Chapter Twenty Eight.
An Unexpected Obstacle.
“What does he want?” I muttered to myself as I looked on curiously, for I could not hear what was said; but, to my horror, there appeared to be something like a quarrel, as the foreloper suddenly threw down the long bamboo he carried and then squatted upon the ground.
In an instant the shaft of Joeboy’s assagai fell with a sounding thwack across the man’s bare shoulders, making him spring to his feet and snatch a knife out from his waistcloth. My hand went to my revolver, and I ran to Joeboy’s aid; but there was no need. In an instant the glistening blade of my companion’s assagai was pointed at the foreloper’s throat, making him recoil; and then, in response to a threatening thrust or two, the man picked up his long, thin bamboo and replaced his knife, while Joeboy, pointing fiercely to me, rated the man in his own tongue.
“What is it, Joeboy?” I asked as the man went back to the head of the bullock-team.
“Um? Say want to ’top and rest bullocks and make fire for breakfast, Boss. I say he go on till we get to laager. Say he won’t, and Joeboy make um. Boss Val put little ’volver pistol away and unsling gun; pretend to shoot um.”
I did as Joeboy suggested, and the man went down upon his knees and laid his forehead upon the earth. I needed no telling what to say next.
“Get up! Trek!” I shouted as fiercely as I could. The man leaped to his feet and urged the bullocks on, while the driver on the box made his great two-handed whip crack loudly in the quiet of the morning. The actions of these two being taken up by the men with the wagons behind, the bullocks for a time went on at the rate of quite another half-mile an hour extra.
“Um!” ejaculated Joeboy, with a look of satisfaction in his eyes; “rifle gun reach long way. Boss Val see boy not driving well, pretend to send bullet in um head, and make um jump along. Ha!”