"Poor little Peter!" he said that evening at supper. "His meeting with us, which we all thought such a fine thing for him, was but a miserable bit of luck after all. I do believe, if he had remained with the baboons, he might have lived for years."
"Ay, Tom," rejoined his father, "it's a strange world; and human destiny, whether in the case of the black man or the white, is one of the most inexplicable of all mysteries. Still, we did the right thing in rescuing poor Peter. Think of it. What an existence would have been his if we had not discovered him. To live with the beasts of the field--and such beasts as baboons--surely even you, Tom, fond as you were of the little chap, could never have wished him such a fate."
"No, pater, I suppose not," acknowledged Tom; "but it was a cruel end. I shall never forget the little fellow, and it will be a long while before I shall get his death-scream out of my memory."
Chapter XIII.
GUY IS MISSING.
More than a month had elapsed since the beginning of the trek. They were now, as Poeskop had informed them, within little more than a week's journey from the kloof of gold of which they were in search. It was full a week since they had left the Berg Damara village behind, and they had progressed well and steadily during the interval. One morning Mr. Blakeney and Tom had ridden out together in search of game. Guy was sitting on the wagon, for a change taking a rest, going through some of his specimens, and packing away odds and ends. They were trekking across a wide, open grass plain, whereon various herds of game, for the most part hartebeest, blue wildebeest, and Burchell's zebra, were to be seen grazing in the distance. At half-past twelve the oxen were outspanned, and a halt was made. Guy, having finished his work and eaten some lunch, was now, with the aid of the Ross stalking-glass, ranging the wide grass flats, watching the various troops of game, and wondering what kind of luck his uncle and cousin were having. It had been a most beautiful morning. The hot, rather suffocating winds, which had been blowing persistently from the north for the last few days, had vanished. A most cool and refreshing breeze now came up gently from the south, borne from the cool regions of the far Antarctic; and there was a feeling of vigour in the sparkling atmosphere which, albeit it was now just past high noon, made Guy's restless English blood eager for action.
As he looked, he suddenly spied through the clear telescope a single ostrich, stalking across the veldt. It was a long way off--five miles certainly--but he would go after it. Telling Seleti to saddle up his pony, Guy's preparations were soon made. After their experiences in the thirst-land, he was not going to take any more unnecessary risks, and he had fastened to his saddle his water-bottle, coat, and a hunting case containing a little food. Thus equipped, he picked up his sporting Martini rifle--he had lent Tom his Mannlicher--and, swinging himself lightly into the saddle, rode off at a brisk canter, humming, in the lightness of his heart, a cheerful song. Poeskop gazed admiringly after him as he rode away.
"There goes a proper young baas!" he said to Jan Kokerboom, as they sat at their meal. "'Tis a fine thing to be an Englishman." Jan admitted that it was, and Guy's figure gradually receded into the distance.
Guy rode steadily for five or six miles, at the end of which he discovered that the ostrich had been moving away north-westward, and was still two or three miles distant. Some light bush now hid it from view, and, taking advantage of this screen, Guy pressed on until he saw that he was about to enter upon the plain again. Before issuing from the bush, he got off and carefully examined the country in front of him. Yes, there was the ostrich right enough, feeding quietly less than a mile away. It was a splendid cock bird, and its white plumes, showing up finely against its black body colouring, made Guy long to possess them. Walking his horse out of the covert, Guy now touched the good beast with his spur and galloped for the big bird, hoping to get a shot at it before it had discovered that the approaching object was anything more than a zebra. It was a wild, unfrequented veldt, and surely, argued Guy to himself, an ostrich in these parts would not be very suspicious. Half a mile was covered. He was now within seven hundred yards of the bird; surely he was going to get a fair shot directly.
But even as he thus flattered himself, he was discovered. The ostrich's head went up, and then, with a limp and a flutter of the wing feathers, the bird moved off. It went so lame that Guy at once perceived that something was the matter with it. So much the better--he would have an easy victory. Suddenly, fifty yards in front of him, there rose from the long grass veldt another ostrich, a hen bird manifestly. Nothing ailed her, and she rushed away like a steam engine, covering whole leagues, as it were, in her enormous strides. Guy reached the place whence she had started, and saw, as he expected, a nest full of huge, shining eggs. At a swift glance, as he galloped by, he reckoned that there must have been twelve or fourteen of them. But he had no time to attend to them now; he would ride back that way, and take toll of them as he went to the wagon. For the moment all his energies and attention were centred on the maimed or sick bird in front of him, the magnificence of whose plumes he could now plainly discern.