Chapter Fourteen.
An Overhaul.
“Magtig!” exclaimed Revell, “I swear I smell something roasting.”
“S-s-s-h!” warned Brian, crouching low on his horse’s neck. “Dismount, every one.”
A few hundred yards beneath we now saw a kraal. It lay in a deep natural basin, walled in with rugged rocks and thick bush; but so shut in was it on all sides that this seemed the only way in or out. A curl of smoke rose into the still evening air, and the sound of several deep voices in conversation was plainly audible; and with it, the strong smell of roasting meat confirmed us in the certainty that we had at length reached the object of our quest; for Kafirs very rarely kill their own cattle, and this circumstance combined with the freshness of the spoor, left no further doubt in our minds.
And now, before we could formulate a plan, we heard a sound of trampling, and a number of oxen emerged from the thick bush beyond the kraal, urged forward by a single Kafir, who was driving them down to the gate of the thorn enclosure. There was no mistaking the large fine animals, white, but speckled all over with bluish black. It was Septimus Matterson’s fine span.
“Wait—wait—wait!” whispered Brian, his voice in a tremble with excitement. “Let the devils bring them in—they are driving them right into our hands—and when I give the word, up and at them. We must charge right bang into them if there are five or five hundred. Down—keep down, Trask; they’ll see your hat, man.”
With straining eyes we watched the savages—for three or four more had joined the single driver—as they urged the stolen beasts down to the gate and stood on each side to pass them in. The animals having been driven fast and far that day, were disposed to give no trouble, but entered the enclosure quietly, one with another.
“Fifteen! They’ve killed one—and, by Jove! they are going to kill another,” whispered Brian, as the Kafirs, shutting the kraal gate behind them, advanced towards one of the largest oxen with reims in their hands. “Now, are you all ready. We’ll capture the fellows inside. Don’t shout or anything but—up and at them!”
With a headlong rush we charged down upon the kraal, but the Kafirs had seen us. A loud warning cry, and several lithe dark forms bounded like cats over the fence, and half-running, half-creeping, made for the bush as fast as ever they could pelt, while three more who were seated round a fire, each with a beef bone in his fist, gnawing the meat off, flung it down among a heap of other relics of the feast, and started up to fly. Evidently they were unaware of the smallness of our force, or perhaps took us for a posse of Mounted Police.