Chapter Eleven.
How Tom and his friend went a-hunting; and what befell them.
Early next morning the march was resumed across the Groote Karoo—a vast undulating plain clothed with long waving grass, and studded with acacias, mimosa bushes, and camel-thorn—and towards noon on the succeeding day the travellers came in sight of the Black Mountains. The country through which they had now to pass was still open, but the slopes of the neighbouring hills were thickly wooded; here game of all descriptions was abundant, and the spoor of deer and other animals was frequently to be seen.
“Look, father!” cried George Weston, as they were traversing at a foot-pace a fine savannah. “Look, Major Flinders, is not that a herd of deer feeding over yonder?”
The Major drew rein, and unstrapping his field-glass looked in the direction indicated by his young friend.
“You’re right, George!” he presently exclaimed; “they’re hartebeest. I say, Maurice, suppose we send the youngsters after them on their own account? They are quite old enough to go without ‘leading reins.’”
“Oh, do, father!” cried George eagerly.
“I’m sure you may trust us,” put in Tom.
“I am quite willing, Mat,” replied Mr Weston, smiling at the boys’ eagerness. “After all, there’s nothing like letting lads shift for themselves to make them self-reliant. Let them go, by all means, say I.” Whereupon Master Tom gave vent to an ear-splitting “who-o-o-p,” for which display of excitement he was called to order by the pater.
“Gently! gently, my boy,” said the Major, raising his hand; “don’t get excited, or I shall have to withdraw my permission.”
Tom looked very crestfallen.
“Now, listen to me both of you,” continued his father. “Do you see that curious-shaped hill looming in the distance?”
“A little to our right, and about five miles off?” asked George Weston.
“Five!” exclaimed Major Flinders. “It is nearer five-and-twenty! But that is the hill I mean. Well, that is Kudos Kop, and we shall this evening encamp on the banks of the Gamska, about seven miles this side of it; so now if you lose sight of us, as you’re pretty sure to do, you will know in what direction to steer.”
“I have my pocket-compass,” said Tom, producing one from his breast-pocket.
“That’s right! Now, see that your water-bottles are full, and put a pound or two of biscuit and some ‘biltong’ (pieces of beef, venison, or other meat dried in the sun) into your wallets; then you’ll be independent for the next forty-eight hours. Bear in mind one thing! never when attacking any animal have both your rifles unloaded at the same time; always be prepared for danger, as that is the readiest way of escaping it. Be very careful of your horses; don’t over-ride them, and look out for sore backs.”
“All right, father, we’ll not come to grief if we can help it,” rejoined Tom, tightening his girths. “Now, Patrick, hand us over the ‘grub’—there, that’ll be plenty. Are you ready, George?”
“Yes, quite ready,” was the reply. “Come along!”
“Mind you approach the herd to leeward,” shouted the Major, as the boys galloped off.
A smart “scurry” over the yielding turf soon brought our young sportsmen within three or four hundred yards of the unsuspecting hartebeest, when Tom called to his companion to pull up.
“We mustn’t go at them with a rush,” said he. “In fact, I almost think our best plan would be to tether the horses to these trees and stalk the herd on foot. What do you say?”
“I agree with you, old fellow,” replied young Weston. “You see we’re not much accustomed to shoot from the saddle.” And so they both dismounted, tied up their horses to separate trees (for Tom’s nag was rather given to using his heels), and having unslung and loaded their rifles with more than usual care, they advanced towards the hartebeest. The hartebeest—generally supposed to be the Bubalus of the ancients—is one of the commonest breed of deer in Southern Africa. It stands from four to four-and-a-half feet at the withers, the form of its body being something between that of a red-deer and a heifer; the tail reaches nearly to the hocks and is terminated by a tuft of coarse hair. The head of the hartebeest somewhat resembles that of an ox, but the ears are “asinine” in shape, and the eyes are placed very high; below each eye is a pore from which exudes a matter: this matter the Hottentots preserve as a rare and valuable medicine, but what diseases it is supposed to cure we cannot say. The hartebeest is furnished with a pair of strong black horns, embossed with rings; the horns are quite close together at the base, diverging upwards, and at the tops bending rearwards in a horizontal direction almost to the tips, which are several inches apart. The colour of this animal is a dark cinnamon, except the hind-quarter and inside the thighs, which are of a yellowish white; the face and the fore-part of the legs are marked with black.
When galloping, the hartebeest appear to go heavily with a donkey-like action; but nevertheless they get over the ground quite as fast as other large deer; if, when followed, they manage to get ahead, they are apt to stop short and gaze at their pursuers. When hard pressed, this animal—like the wood-antelope and nil-ghau—drops on his knees and shows fight.
