"The natives about here, father, don't like them?" queried Tom, as he finished his part of the task, and together he and Guy rolled the stripped body of the serpent from its skin, which they had now completely flayed away from the flesh.
"No, the Bechuanas don't like them," rejoined Mr. Blakeney. "At the same time they don't care about molesting them. In Zululand the natives will never touch them. They have an idea that the souls of their ancestors return to the bodies of these serpents, and will even allow them to live close to their huts. For my part, I don't like the proximity of such neighbours."
Having carefully scraped every fragment of fat or flesh from the skin, the two lads rubbed in arsenical soap, and pegged it out on the shady side of the wall of an outhouse, where in a day or two the cure was complete.
In a few more weeks Guy Hardcastle had acquired a very fair knowledge of the far-spreading pastures of Bamborough Farm. He began to pick up, too, some knowledge of stock and stock-farming, for he was a quick lad, who always had his wits about him, and was anxious to gain any sort of information that might be useful to him. He had seen mealies and oats reaped, and assisted in other operations. He had had a very good time, for, mingled with the preliminaries of a pastoral farmer's life, to which his uncle had introduced him, he had had a fair amount of shooting, several pleasant excursions with his cousins to neighbouring farms, and a trip to Mafeking to bring home stores. At the end of January he accompanied his uncle to Johannesburg with a herd of fat cattle, which were disposed of for excellent prices on their arrival there.
On this expedition, although they were assisted by native servants, they had to experience some of the roughs and tumbles of veldt life. They lived for the most part in the saddle, sleeping at night in a light mule wagon which accompanied them. The weather was broken and unsettled; the rains, which began in December, still fell heavily at intervals, and they were often drenched to the skin. Even their wagon tent by no means sufficed to protect them from the tropical downpours that periodically fell from the lowering heavens. Nevertheless, to the secret satisfaction of Mr. Blakeney, Guy bore all the discomforts that overtook them with the most cheerful spirit, and arrived at Johannesburg in excellent heart and fettle. He had proved himself a very useful auxiliary, and his uncle was more than well pleased with his behaviour. The return from the gold city was made with much less discomfort, and, unencumbered with a big herd of cattle, they reached home within a fortnight.
One evening, a short time after their return, Mr. Blakeney called Guy into his own room, the "den," as he called it, in which he did most of the office work connected with the farm, and kept his papers, books, and accounts, as well as his guns, rifles, and ammunition. Guy was just then engaged in a game of chess with his aunt, who was a skilful player, and was teaching him something of the rudiments of the art.
"Well, aunt," he said, as he rose with a cheery laugh, "I'm defeated again, I see. You have mate in another move, haven't you?"
"I'm afraid it is so, Guy," replied Mrs. Blakeney. "Never mind; you are getting along very well. This has been quite a good fight, and in another six months you will be crowing over me, I expect."
Guy walked quickly to his uncle's room, where an oil lamp shed a bright glow over everything. Mr. Blakeney was a man of methodical habits. His books and papers were always in their right places; his guns gleamed brightly on their racks; everything was in apple-pie order.
"Sit down, Guy," said his uncle, pointing to the chair near him; "I want to have a bit of a talk with you. First of all, I want to know something about your views of cattle-farming and South African farming life generally. Is it the kind of life you think will suit you, and can you make up your mind to settle down to it? You have now had a three months' apprenticeship, and have probably formed your own opinions."