"I take most of those clumps to be blue wildebeest and quacha," he said presently. "When I say 'quacha,' Guy," he added, "I don't mean the old Cape Colony, half-striped quagga, which is now quite extinct, but Burchell's zebra, which the Boers and up-country hunters still always insist on calling quacha. As a matter of fact, the old Dutch hunters called the true quagga 'quacha,' and Burchell's zebra 'bonte quacha,' which latter means 'striped quacha.' Quacha, by the way, is an old Hottentot word, taken from the neighing call of the animal, which has been corrupted to our English quagga. Well, now, I think I see some other kinds of game, probably eland, hartebeest, or tsesseby--what the Boers call bastard hartebeest--and, I fancy, ostriches. We'll trek in an hour. The wagon will move along across the plain. Meanwhile we'll saddle our best ponies, and see if we can't find a troop of roan antelope or giraffe as we ride through the forest. We'll go ahead of the wagon. Jan Kokerboom knows the route, straight across the plain for the mountain yonder in the distance. Poeskop can come with us and help spoor. Hi! Poeskop!" he called out.
The little Bushman came up.
"Ja, baas!" he said, his eyes twinkling with pleasure.
"We shall go in front of the wagon, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney, "and you can come with us. Take the bay pony, Rooibok; he'll carry you very well. And mind, if we find kameel [giraffe] you are not to shoot; at all events, until the young baases have each had a fair chance. I want them to shoot a kameel apiece. When they have done that, you and I can join in. Shall we find kameel, think you?"
"Ik denk so, baas," answered the Bushman. "I have been out since sun-up in the forest yonder, and I have seen spoor of kameel and rhinoster."
"Splendid," said Guy. "Now let's saddle up and be off."
They soon had their ponies ready, and, strapping on their bandoliers, fastened their spurs, took down their rifles from the wagon hooks, mounted, and rode down the hill.
"Now, boys," said Mr. Blakeney, "I want you to remember two things. If we find giraffe--kameel, as the up-country hunters all call them--we must try and drive them out on to the plain in front. Then we can run them down fairly comfortably. You must ride hard at first. Don't be afraid of using sjambok and spur. Try and push the giraffe beyond their speed, and they are yours. Ride right up to the stern of the beasts and put in your shots as you gallop, as near as possible to the root of the tail. Your bullets will penetrate the giraffe's short body, and you'll bring him down. You, Guy, take the biggest one of the troop. Follow him as hard as you can split, and stick to him till you get him. Blinkbonny, your pony, is a real good one, and knows what to do. You, Tom, take the next biggest, which will be, probably, a tall cow, and run her down. Now we'll get on. No talking, except in the merest whisper. Spread out, and keep an eye on Poeskop. You can't mistake giraffe spoor. It's like the huge, elongated footprint of a colossal ox, if you can imagine such a thing."
They rode into the forest and, spreading out a few paces apart, followed the lead of the Bushman, who, mounted on an upstanding pony of fourteen hands three inches, looked an odd little figure. On they went in silence for half an hour, Poeskop pointing here and there to spoor as they passed it. A big troop of lovely red pallah swept across their front, the graceful antelopes bounding into the air as they shot past. Numbers of guinea-fowl were to be seen moving hither and thither, busily engaged in digging up the bulbs on which they feed. An hour had passed. They had sighted koodoo, and let them go unscathed, hoping for heavier game. Some tracks of buffalo had been crossed. But they were now hot upon the spoor of a good troop of giraffe. The boys noted with the keenest interest the huge, slipper-like impression left in the red sand. Here some of the troop had browsed round a giraffe-acacia; the scraping of their fore feet, as they had stretched themselves to their fullest capacity to seize some tempting morsel of foliage, was plainly apparent in the tell-tale sand. Poeskop, mounted as he was, described the operation in dumb show, with all the dramatic ability of his race.
Suddenly he drew rein and lifted a warning hand. Then pointing through a wide, open glade in the forest, he glared intently. His audience stared hard, and saw nothing stir for a full half-minute. Then something which they had mistaken for the trunk of a tree moved, and they saw instantly that it was a giraffe.