treats of the delights, dangers, and distresses of the wilderness.

“afar in the desert,”—far beyond the frontier settlements of the colony, far from the influences of civilisation, in the home of the wild beast and the savage, the explorers now ride under the blaze of the noontide sun.

they had passed over mountain and dale into the burning plains of the karroo, and for many hours had travelled without water or shelter from the scorching heat. lucas van dyk, who guided them, said he knew where water was to be got, but there was no possibility of reaching it before evening. this announcement was received in silence, for not a drop of the life-giving fluid had passed the lips of man or beast since an early hour on the previous day, and their powers of endurance were being tried severely. the insupportable heat not only increased the thirst, but rendered the hunters less able to bear it. all round them the air quivered with the radiation from the glaring sand, and occasionally the mirage appeared with its delicious prospects of relief, but as the dutchmen knew the ground well, none were deceived by it, though all were tantalised. compressing their lips, and urging their wearied cattle to the utmost, they pushed steadily on, no sound breaking the stillness of the desert save the creak of a waggon-wheel or the groan of an exhausted animal.

at last charlie considine sought to relieve his feelings by conversation.

“this is one of the unpleasant experiences of african travel.”

hans marais, to whom the remark was made, replied “ja,” but as he added nothing more, and looked stern, charlie relapsed into silence.

ere long one of the weaker oxen fell. the party halted a few minutes, while the hottentot drivers plied their cruel whips unmercifully, but in vain. one more merciful than the drivers was there—death came to release the poor animal. immediately, as if by magic, vultures appeared in the burning sky. from the far-off horizon they came sailing by twos and threes, as if some invisible messenger, like death himself, had gone with lightning-speed to tell that a banquet awaited them.

no time was wasted; a brief word from the leader sufficed. the dying ox was released from the yoke that had galled it so long, and the party proceeded. before they were a mile off the ox was dead, its eyes were out, its carcass torn open, and the obscene birds were gorging themselves. before night it was an empty skeleton covered with a dried hide! not many hours would suffice to remove the hide and leave only the bleaching bones. such remains are familiar objects on south african roadsides.

that evening, according to their leader’s prophecy, water was reached. it was a thick muddy pool, but it sufficed to relieve them all, and a night of comparative comfort followed a day of suffering.

next morning, just after breakfast, a herd of springboks was observed, and several of the more eager of the party dashed off in pursuit. among these was considine, hans, andrew rivers, and jerry goldboy. the two last were always first in the mad pursuit of game, and caused their placid dutch friends no little anxiety by the scrapes they frequently ran themselves into.

“follow them, they’ll get lost,” said van dyk to a group of hottentots.

two of these, slinger and dikkop, obeyed the order.

the antelopes were on a distant sandhill in the plain. there were two groups of them. riven and jerry made for one of these. becoming suddenly imbued with an idea worthy of a hunter, jerry diverged to the right, intending to allow his companion to start the game, while he should lie in wait for it under the shelter of a bush. unfortunately the game took the opposite direction when started, so that jerry was thrown entirely out. as it chanced, however, this did not matter much, for jerry’s horse, becoming unmanageable, took to its heels and dashed away wildly over the plain, followed by dikkop the hottentot.

“mind the ant-bear holes!” shouted dikkop, but as he shouted in dutch jerry did not understand him, and devoted himself to vain endeavours to restrain the horse. at first the animal looked after itself and avoided the holes referred to, but as jerry kept tugging furiously at the reins it became reckless, and finally put a fore-leg into a hole. instantly it rolled over, and the hunter flew off its back, turning a complete somersault in the air.

a low shrub grows in the karroo, called the ill-tempered thorn. it resembles a mass of miniature porcupine quills, an inch or two in length, planted as thickly as possible together, with the needle-points up and bristling. on one of these shrubs poor jerry alighted!

“oh! ’eavens, this is hagony!” he groaned, jumping up and stamping, while dikkop almost fell off his horse with laughing.

to hide his mirth he bolted off in pursuit of jerry’s charger, which he soon caught and brought back, looking supernaturally grave.

“we will rejoin the ’unters, dikkop,” said jerry, in the tone of a man who endeavours to conceal his sufferings.

