“Well, there are my own boys,” exclaimed Mr Rogers. “They are not afraid. I wonder at you, Dinny, an Irishman, and to set such a bad example to these blacks.”
“And is it afraid?” said Dinny. “Not a bit of it. I’m not a bit afraid at all; but I can’t help thinking of what my poor mother’s feelings would be if she came to know that her only son Dennis had been aiten up by wild bastes. I don’t mind a bit, but I wouldn’t hurt her feelings for the world.”
“Then oblige me, Dinny, by holding your tongue, for if I hear any more complaints I shall send you back.”
“Sind me back!” ejaculated Dinny, as soon as his master had gone. “Sind me back across the big desert all alone by meself. Why, it would be worse than murther. It’s meself wishes I hadn’t come.”
Whatever he may have wished, these sharp words had the effect of silencing Dinny for the time being; but when the Zulu had led them at last, just at sundown, into a dense patch of forest, where the overhanging trees made the gloom quite oppressive, Dinny’s eyes showed white circles round them; and if it had not been for the fact that they found a Boer and his family encamped by the water they had been seeking, the Irishman would have probably turned, and at all risks have fled.
People are ready enough to make friends out in the desert, and the Boer gladly offered the use of the fire he had made, and a part of the springbok he had shot, on receiving a share of some of the good things brought by the newcomers. Then, with the great camp-kettle simmering over the fire, and with the boys patiently waiting for their share of the provisions, guns were cleaned and laid ready for use, the men the while busily attending to the oxen and horses, while the Zulu and his boys collected wood into a pile to keep up the fire.
“Sure an’ it’s a dreadful melancholy-looking place,” said Dinny with a shudder. And then he listened attentively while the Boer expressed his belief that there were lions in the neighbourhood, though they were not often seen.