After this explanation, Jack, as well as I, desired the presence of the chacma as much as Umatula did, but the three wishes were no better than the one—we were quite as destitute of water as ever, and proceeded with our spirits slightly depressed in consequence. To make matters worse, I had happened to tread upon a thorn, which had so pierced my foot as to create a slight lameness, so that I could not walk at the same rate which I had done on the day previously.
It was within two or three hours of nighttime—and here that period succeeds quickly to day—when, by sundry signs and a change in the genus of the vegetation, Umatula said he felt sure that a stream, perhaps a river, must be close at hand, and proposed that, as I was so crippled, he and Jack should, diverging a little from the right track, climb a small eminence some little distance off and ascertain if his surmises were correct.
Willing to save myself from more exertion than was absolutely necessary, I gladly agreed to the plan, and, casting myself at the foot of a tree, watched them depart. They had not long disappeared, however, before the now easily recognised cherr of the Honey Bird attracted my attention. Looking up, I saw the little feathered biped, perched on a bush close by, his head on one side as if making a minute inspection of my person. Fancying a few honey-combs would be a pleasant addition to our late meal, if we could but find water, I scrambled on to my feet and began to follow my small guide. The sweet treasure was evidently not far off, for the bird went slowly, and, after a few yards, stopped by a tangled fence of parasites.
Seeing no place for the bees’ store, I approached and drew aside the tangled mass, believing I should find some felled tree or shattered trunk, which the insects had converted into a hive; but, with a chilling horror, I stood transfixed to the spot, as my eyes encountered those, red as blood, of a leopard that was crouching behind.
How long we remained gazing into each others eyes I do not know—it seemed an hour, but could only have been a few seconds—when a stealthy movement of the animal, as it apparently began to contract its muscles for a spring, recalled me to a sense of my danger, and instinctively I raised an assagai and flung it at the creature; it pierced him in the shoulder, and with a roar of pain he rose, but failed in his bound. Instantly I sprang back, then a cry of horror escaped my lips, for I felt as if a companion of the fierce beast in front had seized me both with claws and teeth from behind. The next instant, however, I had learned the terrible truth. I was once more in the tenacious grasp of another of those awful species of the acacia tribe—the acacia detinens. Yes, there I was, held firmly, confident that the least struggle would but make me a greater prisoner; while the leopard, as if conscious of my helpless position, was slowly dragging itself through the bushes, never once, however, taking its red fiery eyes from my face. I tried to raise my arm with an assagai, but it was useless; the thorns penetrated my flesh, while I felt I had no power to aim the weapon, or, if I did so, the blow would be so light that it would only further irritate without harming the brute in front. I even now shudder at the remembrance of that awful moment. No savage of the most fiendish nature could have gloated over his intended victim more than the leopard seemed to. He drew himself along on his stomach as I have seen a dog do. The wound I had given him I fancied had made him weak, for apparently he was unable to spring, and, though dreading each moment that he would do so, I grew sick and dizzy at the terrible suspense.
All at once I read in the creature’s eyes his intent to put an end to the affair. His tail began slowly to lash backwards and forwards, beating the ground fiercely; then I saw the haunches of the lithe body crouch up, the shoulders draw back. I could bear it no longer. I felt my brain turning, and, uttering cry after cry, called aloud for help, addressing both Umatula and Jack, yet feeling despairingly aware that, even did they hear my cries, they never could arrive in time to aid me. A prayer rose to my lips. I gave one gigantic, mad struggle as I saw the leopard rise quickly into the air; then shrieked wildly as its horrid face, with its eyes aflame—its terrible mouth agape and glistening with strong white teeth—glared into mine, while its breath, like a simoom, stirred my very hair. Madly I flung up my arms, then sunk back insensible.
When I came to—for of course I did, else this history would never have been written—I believed I had been killed, and, having passed through the darkness of the grave, had awakened in the other world; but a few instants after my eyes recognised the African foliage about me, and I felt I was lying on the ground, my body painful with pricks and tears, and my head supported on somebody’s knees.
“Is that you, Jack, old fellow?” I asked faintly.
“Ah, you speak! you live!” exclaimed a well-remembered voice in the Kaffir tongue, and Zenuta’s face was bent over mine.
Faint and sore as I was, I started up in my surprise, ejaculating—“Zenuta! you here? How can it be possible?”