“There,” said Emson at last, “I don’t think I need say any more to you, old fellow. Jack knows the way well enough. Set him to drive the bullocks, and you ride beside and drive him. Keep a tight rein, and if he shows his teeth and isn’t obedient, tell him you’ll shoot him, and take aim at once, or he won’t believe you.”
“Rather sharp practice, Joe, isn’t it?”
“Not with a man like that. He’ll be ready to play upon you in every way, and you must let him see that you do not mean to be imposed upon. Sounds harsh, but I know Master Jack by heart.”
“You do think he’ll take me straight to all the water?”
“I haven’t a doubt about it, old fellow,” said Emson, smiling. “Jack isn’t an ostrich, and must drink at least once a day, so you need not be nervous about that.—There,” he continued, mounting; “I must be off. Good-bye.”
“Not yet; I’m going to ride a little way back with you,” cried Dyke.
“No, you are not, lad. Rest yourself and your horse.—Here! Hi! Jack!”
The Kaffir came from under the wagon, grinning.
“Drive your bullocks carefully, and bring them back in good condition.”
The man smiled and showed his teeth.