Chapter Six.
Night on the Veldt.
I sat there in the chilly darkness, listening till the last sounds of the beating hoofs died out—began again—grew fainter—finally ceased altogether. Sandho stood perfectly still, with the painful heaving of his flanks gradually easing down. At last he uttered a low whinnying sound, as if asking me why we did not go on; but I made no movement, spoke no word, only sat and listened for the return of the Boers.
There was no sound, for my ruse had succeeded; and I was just beginning to try to rouse myself from a faint, half-swooning state, when my nerves received a fillip; for there in the distance rose the deep, barking roar of a lion, followed by a pause, and then from a different direction came the horrible wailing howl of the unclean prowlers who follow the monarch of the desert to finish the remains of his feasts.
Sandho stirred uneasily and drew a deep breath, which was followed by something strangely resembling a sigh. I knew it was time to move; and, shaking off a sensation of fast-approaching lethargy, I tried to get rid of the feeling of faintness, and only roused the sharp pain afresh. Still, that spurred me into effort; and as I pressed Sandho’s sides lightly, he began to amble gently along, while I raised my eyes to the stars, and endeavoured to make out which way we were travelling. There was a soft mistiness in the great arch above me, and it was some minutes before I could pick out a few of the familiar stars; but at last I was certain, and made out that the Boers had galloped on nearly due north, while Sandho’s nose was pointed east.
North meant home; and without doubt they would keep on in that direction, feeling sure that I should make for the farm. East meant going in the right direction for Echo Nek and the mountains, though I should have to bear off after a time towards the north-east. Anyhow, matters were so far in my favour, and I tried to sit firm in the saddle as I let the horse amble on at the pace which I had often compared to swinging in an easy-chair; but the movement was agony now, and my great dread was lest I should faint and fall, for the suffering seemed greater than I could bear.
In times of emergency—as I have often learned since—we are very poor judges, whether as boys or men, of how much the human frame can bear. Thus, in spite of all I suffered, I kept in the saddle, while, in what gradually seemed to grow into a horrible, fevered dream, my brave little horse ambled on and on, and later settled into a walk. He seemed always to be aiming for one great dim star, which gave me encouragement; then the dread came over me that, from his steady pursuance of our journey, he must be making for home, and taking me right into the midst of my enemies.
After a time he stopped short, and from the steady crop, crop, crop, I knew he was amongst grass; and he grazed away long enough before moving on again at his old amble. Again he pulled up for another good long feed, while I managed to find words to talk to him—foolishly, no doubt; but it helped me and kept off the feeling of pain and loneliness, seeming to give me strength, too, as I called him “Poor fellow,” and told him how sorry I was I could not get down to rest him, and make his meal pleasanter by unfastening the curb and taking out his bit.
It was all folly perhaps; but my words were very earnest and true, and I believe the poor, faithful slave liked to hear my voice, for every now and then when I spoke he would cease cropping the rich grass, whose moist odour rose pleasantly to my nostrils, and utter one of his low whinnying calls.