CHAPTER XI
THE DESERT TREK
The rest, short as it had been, had worked wonders for the cattle. They were as fresh and sleek as ever, and the lightly loaded wagon was a small burden to them. At the last moment Schoverling had flung in the six traps.
"I have a notion," was all he would reply to the questions of the boys.
He and the boys and von Hofe rode first, the Masai tramping along to a swinging chant beside the wagon, and the three gun-bearers bringing up the rear. The oxen did not require any driving, as they followed the leaders unhesitatingly and patiently.
"I guess we've got our work cut out for us," said Charlie as the long, rolling white-dusted plain opened out before them in the moonlight. He and Jack rode together, as usual.
"Seems weird," replied Jack, "to think o' Mowbray coming across here on a camel only to die, an' us going back on the same trail. Wonder how that camel died in five days?"
"I don't know. He said it was unhurt. Prob'ly the Arab pushed it day and night at full speed. Even a camel would go down under that."
As they advanced, the dust rose in clouds about them, hanging low and choking the Indians behind until they had to come forward. Once or twice the barking call of a zebra sounded from the distance, and toward morning the distant growl of a lion, but no other signs of life came to them.
The boys had been busy all day, and they were tired enough to doze off in the saddle as they went forward, the white dust covering them all with a thick coating. Hour after hour they plodded on, at intervals wiping out the nostrils of the horses and cattle with a wet cloth by way of refreshment. Von Hofe chatted intermittently with Schoverling, who guided the march by compass, but the boys were too weary for talk.
At five o'clock they halted on the edge of a dry water-course. They had not omitted to fetch along a good supply of fodder for the cattle, which was loaded in the wagon to the very top of the tilt. The horses were given a few swallows of water each, the Masai dined on roast meat about their fires, while the four explorers and the Indians made an excellent repast on cold meat and biscuits with tea. Biscuits were Charlie's specialty, and before the start he had made a good supply, as their flour was running low.
For three hours they rested here, Schoverling and Jack keeping watch in turn. At the next halt von Hofe and Charlie would stand guard, then the three Indians. At eight the cattle were inspanned, and they plodded onward until noon, hot and choked with dust. No complaint came from the Masai, and here the second meal of the day was eaten.
The boys had thought that first march across that almost deserted grass plain was hard, but this gave them an inkling of the meaning of an African trek. They slept with heads on their saddles, the single tent they had brought along shading them somewhat. The Indians and a few Masai slept on the fodder beneath the hood of the wagon, the rest stretched out under the wagon itself.
At three they inspanned and went on again until seven, when another two hours' rest and the evening meal took place. Thus they traveled sixteen hours and rested eight, the men and cattle both getting on more easily at night than in the blazing sun.
That first afternoon nothing much occurred to interest them. Out on the dry desert scoured a few ostriches, at which the boys took distant shots but without result. In the evening they saw two giraffes lumbering across the horizon.
"Wish we had a few yoke of those fellows," said the explorer. "They can go for months without water, and seem to pick up a living from the dead grass."
"I thought camels were the only beasts who could live on air?" said Charlie in surprise. "Do you mean that giraffes absolutely require no water?"
"That is it," answered von Hofe. "It is an unexplained mystery, my friend. The giraffe, he carries no water-tank inside like the camel, yet he sweats and lives. How, is not known."
Charlie and Jack looked after the Masai, but found them dust-grimed and cheerful. The leader, Bakari, had evidently picked out the best men—all stalwart, sinewy warriors who won the respect of the boys in that terrible march by their powers of endurance and unfailing good humor.
"I don't see how they can plug along on foot that way," volunteered Jack on the third day. "By jiminy, two days of it would 'bout put me in hospital! Say, Chuck, ain't these moccasins great? If we had boots now we'd be sorry."
"You bet," nodded Charlie. "They keep the dust out pretty well. The doctor has to empty out a pound o' dust every hour. No wonder his feet are swollen up!"
Indeed, that night von Hofe made application for a pair of the spare moccasins. The dry, irritating dust made no entrance through the thick moosehide, and although the moccasins were undeniably hot, they were much better than hunting-boots. He freely admitted that in no instance had Schoverling's prophecies and ideas fallen down, and thereafter wore his moccasins until the end of the trip.
The dry, brown grass of those plains was almost hidden by the dust, but when their fodder gave out, on the fifth day, the oxen seemed to take it willingly enough. Day after day the march kept up without intermission, and fortunately the six-oxen suffered no loss. They were used to such treks, and the unremitting care of the boys kept them in good shape.
On the seventh day the supply of meat, large as it had been, began to show signs of giving out. The Masai had accepted the smoked meat willingly enough, but neither the explorer nor the boys had counted on their enormous appetites. As it would not do to halt the march, the wagon was left in charge of von Hofe, while the General, the boys, and the three gun-bearers cantered out after whatever game they could find. So far the horses had stood the strain well, being seasoned, wiry little beasts. Schoverling rode between the boys.
"I didn't want to tell the doctor," he volunteered in a low tone, when they were a good half-mile from the wagon, "and don't let on before the Indians; but we're going to be in bad unless we get across pretty soon. There are only two casks of water left. I'm afraid the Masai have been tapping them at night."
"Jumping sandhills!" exclaimed Charlie, staring in dismay. "Why, we have to use at least half a cask a day, only giving the horses and cattle a few swallows, and us too! I s'pose we'll cut out the cattle?"
