Where they were grouped, in the midst of the open space, they felt the scorching, were blinded by the smoke, and had a hard matter to keep the beasts quiet, the leopard howling dismally, and the giraffe thrusting its head beneath the back of the waggon-tilt, while the horses snorted and plunged, and the oxen shook their heads, elevated their tails, and behaved unpleasantly to each other with their horns.
But the danger was past, and at the end of an hour they were able to trek on over the blackened plain, till they reached the first pool, where, unpromising as everything was, they were glad to outspan and rest for a few hours before once more resuming their journey.
But there was no renewal of the journey for the bay. Poor beast, it had used up its remaining strength in that, last gallop, and when the time had come for the renewal of the journey the bay was lying down.
Mr Rogers spoke to it, and the poor animal made an effort to rise, but merely laid its head quietly down again, uttering a low sigh—and the faithful beast was dead.
Chapter Forty Seven.
How Dinny was lost Underground.
“I shall be glad to get back home, boys,” said Mr Rogers the next morning, “for the pleasure seems to have gone out of the trip now my horses are all gone. Still there is one good thing, boys, yours are safe.”
This was as they were at last getting out of the course of the fire and on to a tract of grass, so little scorched by the sun and so fertilised by the stream that ran through that the oxen were out-spanned for a good feed, as it was doubtful when they might obtain another.