Cautiously the two boys crept up to the herd, keeping well under cover of the bushes and tufts of karoo-grass.
“Now, Tom,” said George, who, by the way, was much the best shot; “we’re well within range. I’ll take that big fellow standing near those mimosa bushes.”
“All right, old boy,” replied Tom. “I shall aim at the buck grazing directly in front of us; it is the easiest shot of the two, I think.”
Bang! bang!
“Missed, by all that’s unlucky!” cried Tom. “Here goes again!” He then discharged his second barrel with no better effect; and the herd, alarmed by the report of the rifles, galloped off towards the hills. George Weston had wounded his buck slightly, but not sufficiently to prevent him from following his companions.
The boys at once doubled back to the spot where they had left their horses, and untethering them, sprang in the saddle.
Away they raced after the herd, but the latter had got a splendid start and kept well ahead, until they reached some low, forest-clad hills, which crossed the plain from north to south. Beyond these hills the ground was covered with trees and tangled brushwood. The hartebeest ascended the nearest hill and disappeared from sight, and the boys then pulled up their distressed and panting horses and looked at each other with inquiring eyes.
“What’s to be done?” asked Tom. “The nags are pretty well pumped, I guess.”
“Yes, indeed,” assented his companion; “we came the last mile or so at racing pace. I should never have thought the hartebeest could travel so fast! Shall we go back?”
“What! empty-handed?” cried Tom. “Not if I know it, old chap. At any rate we might overtake the beast you wounded. I’m sure you hit him hard.”
“Well, we can’t gallop up those hills, that’s certain,” returned young Weston. “Suppose we make for that ravine; no doubt we shall meet the herd again, if we have patience. But it’s no use making a ‘stern chase’ of it; we must try and get round him.”
Tom nodding assent, they rode forward at a gentle pace, to allow their horses to recover wind, and presently they entered a narrow ravine, the precipitous sides of which were covered with arboreous and succulent plants.
George Weston was some four horses’ lengths in advance, when of a sudden he gave a shout of delight, as a magnificent female tree-leopard bounded across his path, and turned up the ravine. Tom saw the brute, too; and unslinging their rifles, the boys gave chase—George maintaining his position ahead.
The tree-leopard of South Africa (though called by Africanders the “Cape-tiger”) is to all intents and purposes identical with the Felis leopardus of the naturalists; in plain English, is an ordinary leopard, and partakes of all the characteristics of that beautiful, but dangerous animal—the terror alike of the timid Hindoo, the Chinee, and the savage islander of Sumatra.
Now though the leopard will rarely attack a full-grown man, unless driven into a corner, he is a very awkward customer to deal with when he does turn; and many fatal encounters have been chronicled.
(Some of our readers may remember the sad fate of Captain Bowlby, 94th Regiment, who, shortly before the Transvaal war broke out, was fatally injured by a “Cape-tiger.”)
Our readers will now be able to form a fair idea of the sort of “game” Master Thomas Flinders and George Weston thought fit to go in chase of. Finding herself hotly pursued, the leopard at first endeavoured to escape by clambering up the precipice on her left, but at that moment young Weston pulled up, and let fly with both barrels, inflicting a severe wound in the fleshy part of her shoulder. Maddened with pain and mingled rage and terror, the hard pressed and well-nigh frantic brute turned, and springing upon George dragged him out of the saddle.
Now, Tom Flinders knew well enough how savage and dangerous a leopard could be if once brought to bay, so when he saw his friend struggling on the ground, he uttered an involuntary cry of horror; then, regardless of the consequences, he jumped off his horse and rushed to the rescue.
Taking aim at the leopard’s flank, Tom gave his two barrels at once; but owing to his natural agitation as well as his fear of injuring George, he missed with both shots. The leopard then abandoned her prostrate and senseless victim, and darted upon Tom with redoubled fury. In spite of the suddenness and ferocity of this onset, the boy was not taken unawares; and clubbing his rifle he swung it round his head, and by great good fortune caught the terrible brute a swashing blow which brought her to the ground. The butt of the rifle was shivered to splinters, but our young hero drew his long hunting-knife and threw himself on the leopard before she could regain her feet. Deep into the brute’s throat Tom pressed the keen blade; with one convulsive effort she shook herself clear of her antagonist and at the same time stunned him with a blow of her powerful paw; then, fatally wounded, she bounded off a few yards and fell dead.
That night, the moon rose upon a curious scene! Upon the bright green turf the two lads were stretched senseless and bleeding, and near them lay the carcass of their four-footed foe.