turned, he would be invisible; and taking advantage of this, he crept on from bush to bush, till he was quite a hundred yards away. And now the longing was intense to stand erect and look out for Breezy, but the bushy growth had been so closely cropped that it was nowhere a yard in height, and to stand up might have meant to bring him full in his enemy’s sight.
There was nothing to be done, then, but to crawl on to a more open spot, and as he was going in the direction taken by the horse in feeding the last time he saw it, the boy felt not the slightest uneasiness, being sure that he should come in sight of it directly.
Still the minutes glided on as he made for the more open part where the sand lay bare, and he began now to grow uneasy at not seeing the cob, and at last, like a crushing disaster, he saw that the poor animal must have scented the lion, or been alarmed at the cracking of the bones, and, in consequence, it had quietly shuffled as far away as it could in the time. There it was, a couple of miles away, right in the open plain, and though at that distance its movement could not be made out, it was in all probability shuffling its way along to save its life.
Dyke’s heart sank in his breast as he knelt there in the sand, feeling as if his case was as hopeless as ever, and for the moment he felt disposed to creep right into the densest place he could find, and lie there till darkness set in, when he would take his bearings as well as he could from the stars, and then try to reach Kopfontein. But at that moment there came to him his brother’s words, and the little absurd story about trying till to-morrow morning. A trifling thing; but at that moment enough to make Dyke sling his gun over his back, thrust the knife into its sheaf, mark down the position of the fire by the faint smoke, and then start off crawling on all-fours straight away, not after the horse, but so as to keep the bushes well between him and the lion.
The exertion was great and the heat terrible. Never had the sand seemed so hot before, nor the air so stifling to breathe; but he crept on silently and pretty quickly, till, glancing back over his shoulder, he found that he might move straight at once to where he could see Breezy looking distant and misty through the lowest stratum of the quivering air. For the low bushes hid him no longer; there was the faint smoke of the fire still rising, and just beyond it the big carcass of the eland, made monstrous by the great maned lion, crouching, tearing at the neck.
At the sight of this, Dyke dropped down flat, and lay panting and motionless for a few minutes. Then he began to crawl straight for the horse, grovelling along upon his breast. But this soon proved to be far too painful and laborious a mode of progression, and he rose to his hands and knees, feeling that it must be that way or nohow, though fast growing desperate enough to rise to his feet and run.
A minute’s anxious reflection brought the feeling that this would be a mad act, and might rouse the lion into following him, so he kept steadily getting farther and farther away, and more and more foreshortened, as the artists term it, till he was pretty well end on to the lion, and he felt that he must present a singular aspect to the monster if it looked across the plain.
“I shall never do it,” muttered Dyke. “Poor old Breezy! he was frightened. I can’t blame him, but I don’t get any nearer. He’s going on as fast as I am, and I shall be obliged to get up and run.”
But he did not. He kept up the uneasy crawling, putting hundred-yard space after hundred-yard space between him and the fire, while, when he did glance back, it was after dropping flat behind some bush and raising his head till he could see the eland lying like a low hummock or patch of bush, and with the lion growing less distinct.