“Yes; I thought so,” said Dyke thoughtfully. “There, that will do;” and making up his mind to watch that night, he went back to the house, had a few words with his brother, and then went round to see that all was right, coming back to breakfast after Tanta had shown him the lioness’s skin pegged out to dry.
Dyke watched that night, but in vain; Duke watched the next night also in vain, for there had been too much to do for the wagon to be emptied and the stores brought in.
For Emson required, in his weak state, an enormous deal of attention, which, however, was a delight to his brother, who had the satisfaction day by day of seeing him grow slightly better; while the Kaffir woman was indefatigable, and never seemed to sleep, Dyke’s difficulty being to keep her from making the patient travel in a retrograde path by giving him too much to eat.
“Baas Joe muss plenty meat, tea, coffee,” she said. “No eat, Baas Joe die.”
Hence Dyke had hard work to keep the larder supplied. Fortunately, however, the guinea-fowls’ roosting place proved to be almost inexhaustible, and twice over a little buck fell to the boy’s gun.
Then there was an ample supply of milk, some eggs, and dried meat to stew down, so that the patient did not fare so badly, as his returning strength showed.
But progress with the ostrich-farm was at a standstill, and Dyke used to look at the great stilt-stalking birds with a sorrowful air, and wish they were all running wild.
“But you are getting better fast, Joe,” he said one evening as he sat by the couch.
“Getting better slowly, not fast, little un,” replied Emson sadly. “Heaven knows how I pray for strength, so as to relieve you, boy.”
“Who wants to be relieved?” cried Dyke roughly. “All I mind is not getting on better with the work, because now I have not Jack to help. I get on so slowly.”