“ja, mynheer,” said dikkop.

whatever jerry goldboy might have said, that hottentot would have replied “ja, mynheer,” for he understood not a word of english.

jerry mounted with an ill-suppressed groan and rode back to the party, leaning very much forward in the saddle, while dikkop followed, showing the white teeth in his dirty black visage from ear to ear.

rivers soon afterwards returned with a springbok behind him, but there was no appearance of considine or hans. as, however, the latter was known to be an experienced traveller, no anxiety was felt for them, and the main party proceeded on its way. when night came they found that a well, on which they had counted, was dried up, and were therefore obliged to lie down without water. several shots were fired after dark to guide the absent ones, but no reply was made. still, those in camp felt no anxiety, knowing that hans was quite able to take care of himself.

and so he was, truly, but he could not take care of a hot-headed youth who was as eager as jerry in the chase, and much more daring.

at first he and considine ran together after the springboks; then hans got near enough, dismounted, and shot one. while he was busy fastening the carcass on his horse, considine continued to pursue the others; going at full speed, he was soon far away on the horizon. still hans would have been able to see him if he had not got among some scattered groups of mimosa-bushes, which were sufficiently large to conceal him. when he remounted and looked around, his friend was not to be seen. he saw a few springboks, however, racing on the horizon in the direction in which considine had galloped, and concluded somewhat hastily that they were pursued by his friend. away he went, therefore, but soon discovered that he was mistaken. he turned then, and rode quickly back, blaming himself for not having followed the footprints of his friend’s horse. this he now did, and at last came up with him, but at so late an hour, and at such a distance from the line of march, that a bivouac in the plain was inevitable.

“oh, hans,” he said, “i’m so glad you’ve found me! i had no idea that one could get so easily lost in an open plain.”

“you’ve had enough experience too, one would think, to have remembered the vastness of the karroo,” said hans, dismounting and making the fastenings of the springbok more secure, “a man soon dwindles to the size of a crow in plains like this, when you gallop away from him. men not accustomed to them misjudge distances and sizes in a wonderful way. i remember once being out hunting with a fellow who mistook a waggon for a springbok!—but come, mount; we must ride on to a better camping-place than this, and be content to sleep without blankets to-night.”

“i hope the camping-place is not far off, for i’m parched with thirst,” said considine, mounting and following at a smart gallop.

“i’m sorry for you,” returned hans, “for you’ll see no water this night. to-morrow we’ll start early and get to the waggons by breakfast-time.”

this was depressing news to considine, for the heat of the day and exertions of the chase had, as he expressed it, almost dried him up. there was nothing for it, however, but patience.

about sunset they came to a place where were some old deserted huts. in one of these they resolved to pass the night, though, from certain holes in the side, it was evidently used at times as an abode by beasts of prey. having flint and steel, they made a fire, and while thus engaged were serenaded by the distant and dolorous howls of a hyena and the inharmonious jabberings of a jackal.

“pleasant company!” observed considine as he roasted a steak over the fire.

“ja,” replied hans, who, being a more expert cook, was already busy with a rib.

the melancholy hoot of an owl seemed to indicate that the animal kingdom agreed with the sentiment, and the young men laughed. they were not, however, disposed to talk much. after a silent supper they lay down and slept soundly, quite oblivious of the prowlers of the night, who came, more than once, near to the door of the hut.

it was late next day when they awoke. hans likewise missed his way, and though he afterwards discovered his mistake, they found it impossible to regain the track of their companions before sunset. all that day they were compelled to travel without tasting a drop of water, and their poor horses became so fatigued as to be scarcely equal to more than a walking pace. as hans knew that water was not far off, he pushed on after sunset, so as to have the shorter distance to travel to it in the morning.

“it is very tantalising,” he said, drawing rein when the darkness of the night rendered travelling almost impossible, “to know that our friends cannot be far off, and yet be unable to reach them.”

“hadn’t we better fire a shot?” asked considine.

“not of much use, i fear, but there can be no harm in trying.”

the shot was fired and was instantly replied to by a tremendous roar from a lion, apparently close to where they stood. no wood was near them to make a fire, nothing but tufts of grass; they therefore pushed on towards a range of dark mountains as fast as their jaded steeds would go.

“halt a moment,” said hans in a low voice.

they stopped and listened. the approach of the lion in rear was distinctly heard.

“we cannot escape from him, charlie,” said hans, as they again urged their horses onward, “and in the dark we cannot take aim at him. our only chance is to reach yonder pass or glen that looms like a black cleft in the hills, and clamber up some precipice, whence we can pelt him with stones.”

he spoke in quick, earnest tones. they soon entered the gorge and were greeted by the grunt of a baboon and the squalling of its young ones, which helped to increase the savage aspect of the towering cliffs on either side. they had not proceeded far when the lion gave another tremendous roar, which, echoing from cliff to cliff, gave the luckless hunters the feeling of having got into the very heart of a lion’s den. no suitable place to scramble up being found, they pushed madly on over a track of sand and bushes, expecting every instant to see the monster bound upon them. but the defile was shorter than hans had supposed. on issuing from it they were cheered by the moon rising bright in the east, and found that their enemy had ceased to follow them at that point. still, though weary, and with their tongues cleaving to the roofs of their mouths, they continued their march for several hours, and lying down at last, they scarcely knew how or there, they went to sleep with a prayer for protection and deliverance on their parched lips.

the weary wanderers passed that night in a very paradise, bathing in cool streams and slaking their thirst nearly, but never quite, to the full. there was always a peculiar desire to drink again, and, even then, to wish for more! heavenly music, too, sounded in their ears, and the sweet shade of green trees sheltered them.

it was daybreak when they were roused from these delights by a hyena’s howl, and awoke to find that they were speechless with thirst, their eyes inflamed, and their whole frames burning.

saddling the horses at once, they rode forward, and in a couple of hours reached a hill near the top of which there was a projecting rock.

