“You’re right, George!” he presently exclaimed; “they’re hartebeest. I say, Maurice, suppose we send the youngsters after them on their own account? They are quite old enough to go without ‘leading reins.’”
“Oh, do, father!” cried George eagerly.
“I’m sure you may trust us,” put in Tom.
“I am quite willing, Mat,” replied Mr Weston, smiling at the boys’ eagerness. “After all, there’s nothing like letting lads shift for themselves to make them self-reliant. Let them go, by all means, say I.” Whereupon Master Tom gave vent to an ear-splitting “who-o-o-p,” for which display of excitement he was called to order by the pater.
“Gently! gently, my boy,” said the Major, raising his hand; “don’t get excited, or I shall have to withdraw my permission.”
Tom looked very crestfallen.
“Now, listen to me both of you,” continued his father. “Do you see that curious-shaped hill looming in the distance?”
“A little to our right, and about five miles off?” asked George Weston.
“Five!” exclaimed Major Flinders. “It is nearer five-and-twenty! But that is the hill I mean. Well, that is Kudos Kop, and we shall this evening encamp on the banks of the Gamska, about seven miles this side of it; so now if you lose sight of us, as you’re pretty sure to do, you will know in what direction to steer.”
“I have my pocket-compass,” said Tom, producing one from his breast-pocket.