“Then it’ll be a case of Allen washing the bank with his tears—to say nothing of tears—for he is bound to rend his ‘bags’ if he falls among these stones,” strikes in Armitage.
“Jack, Jack! I trust I may yet live to see you hanged,” says Claverton. “Jim, I put it to you as a man and a brother. Can any success possibly attend the steps of a hunting-party in whose midst is the perpetrator of so outrageous a sally?”
“Name isn’t Sally,” promptly replies the joker; “I was christened Jack, not John, mind—Jack; and Jack I’ll live and die.”
A laugh is evoked by this repartee, and they break into a canter, while Allen’s steed, the exuberance of whose spirits is in a measure let off in the increased exercise, ceases to cause his rider more than a dormant uneasiness. And now the sun is rising slowly and majestically over the eastern hills. Birds are twittering, and the dewy grass shines beneath and around. Then the great beams dart forth over the rolling plains, bathing them in first a red, then a golden light, and the firmament is blue above, and the earth glows in a warm rich effulgence, the glory of a new-born summer day.
Seated under a bush are three persons evidently awaiting the approach of our party. Their horses saddled, and with bridles trailing on the ground, are cropping the short grass hard by. The conversation is being carried on in Dutch for the benefit of half the group, which owns to that nationality, being in fact our portly friend, Isaac van Rooyen, and one of his sons. The other one is Thorman, a bearded, surly-looking fellow, little given to conversation, but greatly addicted to the use of strong language when he does speak. He is a neighbour of Jim Brathwaite’s.
“Well, Jim,” began Thorman, in response to the other’s greeting. “At last! We’ve been waiting here a whole damned half-hour.”
“Never mind, old fellow,” laughed the other, “patience is a virtue, you know—especially in these piping times.”
“And you’ve had an opportunity of seeing a most splendid sunrise,” added the incorrigible Jack.
“Sunrise be damned,” growled Thorman, surlily.
“I thought we were to begin by sunrise, and now we’ve wasted half the damned day. Better get to work at once,” and he turned away to catch his horse.