When Oscar read that he looked down at Ralph, the only remaining canine companion of his travels, the two worthless curs of which we have spoken having deserted him at Leichtberg. That sagacious animal was by no means a beauty. The long journey he had made across the burning sands, and the rough treatment he had received from his foes, had completely spoiled his good looks. But there was plenty of fight left in him, and Oscar decided on the instant that he should go home with him to fill Bugle's place.
The young hunter continued his journey with a light heart after reading those cheering letters from home. Even the dreaded Drackenberg, which now and then loomed up before his mental vision, had no terrors for him.
He had his wagon thoroughly repaired at Harrismith, in readiness for the ascent, crossed the pass in safety, and in due time drew up before the hotel in Maritzburg.
Mr. Dibbits was there to meet him, and so were Harris and his gang of swindlers, all of whom started as if they had seen a ghost.
"Why, Mr. Preston!" exclaimed the landlord as soon as he could speak.
"Yes, Mr. Dibbits, it is I; or, rather, all there is left of me," replied Oscar. "By the way, what became of our friend Colonel Dunhaven?"
"Colonel Dunhaven!" repeated the landlord, looking bewildered. "Oh, that was the gentleman who started for the interior the same time you did. Humph! he was a nice fellow to think of going into the wilderness, he was. His wagon got stalled up here in an ant-bear's hole, and he got discouraged, sold out, bag and baggage, and bundled himself off to old England."
Our hero thought of all he had passed through during the last two years, and told himself that that was the best thing the colonel could have done. A man who would allow himself to become discouraged as easily as that had no business in Africa.
Oscar passed but one night in Maritzburg, and what with dining and visiting with his friends, and fighting off Harris and his gang, who persisted in making him very inadequate offers for his outfit, and chaffing the landlord, who showed an overweening desire to learn how he had succeeded during his hunt, he had a lively time of it.
The next day he bagged a couple of white-necked ravens, and they were the last specimens he shot in Africa.