"My lad," he said in a hoarse voice, "we must saddle up and be off again. The nags are tired, but they will stand up for a day longer. I pray God all may yet be well; but I fear--yes, I fear this hateful, waterless desert. It is a danger far worse than the worst lion veldt, or the most treacherous natives. I would to God I had never let you two lads go hunting till we had crossed it."
For the greater part of that day they continued the search, which, to Guy's sinking heart, seemed to become more and more hopeless. Occasionally they would fire a shot and listen, but, alas! no answering shot returned. It was pitiful to watch his uncle's restless anxiety, his feverish haste. Towards one o'clock it became apparent that their own horses were already jaded. They were now near the wagon spoor again, and, with the view of reaching water and obtaining fresh mounts, they rode, at the best pace their ponies could manage, on the track. At half-past five o'clock they had reached the outspan and water. Poeskop came forward with an anxious face.
"Is Baas Tom here?" demanded Mr. Blakeney, in a hard, dry voice.
"Nie, baas," came the answer shakily. "He is not here. But his pony came in alone, and very done up, two hours since."
"O God!" groaned Mr. Blakeney, in a despairing tone, "what is to be done?"
It was a blow sufficient to daunt the stoutest heart. Tom had now, as his father well knew and understood, been wandering for two days and a night without water. He was a tough and a strong, and above all a courageous lad, but in this land of thirst even the strongest man can scarcely expect to hold out for more than three days and nights under such conditions. That was a miserable night indeed. Nothing could be done; but two parties were to be out on the search again at daybreak next morning.
Chapter X.
TOM'S STORY.--THE BABOON BOY.
Quitting the camp at the first streaks of dawn, after a hurried breakfast, Mr. Blakeney and Jan Kokerboom, the Koranna, together with Guy and Poeskop, rode off along the wagon spoor, intending after a mile or two to turn off into the veldt and search in different directions. It was a sad and subdued party; Mr. Blakeney's distress of mind was too obvious to be ignored, and Guy's usually buoyant spirits were depressed and clouded by anxiety for his cousin's fate. They had cantered two miles along the wagon track, when suddenly Poeskop, who had been staring in front of him, ejaculated in his most cheerful voice,--
"Baas, baas, daar kom Baas Tom! Heep, hurrah!" and, letting off his rifle in his excitement, the little man put spurs to his pony and galloped off. It was true; the Bushman's sharp eyes had caught a glimpse of a figure far ahead of them among the bush. All galloped after him at headlong pace, and in three or four minutes they were off their nags and standing alongside the actual if somewhat dilapidated figure of Tom Blakeney. Mr. Blakeney was first up, in spite of Poeskop's start, and, jumping from his nag, had the boy in his arms and was patting him affectionately on the back.