He was just about to give the order to march again when the long, snappish, disappointed howl of a jackal was heard, and the ponies ceased grazing and threw up their muzzles; while as Dickenson leaned forward to give his mount an encouraging pat he could feel that the timid creature’s ears were thrust right forward.
“Always seems to me, sir,” said the sergeant gently, “that the wild things out in these plains never get enough to eat. Hark at that brute.”
He had hardly spoken when from out in the same direction as the jackal’s cry, but much farther away, came the tremendous barking roar of a lion, making the ponies draw a deep breath and shiver.
“Well,” said Dickenson, “that can’t be our way. It must be open country yonder. It’s all chance now, but we needn’t run into danger and scare our mounts. We’ll face right round and go as far as we can judge in the opposite direction to where that cry came from.”
“Yes, sir; and it will make the ponies step out.”
The sergeant was quite right, for the timid animals responded to the touch of the rein, immediately stepped out at the word “Forward!” and then broke into a trot, which had to be checked.
The roar was not heard again, but the yelps of the jackals were; and the party went on and on till suddenly the cautious little beasts began to swerve here and there, picking their way amongst stones which lay pretty thickly.
“This is quite fresh, sergeant,” said Dickenson.
“Yes, sir. I was wondering whether we had hit upon the river-bank.”
“Ah!” cried Dickenson eagerly, just as his pony stopped short, sighed, and began to browse without reaching down, the others seeming to do the same.