That they were approaching the game country was now hourly becoming plainer, for from time to time little knots of bok could be seen upon the hills; but when Dick or Jack eagerly drew the attention of the Zulu to the fact, he laughed, and said it was nothing, bidding them to wait.
“We must have some venison for dinner to-day, boys,” said Mr Rogers, cantering up; “so one of you had better try your rifle. Who’s it to be?”
“Let it be Jack, father,” said Dick, quietly; “my hands are not steady yet.”
“Very good,” said Mr Rogers; while the Zulu listened attentively, trying to comprehend every word. “Now then, Jack, how shall you go to work? There is a little herd of half-a-dozen springbok there, on that hill, nearly a mile away.”
“Get close and shoot them,” replied Jack, stoutly.
“Say, if you can, my boy,” replied Mr Rogers, smiling. “Now look here, Jack, this is the way the Boers shoot springbok, and I don’t think you will find a better plan. Have a few cartridges handy, so that you can load quickly, and then gallop easily towards the herd, which will begin playing about, till they grow too alarmed to let you get nearer, and then they’ll bound off. This is your time: gallop up as close as you can, and when you see they are about to go, leap from your horse and fire—reload, and fire again. If you are very quick you may get three shots at the herd before they are out of range.”
“But suppose I miss, father?” said Jack.
“Don’t suppose anything of the kind, my boy,” said Mr Rogers, smiling; “but go and do it. Time enough to consider failure when you have failed.”
Jack nodded, opened the breech of his gun, placed half-a-dozen cartridges ready, leaped down to tighten the girths of his saddle, the cob standing perfectly still. Then mounting once more, he waved his hand, touched his horse’s sides with his heels, and away it went like the wind.
As he started, Chicory, who seemed to have adopted him as his leader, made a bound at the saddle, caught hold of the pommel, and ran by his side with marvellous speed.