That same night, as keen as ever to get an okapi, the four hunters again sallied out for their previous ambush, determined to make the utmost of the waxing moon that nightly rode the sky; and, upon arriving at the drinking-place, found—to von Schalckenberg’s intense disgust—that the carcase of the red buffalo had been so mauled and torn as to render the hide utterly useless. But they had compensation a little later, for during that night they secured no fewer than five handsome leopards that had evidently come down to feast upon the flesh. Nor was this all. Before the night was over, the professor had the satisfaction of shooting a very fine and handsome black-and-white monkey of a hitherto unknown species; while Lethbridge was made happy by the addition to his “bag” of a magnificent white rhinoceros—a creature so rare that many distinguished naturalists had pronounced it extinct. But, to their keen disappointment, no okapi made its appearance at the drinking-place that night. Yet they persevered, lying out night after night, and resting during the day; and at length, on the ninth night after their adventure in pursuit of the original animal, their patience was splendidly rewarded, a pair of okapi making their appearance at the drinking-pool, very late, after all the other animals had come and gone again. There was an exciting and tantalising ten minutes while these animals stood in the full light of the moon and drank, one of them being immediately behind the other, so that it was impossible to shoot both. Then the male, having drunk his fill before his mate had quite finished, wheeled and moved a yard or two. As he did so, the hammers of Lethbridge’s and the professor’s rifles clicked simultaneously, and a great cheer rang out from the ambushed party as the two animals dropped and lay motionless. Then the four men rose to their feet, and—regardless of the possibility that they might thus be scaring away other desirable specimens—scrambled over the boulders and other obstacles until they stood beside their prey. Then, having admired, to their hearts’ content, the singular creatures as they lay, the eager hunters drew their knives, and proceeded to take the skins forthwith, determined to leave nothing to chance and the morning.
Chapter Sixteen.
Among the Ruins of Ancient Ophir.
The next few days were devoted by the men of the party to the arduous and somewhat unpleasant task of completing the preparation for packing the skins which they had taken; and then, after a rather late breakfast on a certain morning, the Flying Fish again rose into the air, and, winging her way leisurely a hundred feet or so above the tops of the forest trees, headed to the southward and eastward. The morning of the second day saw them clear of the forest and sweeping over a fine open country, sparsely dotted here and there with detached clumps of bush, and over which roamed immense herds of buck and antelope, troops of zebra, giraffe, and other animals, a few elephants, and ostriches innumerable. But they saw nothing tempting enough to delay them; and so they went drifting quietly along day after day—coming to earth only at night, in order that they might miss nothing of the multitudinous interesting sights that the country had to offer them—until at length, one day, at noon, Mildmay announced that, according to his reckoning, they were exactly fifty miles from the site of ancient Ophir.
And, indeed, there was no reason to doubt this statement. On the contrary, the voyagers had, some hours earlier, imagined that they recognised certain spots which had been rather more distinctly impressed than others upon their memories during their former visit. For example, as the Flying Fish went driving gently along over the somewhat rugged, well-wooded country, with its numerous streams winding hither and thither, like silver threads, they sighted a native village some distance ahead of them; and Sir Reginald remarked to Lethbridge, who was standing beside him, examining the scene at large through his binoculars—
“Surely, Lethbridge, that is the identical village from which we first noticed the curious system of voice-telegraphy in vogue among the people hereabout, and by means of which they sent forward the news of our arrival, on the occasion of our last visit.”
“Looks not at all unlike it,” answered Lethbridge, with his binoculars still at his eyes. “Anyway, we shall soon see,” he added; “for somebody has spotted us already, and there comes the entire population of the place, turning out to look at us. And—yes—there goes a mounted man, as hard as his nag can lay legs to the ground, doubtless to shout his message. I will watch him.”
The ex-colonel relapsed into silence for a few minutes; then he resumed—