“don’t let me raise your hopes too high,” said hans, pointing to the rock, “but it is just possible that we may find water there.”

“god grant it!” said considine.

“your horse is fresher than mine,” said hans, “and you are lighter than i am—go first. if there is water, hail me—if not, i will wait your return.”

with a nod of assent the youth pushed forward, gained the rock, and found the place where water had once been, a dry hole!

for a few minutes he stood gazing languidly on the plain beyond the ridge. despair had almost taken possession of his breast, when his eye suddenly brightened. he observed objects moving far away on the plain. with bated breath he stooped and shaded his eyes with his hand. yes, there could be no doubt about it—a party of horsemen and bullock-waggons! he tried to cheer, but his dry throat refused to act. turning quickly, he began to descend the hillside, and chanced to cough as he went along. instantly he was surrounded by almost a hundred baboons, some of gigantic size, which came fearlessly towards him. they grunted, grinned, and sprang from stone to stone, protruding their mouths and drawing back the skin of their foreheads, threatening an instant attack. considine’s gun was loaded, but he had lived long enough in those regions to be fully aware of the danger of wounding one of these creatures in such circumstances. had he done so he would probably have been torn to pieces in five minutes. he therefore kept them off with the muzzle of his gun as he continued the descent. some of them came so near as to touch his hat while passing projecting rocks. at last he reached the plain, where the baboons stopped and appeared to hold a noisy council as to whether they should make a great assault or not. he turned and levelled his gun.

“come,” thought he at that moment, “don’t do it, charlie. you have escaped. be thankful, and leave the poor brutes alone.”

obeying the orders of his conscience, he re-shouldered his gun and returned to his friend, whom he found reclining under a low bush, and informed him of what he had seen. the young dutchman jumped up at once, and, mounting, rode round a spur of the hill and out upon the plain. in an hour they had overtaken their comrades, but great was their dismay on finding that they had long ago consumed every drop of water, and that they were suffering from thirst quite as much as themselves.

“never mind,” said lucas van dyk; “let me comfort you with the assurance that we shall certainly reach water in a few hours.”

the hunter was right. some hours before sunset the oxen and horses quickened their pace of their own accord—sure sign that they had scented water from afar. shortly after, they came in sight of a stream. the excitement of all increased as they pushed forward. they broke into a wild run on nearing the stream; and then followed a scene which is almost indescribable. the oxen were cast loose, the riders leaped to the ground, and the whole party, men, oxen, and horses, ran in a promiscuous heap into the water.

“wow, man, jerry, hae a care; ee’ll be squizzen atween the beasts,” said sandy black, as the active jerry passed him in the race.

the scot’s warning was not without reason, for next moment jerry was up to the knees in the stream between two oxen, who, closing on each other, almost burst him. easing off, they let him drop on hands and knees, and he remained in that position drinking thankfully. the whole place was quickly stirred up into a muddy compound like pea-soup, but neither man nor beast was particular. they struggled forward and fell on their knees—not inappropriately—to drink. one man was pushed down by an ox, but seemed pleased with the refreshing coolness of his position, and remained where he was drinking. another in his haste tumbled over the edge of the bank and rolled down, preceded by an impatient horse, which had tripped over him. both gathered themselves up, somehow, with their lips in the water,—and drank! young rivers, happening to gain the stream at a point where oxen and horses were wedged together tightly, tried to force in between them, but, failing in this, he stooped to crawl in below them. at that moment slinger the “tottie” gave a yell in dutch, and said that a horse was trampling on him; whom dikkop consoled by saying that he was fast in the mud—and so he was, but not too fast to prevent drinking. meanwhile the dutchmen and the knowing ones of the party restrained themselves, and sought for better positions where the water was clearer. there they, likewise, bent their tall heads and suggested—though they did not sing—the couplet:

“oh that a dutchman’s draught might be

as deep as the ro–o–olling zuyder-zee!”

the limit of drinking was capacity. each man and beast drank as much as he, or it, could hold, and then unwillingly left the stream, covered with mud and dripping wet! oh, it was a delicious refreshment, which some thought fully repaid them for the toil and suffering they had previously undergone. the aspect of the whole band may be described in the language of sandy black, who, beholding his friends after the fray, remarked that they were all “dirty and drookit.”