"Have to," nodded the explorer. "I hate to do it, but we can't return now. I'd like to take a gun-butt to those Masai!"
"You can't blame them," put in Jack. "They've got the hardest end to bear up, Gen'ral. We've only allowed them about a pint a day each, same as us, when they've been hiking steady. It's hard lines on them, take it from me."
"We can't help that, Jack," Schoverling returned. "There's no use punishing them, of course, for they may be valuable later on. But when you're on watch, just take a look under the wagon now and then. If you find anyone at the water-casks, take the cattle-whip to him. That water means life to all of us—and we come first!"
The boys fell silent. The danger was brought home to them, as the explorer intended, and they realized the grim law of the white man in savage places—that whatever happened, whoever perished, he must survive. It is not a merciful law; Schoverling was not one of the generous-hearted kind who treat the native as an equal at such times. He was an average, self-preserving Caucasian, who was only merciless when his own life hung in the balance. The boys had been trained in the same school, and fully realized the force of his words.
"The Masai are holding up finely," he went on, "but we'll have to watch them close. At any minute they may get sick of things and try to rush us. That means trouble, which I hope will not come."
Charlie joined him silently in that hope, though from the behavior of the natives he could hardly believe that they would turn on the whites. However, the conversation was soon shifted by the discovery of a herd of giraffes to the north.
"Long range, I s'pose?" queried Jack, getting out his heavy gun. The Indians were armed with the lighter ones.
"Yes," returned the explorer. "We'll never get up on them in this territory. Fire high, when they begin to run, or we'll lose them."
The giraffes saw them plainly enough, but they got to within four hundred yards before the herd began to shift. All drew rein instantly, the trained horses standing stone still, and just as the herd took alarm and broke into their lumbering, awkward-looking gallop, the six rifles rang out.
The lighter weapons of the Indians seemed to have no effect. Charlie saw the bull at which he aimed stagger and go down. Another stopped with a broken shoulder, and Jack's second barrel finished it. Schoverling fired again, but either missed a vital place or his bullet went wide, for a moment later the herd was gone in a cloud of dust.
"Never mind," he cried gayly, reloading as they trotted forward. "Two will be all we can carry in, and will help out wonderfully. They are poor eating for us, but the Masai will be overjoyed."
Reaching the two dead giraffes, all leaped from their horses and set about cutting up the bodies. At last it was finished. Spattered with blood, the boys got the heavy loads on their quivering, blood-sniffing horses after some delay, and set about returning to the wagon.
"Where is it?" exclaimed the explorer. "Surely we can't have lost it?"
But, even with their powerful glasses, no sign could they see of the little safari. In all directions the plain stretched out dry, white, dusty, with no moving speck to break the monotony. The general cased his glasses in disgust.
"I was so interested in giving you my warning that I forgot to take any thought of our direction, and the doctor has my compass. Let's see—we've been riding about northeast."
"Here," cried Jack, pointing to the dusty plain, "there's no wind, so we can follow the tracks. It's a cinch."
"Of course," laughed the explorer, and with Jack and Charlie in the lead all six began retracing their steps. But it was not so easy to follow the trail, after the dust had settled down upon it, and it was an hour later before the white tilt of the wagon was seen, far to the southwest.
"We came more east than north, evidently," said Schoverling. "However, all's well that ends well. Don't gallop, Akram; we must go easy on the horses!"
They were soon up to the wagon and were greeted with a joyful yell by the Masai, who had no scruples about partaking of the raw meat. Knowing their tastes, the explorer had filled two or three gourds with the blood of the slain giraffes, which the natives drank greedily. The boys were disgusted, and sought refuge at the head of the column again.
That night the two remaining casks of water were shifted to the bed of the wagon, the empty casks remaining slung below. With the next evening, however, there came a joyful change in their prospects, for as they proceeded they saw that dark clouds were gathering along the horizon to the north.
"Rain!" cried the boys eagerly. Von Hofe nodded, and the Masai struck up a "rain chant" which seemed to have the desired effect. By midnight the sky was overcast, and when they outspanned the next morning for the early halt gusts of wind and rain were sweeping down upon them that gradually changed to a steady, settled rain.
"This is a great piece of good luck," exclaimed Schoverling, revealing to von Hofe for the first time how their water supply had shrunk. "Get out all the casks, boys, and let them fill. It's a bad thing for the march, however."
"Why so?" queried the doctor, as the two boys began unslinging the casks.
"Because when this soil is wet it's mighty greasy, and makes hard going for the ox-team. However, it's well worth it."
The only trees on the plain were stunted thorn-trees, but from these the Masai got enough dry wood to start a fire, after which others were started. The boys, Schoverling and the doctor huddled together in the wet grass under the tent, blankets around them and saddle-cloths over their feet, and slept comfortably enough despite the drenching rain.
When the camp wakened into action, the rain had passed over and once more the sky was bright and the air hot. But they had obtained three full casks of water, and now had little fear for the future. As the explorer had predicted, the soil was wet and greasy, but aside from getting stuck once in an old drift, they had no great trouble, and after the noon halt the sun had dried up the ground fairly well.
When they halted at sunset that night Charlie pulled out his glasses and then gave a cry of joy. Far ahead, but unmistakable, they could see green slopes and trees. Quilqua the mysterious was in sight.