“A mirage!” exclaimed George. “Well, I have often heard of them, but I could not have believed the delusion was so perfect.”
“Wonderful country for cheats of that sort,” remarked Matamo; “it often looks like that before sunrise.”
The mid-day halt was made under some high cliffs, which threw a long shadow and afforded some protection from the heat. Here Vander Heyden had some conversation with the corporal, and agreed with him that, as his party could not proceed beyond a certain distance every day, all of them, except the corporal himself, being on foot, the soldiers should be allowed occasionally to change with the mounted men of Vander Heyden’s party, while the prisoners were permitted to take their seats in the waggon. Margetts uttered a hasty exclamation when this arrangement was reported to him, but he said nothing more, and everything went on prosperously till the halt took place. They sat down in three parties—the corporal and his men by the side of one waggon, Matamo, Haxo, and the Hottentots by the other, while the third, consisting of what might be termed the gentry of the party, took their places under some mimosas, on the brink of a small fountain, almost immediately under a high and steep rock.
The meal was half over, when suddenly there was heard a loud jabbering noise above, and the party, looking up, saw several hideous faces peering over the ridges of the rocks.
“Bushmen!” exclaimed Redgy. “I have been expecting to fall in with them for some time. We are not so very far from their country, I believe. Hallo up there?” he continued, as a number of large stones came rattling down from above. “Stop that, do you hear, or you’ll find two can play at it.” He raised his gun as he spoke, and pointed it at the rocks.
“It is no use talking to them,” observed Hardy, laughing; “I don’t suppose they would understand you if they were Bushmen. But they are not. They are baboons—mandrils, I believe, is their exact name. There are great numbers of them in this part of the country. I wonder we haven’t fallen in with them before.”
“Baboons, hey!” cried Redgy. “The mischievous brutes!” he added a minute or two afterwards, as another large stone passed over his head, which it very narrowly missed. “I say, I am not going to stand this sort of thing! I’ll just give them a shot or two to improve their manners.”
“Stop, Mr Margetts, don’t fire!” cried Vander Heyden. “They are the most revengeful and malicious creatures in the world, and as strong and fierce as tigers. There are hundreds of them, and they’ll attack us in a body if you provoke them.”
His warning came too late. Redgy had already fired, and a yell of pain from above announced that his aim had been successful. The next moment a dozen huge mandrils had sprung over the rocks and began to descend the cliffs, leaping from point to point as nimbly as squirrels.
“Run for it!” shouted Hardy. “Take shelter in the waggons. We may keep them off there, but it is about our only chance.”