got him, anyhow. Let's get on again.”
On the ridge, overlooking the next large kloof which is to be driven, Hicks joins them. He isn't best pleased, isn't Hicks, for the simple reason that he has seen nothing to empty his piece at, which to his destructive mind is a very real grievance indeed. It is quite likely that, had he seen anything, the animal or animals in question would have pa.s.sed him unscathed, albeit rather startled by a double detonation; but he has not had the chance, and meanwhile is dissatisfied, wherefore he makes up his mind to strike out a line for himself. Again the bush is alive with the sinuous red forms of the Kafirs, and the dogs thread through the underwood, giving tongue and rus.h.i.+ng hither and thither as they strike upon a pa.s.sing scent, and the shooters ride off to _voerlay_ at their various posts, but Hicks quietly slips away from them all and makes for a point far below, where the kloof merges into a number of others. It is a narrow defile, overhung with _krantzes_ on either side; forest trees twined with monkey creepers rise apace, and beneath their shadow, in the gloom of the thick scrub, a tiny stream trickles along.
Whatever leaves the kloof will pa.s.s this way, and our friend knows that he is likely to get several shots in the ordinary course of things.
He conceals his horse, fastening him up among the bushes, then, with piece all ready, he takes up his position in a cunning ambush, and waits for whatever may appear. At present all is still as death, except where the whistle of a spreuw sounds from the overhanging cliffs; but the sunbeams are focussed into the hollow as through a burning-gla.s.s, and the distant shouting of the beaters, and an occasional shot, now and again breaks the silence. Nothing moves in gra.s.s or brake, and at last Hicks begins to wax impatient.
”Whew! how hot it is!” he exclaims, taking off his hat to wipe his forehead. ”They'll be a long while yet. I'll have a drink so long.”
He finds out a place where the stream runs through a deep, limpid basin, and lying flat on the ground, takes a long and refres.h.i.+ng pull at the cool water. Then he rises, and something on the ground catches his eye.
”By Jove! Wild pig, I do believe;” and he examines the furrows and ruts in the gra.s.s, which has been rooted up by the tusks of something, and not long ago either. ”Wild pig or baboons? No, it's pig all right; there are two distinct spoors. If only I could get quietly among them.”
By this time he has worked his way through the bush about a dozen yards, following up the spoors, and finding fresh ”sign” at every step. ”If only I could get in among them,” he repeats, bending over the traces.
His wish is gratified. A fierce grunt right at his elbow makes him look up, startled by its unexpected proximity; and within six paces, half out of a bush, are the head and shoulders of a huge old boar, who, with every hair of his dirty red-brown hide erect and bristling, and his wicked little eyes scintillating, stands fearlessly confronting the intruder, while on each side of his hideous snout his great white tusks are champing and churning in an unpleasantly suggestive manner.
Hicks just has time to bring his gun to his shoulder; but the suddenness of the encounter has a trifle thrown him off his equilibrium, and as he discharges his piece, point-blank, instead of rolling the animal over, the ball--for he has fired with his rifled barrel--merely scores its flank, and with a scream of fury it comes at him. Dropping his gun he swings himself into the branches of a small tree under which he is standing, as the ferocious brute rushes by, snapping viciously at empty air, which within a fraction of a second ago was occupied by our friend's legs.
Hicks draws a long breath of relief. ”Sold again, old _Baas_,” he says, derisively, contemplating the infuriated boar, who is running backwards and forwards beneath the tree, the blood flowing freely from his wounded flank. ”Only stay there a little longer, and I'll use your tusks for a hat-peg yet.”
<script>