The east was faintly streaked with a crimson line next day, when May came to rouse the sleeping Ormsby, and call him to an early breakfast, which he had prepared, that the sportsmen might cross the river, which at last was fordable for men and horses, although the depth of mud in its bed rendered it impassable for wagons. It was possible to carry over such provisions as would last them till they reached the Orange River, where final arrangements would be made for treking at once into the depths of the long-desired hunting-grounds.
The idea of change pleased Ormsby, and he readily assisted in the necessary preparations. With his usual want of foresight and discretion, he had begun to make a pet of Zoonah; and, forgetting how dependent he and Frankfort were on the integrity and sagacity of May, amused himself with the idea that the latter was jealous; but the kind-hearted bushman was utterly unconscious of this, and worked away with his usual aptitude and good humour, keeping, too, a close eye on Zoonah’s movements when the cattle came in at sunset.
And now, to Frankfort’s surprise, May permitted the Kafir to assist him in making up sundry packages for the trek over the river, soon to be carried on their own heads as they swam the stream; for May was ever humane, and strove to lighten the weights on the pack-horses.
Two leather bags were soon filled. Zoonah’s dark eyes glistened at the goodly store scattered about the ground,—canisters of powder, a pocket looking-glass, bundles of cigars, and manifold articles delightful to a Kafir’s sight; he gladly helped in the task of tying up the bags, and after adjusting one on May’s head, and lifting one to his own, he proceeded with the Bushman to the edge of the stream. The rest of the cavalcade were to cross the river whenever they could do so with safety; and Frankfort, ascertaining that all was ready, took his horse well in hand, and plunged into the clear and rapid current, Ormsby following. By Frankfort’s desire, May was to attend as guide and groom, and on second thoughts, he consented to let Zoonah follow, deeming it unwise to leave him with the cattle.
Both sportsmen’s horses breasted the torrent gallantly. Ormsby, despising May’s injunctions, had nearly floundered in a sea-cow’s hole; but the opposite bank was safely reached, and both gentlemen, dismounting to rest their panting steeds, sat down to watch the transit of May, Zoonah, and the dogs.
The bushman and Kafir, side by side, were already midway between the banks, and, in thorough good-fellowship, exhibited their skill and daring in buffeting the element through which the horses had passed with less ease.
Frankfort watched the race—for such it seemed—with some anxiety, for it called forth equal strength and courage on the part of both the swimmers. Ormsby laughed heartily at the “dodges” each took to circumvent the other, when suddenly, as if caught by the current, Zoonah was whirled round and round, sunk, rose again, keeping his burden safe supported by one hand, and in another moment struck boldly out with the right arm and vanished, to the horror of Frankfort, who gave him up for lost, and the dismay of Ormsby, who had seen Zoonah pack many articles of which he stood in need.
May swam gravely on, paying little heed, beyond a grin, at Zoonah’s disappearance; and even Frankfort reproached him severely for triumphing, as he believed, in his own sagacity, at Ormsby’s expense.
“I told the sir,” said the bushman, when he recovered breath on landing, “that Zoonah was thief as well as liar, but Master Ormsby only laughed.”
“You should not have intrusted him with a package of such value to us just now,” said Frankfort.