Klaas knew nothing about the modus operandi—could not guess how the other was going to act—and his ignorance betrayed itself, though he did not say a word.
Was Jan going to ride up and snare the birds? Surely they would not let him come so near? They appeared shy enough, and would not let him, Klaas, come within shot, for he had tried it but the minute before. No: it could not be that way—the koorhaans wouldn’t stand it, he knew.
Jan said nothing, but rode triumphantly forth, looking askance at Klaas as he passed out from camp.
When within about one hundred yards of the koorhaans—Klaas expecting every moment to see them run off as koorhaans usually do—Jan turned the head of his pony, and commenced riding round in a circle.
This he continued until he had got quite round the first circumference; and then, drawing his pony slightly inward, he began a second circle, which he completed as the first; and then still heading more inward, he made a third, and a fourth, and a fifth—of all which circles the bustards formed the centre. Of course, it was not exactly a circle he traced, but a spiral line constantly narrowing inward upon the game.
“Oho!” muttered Klaas, “I see what he’s after now. Oho!”
Klaas said nothing more; but remained watching with great interest, while Jan continued round and round like a blind horse in a brick-mill.
But Jan was not blind. He was watching the movements of the koorhaans with the sharp eye of a bird-catcher.
And these birds were equally watching him—turning their heads now to this side and now to that; but, like stupids as they were, neglecting to use either their wings or legs to carry them out of the way of danger.
The result was that they permitted the pony, and Jan upon its back, to approach so near, that the boy was at length able to reach one of them with the top of Swartboy’s long whip-stick, and pass the noose over head, topknot, and all.