It was a bright moonlight night, and the Hottentot had no difficulty in following the back track of the horses, as he and his master went over the ground at a hand-gallop. The Major’s heart was heavy, for he feared the worst; and for some time he rode along in silence.
“What think you, William?” said he at length. “Is there any hope that the young gentlemen are alive?”
Black William shook his woolly head, saying: “I think tiger pull Baas George from his horse, and dat Baas Tom try to save him. But tiger too strong for yong baas to fight.”
The Major’s heart sank within him: not that he had had much hope from the first; and he bitterly reproached himself for having allowed the boys to go off alone. Day was beginning to dawn when they came in sight of the range of hills over which the herd had disappeared when chased by the boys; here the ‘spoor’ of the hartebeest was very distinct, and the Hottentot, tracking them to the foot of the hill, pointed out to his master where they had crossed. Hope then revived in the Major’s breast, for it struck him that the boys might have followed the game afoot, and during their absence the horses must have broken loose and galloped off—frightened most probably by some wild beast.
“We will off-saddle for an hour or so, William,” said he, drawing rein and dismounting near the entrance to the ravine. “And do you ascend the hills, and—”
“Vat dat, baas?” cried Black William, as a rifle-shot echoed amongst the hills—a shot that had evidently been fired at no great distance from the spot where they stood.
“The boys!” shouted Major Flinders; “the boys, no doubt! Come on, man.”
And springing into his saddle, he put spurs to his horse and rode up the ravine at full gallop, followed by the Hottentot.
When Tom Flinders recovered consciousness he staggered to his feet and took a look around him.
A few paces up the ravine lay George Weston; the dead leopard was a little further on; but the horses were nowhere to be seen.