It was indeed high time; for every instant the infernal din was coming nearer and growing more distinct. It was, in fact, becoming positively deafening. It sounded as if a veritable Pandemonium had broken loose. Grenits made a very wry face when he found that Mokesuep was to be his companion; but he had no chance of remonstrance at thus being saddled with a most uncongenial companion, for he had to get to his post without delay.
The positions which the guns were to occupy had been admirably chosen and showed a perfect knowledge both of the game and of the ground. The marksmen were all posted in full view of one another, so that there could be no risk of accident, at the same time their fire commanded the narrow opening of the ravine which lay open before them. Moreover they were all directed to take their stand upon spots slightly elevated above the level of the soil and were thus, to a great extent, out of the reach of the fearful tusks of the infuriated animals. Thus then they stood, most eagerly watching; but, though the entrance to the Djoerang lay perfectly open before them with here and there a few stunted shrubs much too low and small to conceal even the smallest pig, not a vestige of any animal could be seen. This suspense seemed intolerably long to the impatient and impulsive Europeans who were far from being endowed with the calm phlegmatic temperament of the natives. The Wedono stood there quiet and motionless as a statue.
“I can see nothing whatever,” shouted August van Beneden to his friend, making use of his hands as a speaking-trumpet. “I fancy our good dessa-folk have taken it easy and have allowed the game to slip away quietly to the right or left.”
“It is my opinion that the ravine is empty,” remarked van Nerekool, to whom this long inaction was more irksome than even to the others.
Verstork interpreted van Beneden’s words to the Wedono who, rifle in hand, was standing by his side, and asked him if he thought it possible.
“It may be,—but—perhaps it is not so,” was the chiefs cautious reply.
Still they waited, and waited—the din of the beaters was approaching with every moment and their yells became more distinct. A few minutes more would decide the question whether there was any game in the ravine or not, for a very short time would bring the beaters to the mouth of the opening.
Verstork was getting quite nervous with impatience, jokes were beginning to pass pretty freely among his friends, and although they were perfectly good-humoured jests and showed not the slightest ill-will towards him, yet they were not pleasant to listen to. Mokesuep was the only one who, in a singularly offensive tone, cried out:
“I say, Controller, I hope all that pork we are going to kill won’t disagree with us!”—
“Hold your tongue, wretched Muizenkop,” said Theodoor Grenits. “You always find some nasty thing to say!”