Volume Two—Chapter Six.
The Fire Trumpet.
With weapons cocked and ready, and keeping a sharp look-out ahead, our two friends stole quietly and warily along the shadow of the quince hedge. Meanwhile the canine clamour increased tenfold; such a yelling, and growling, and full-voiced baying as never before was heard.
“Why, they’ve treed something—look there!” whispered Claverton, as they arrived upon the scene of the disturbance. And sure enough in the branches of a small apricot-tree, which grew a little higher than the quince hedge, they could make out the dark figure of a man, clinging there as for dear life, while the dogs were leaping, and snapping, and rolling over upon one another and into the ditch in their frantic efforts to reach him. And, but for this timely refuge, he would have been torn in pieces by the great fierce brutes.
“Come down, whoever you are,” said Payne, speaking in the Kafir language, “or I’ll fire. If you attempt to run away the dogs will soon catch you. Come down.”
They could hear a muttered exclamation or two, and then the unknown replied:
“Keep in the dogs, ’Nkos. I came here to visit you, to tell you some news.”
“All right. Come down. Here, Neptune, Corker, Slow—keep still, you brutes. Voertsek, Huis! to!” (be off; home) cried Payne; and the excited hounds reluctantly drew off with many a savage growl.