Steve and his companions felt their hair almost stand on end as they listened to the horrible tale.
‘You were one of our party that day, Neef Frederick,’ said the old man, turning to a companion. ‘Have I spoken the truth?’
‘That you have, Neef; I could take my oath on it,’ was the reply. ‘And what is more, I one day saw my uncle killed by just such another wildebeest. We also had a chase after an old bull. We were three. We shot and wounded him. He turned and stood at bay, and chased my poor old uncle, and as he was in a line with my uncle from us we dared not fire for fear of hitting my uncle. In a moment he came up to the old man, as his horse was not very good, and rather slow. He caught the horse with his horn between the hind legs, and tossed him forwards, hind legs in the air. As the horse was tossed forward my uncle dropped backwards, and was caught upon the horn of the bull. The horn penetrated just under his chin, in an upward direction, passing out on the top of his head. When we came up we shot the bull. But my uncle was a dead man!’
After a little further conversation on the peculiarities of game and their habits, the party broke up, and all retired to bed.
CHAPTER XXXIII
SCHRIKRIGHIED
An early start was made the next day to proceed on their trip, as the plan was not to stay at any one place more than two days so as to enable them to see as many places and people as possible.
Early in the afternoon they arrived at the camping place of a party of transport riders, who were spending a month in the bush veld to recruit their worn-out draught oxen. They were a rough-and-ready lot, but a merry and entertaining party withal.
They were very hospitable and kind, taking the young holiday-makers to the best coverts for birds and game. But what amused Steve most of all was that one of the party was one who schriked.
Before proceeding, I must explain what is meant by this word.