“Well, Tom, how did you get on between one and three am?” was Mr Weston’s first question when they sat down to break their fast with the remains of last night’s supper. “Found it rather lonely, didn’t you?”
“I should just think I did,” was the candid reply; “horribly lonely! And I was obliged to keep trotting backwards and forwards like a hyaena in a cage to prevent myself nodding; not that I should have minded that, if I’d only had someone to talk to.”
“Well, you look fresh as a four-year-old this morning,” Major Flinders said. “I’m certain that a trip of this sort is a capital thing for getting young fellows into condition.”
“No doubt of it,” assented his friend; “so long as it is not attended with too much fatigue or hardship.”
As soon as Tom had finished his breakfast he expressed his intention of taking a look round before they inspanned.
“Don’t go far, my boy; keep within hail,” said his father. “We shall make a start directly Keown has the carts ready.”
“All right, father,” replied the boy, taking up his rifle. “I’ll just stroll up the donga and see if I can get a crack at something or other. There’s no fresh meat in the larder, you know.” And off he trudged—
“Unknowing what he sought,
And whistling as he went for want of thought.”
Tom had not gone many yards when his attention was attracted by a rustling amongst the reeds, and looking round, his quick eyes espied several dark forms stealing down the watercourse towards the bivouac. He at once scented danger, but had the presence of mind not to show that he was alarmed; and turning coolly about he returned to his friends and informed them of what he had seen. Hardly had he given the alarm when thirty or forty dusky figures rushed down the donga and advanced with threatening gestures—brandishing their weapons and uttering loud cries of defiance.
“Inspan, Patrick!” shouted Major Flinders to his servant as he seized his rifle. “We can keep these black rascals off until you are ready.”