“That’s right. Go along and have your sleep.”
The Kaffir went back and crept under the wagon, and Emson clasped his brother’s hand.
“Take your time, but don’t lose any, old fellow,” he said; “for I shall be glad to see you back. Take care of yourself. I wish I were going with you, but I can’t. There, you are man enough to manage everything, so good-bye.”
He urged his horse forward and went back swiftly along the trail, his nag cantering steadily along one of the broad ruts made by the wagon wheels in the sand, while Dyke went and seated himself just under the wagon-tilt, and watched him till he was out of view.
“Six days and nights at the least,” said Dyke to himself with a sigh, “and perhaps a fortnight, before I get back. Never mind; every day will be one less, and I don’t suppose I shall mind its being lonely, after all. Duke’s good company, and so is Breezy, without counting Jack, and it isn’t so very bad after all to go riding through the country with one’s own tent on wheels. Why, some fellows at home would be mad with joy to get such a chance. Ah, look at that. Why, if I’d been ready, I might have got a couple of Guinea-fowl for the larder.”
For a flock of the curious speckled birds came and settled amongst the bushes on the other side of the water pool, but catching sight of visitors, went off with a tremendous outcry.
“Don’t matter,” said Dyke; “there’s plenty of the buck.”
The sun was sinking low in the west, as after a long, toilsome journey from the last water, Dyke, with the great whip held aloft like a large fishing-rod and line, sat on the wagon-box shouting to the weary oxen from time to time. He was apparently quite alone, save that Breezy was tethered by a long leathern rein to the back of the wagon. There was no Kaffir Jack, no Duke; and the boy, as he sat driving, looked weary, worn out, and disconsolate.
For days past he had been upon a faintly-marked track leading south-west—a track in which hoof-marks and the traces of wagon wheels having passed that way were faintly to be seen, quite sufficient to show him that he was on the right track for civilisation in some form, and he felt pretty certain that sooner or later he would reach Oom Morgenstern’s store and farm.
But it had been a terrible task that managing of the team alone, and urging the sluggish animals to drag the wagon when they reached heavy patches of sand. Then, too, there was the outspanning—the unyoking the often vicious animals from the dissel-boom or wagon pole and trek chain, when he halted by water, and let them drink and feed. Then the inspanning, the yoking up of the oxen again, and the start once more.