“Dot is right; und now Kaffir Jack will drive die oxen, und pe a goot poy. Now you go. Trek!”
The Kaffir sprang away, whip in hand, the willing oxen began to pull, and the wagon went off through the soft sand, Duke hurrying to his place beneath, just in front of the water cask, while Dyke stood, rein in hand, waiting to shake hands with his host, who laughed softly.
“I dalk all dot nonsense do vrighten him like a shild,” he said. “He vill pe a goot poy now till he begin to forget, und den you must vrighten him doo. Now goot-pye, und der goot God bless you, mein sohn.”
Dyke shook hands warmly with the friendly old man, sprang upon Breezy, and soon overtook the wagon, which was going steadily along the faint track.
He glanced back several times, seeing the old trader standing in front of his house smoking his big pipe, but at last he was invisible, and the boy set himself to achieve his long, slow, five or six days’ journey, hopeful, rested, and ready, feeling as if all was going to be right, and more happy in his mind than he had been for days.
As he went on and on, fresh, light-hearted, and bright, every place made familiar by halts as he came, wore a very different aspect, and there were times when he smiled at some of the petty vexations, though others were serious enough. For instance, by this water, where he had had so much difficulty in getting wood, for the day’s journey had been very long, and it was growing dark when he halted, and a distant roar told of the possibility of a visit from lions, and perhaps the loss of one of the bullocks. But now all was smooth and pleasant, the evening was glorious, the oxen not too weary, and Jack soon collected enough wood for cooking and keeping up a roaring blaze.
The next day, too, was hot and pleasant. Several guinea-fowl fell to Dyke’s gun, and he shot a dangerous viper which raised its head sluggishly from the sandy track, threatening, with gleaming eyes and vibrating tongue, the barking dog, which kept cautiously beyond striking distance. There were lions heard in the night, making the cattle uneasy, but they were not molested.
It was wonderful as a contrast that journey back, and Dyke often asked himself, as he cantered about, sometimes to the side, sometimes letting the wagon go for some distance forward, whether he had not been of poor heart, and had made too much fuss over his troubles; but second thoughts convinced him that he had had a terrible task, and he almost wondered that he had been able to reach Morgenstern’s at all.
Jack was the very perfection of a Kaffir servant now, driving splendidly, and taking the greatest care as to the pasturing and watering of the cattle; his young master never having to find fault with a single thing.
But there was the reason plainly enough; and Dyke smiled to himself as he thought of how easily the black had been impressed by the big old German, though he felt that Jack’s guilty conscience had something to do with it.