Chapter VII.
ADVENTURES IN THE VELDT.
They were now busily employed for the rest of that morning and some way into the afternoon in skinning and cutting up their game. The flesh of an old bull giraffe is not good eating, and they were content to take portions of the hide, the feet--which make excellent trophies--the tail, and the skin of the head. From the other two they took further trophies, and a large quantity of flesh. The wagons came up with them presently, and the meat was loaded up. Then they trekked on for the river, where they camped for the evening. After the oxen had grazed, they were brought in at sundown, and fastened to their yokes for the night. Big fires were lighted, and the two parties, masters and servants, enjoyed a banquet of giraffe venison. The flesh of a fresh young cow-giraffe is excellent, somewhat like good veal, with a game-like flavour of its own. But the bonnes-bouches of the evening meal were the marrow-bones of these gigantic quadrupeds, roasted in the hot ashes. These were then sawn in half, and the marrow scooped out with long spoons of wood improvised for the occasion.
"Why, father," exclaimed Tom, as he finished his second helping of the savoury stuff, "this beats boiled beef marrow-bone out of the field. I never tasted anything so delicious."
"No, I don't suppose you ever have," said Mr. Blakeney. "Giraffe marrow-bone is the king of veldt fare. There's nothing to equal it. But we must cry enough. It's rich food, and I've known men in the low country bring on a fresh attack of fever simply from over-indulging themselves in too much of this good thing."
They sat after supper near the blazing fire--the boys writing up their diaries by its cheerful light, Mr. Blakeney smoking his pipe and skinning a beautiful crimson-breasted shrike which he had shot that afternoon in some thorn bush along the river. He and the boys had already begun a collection of birds, which they meant to take home with them.
There was no moon, but through the dark, velvety pall of the night-sky myriads of stars pricked forth in an array of marvellous brilliancy. Down the river there came the curious wailing titter of a jackal, then another. Not long after, a low moaning roar was heard from the same quarter. This was answered by another roar nearer the camp.
"Lions!" exclaimed Mr. Blakeney. "Seleti, put more wood on the fires. Do you, Mangwalaan, light another there, beyond the leading span of oxen. We shall have to look out."
The Bechuana boys piled up the firewood, and soon had yet another blaze going.
Just then Poeskop came up to his masters.