"Putrid, I call it!" exclaimed Tiny disgustedly, when, upon arriving at the Kloof, they dismounted and watered their horses. "Not a chance of even a single shot."
"This is all right!" said Colin, unbuckling his gaiters and taking off his boots. "I'm going to wade a bit. The bottom of the river's hard rock, and there are no crocodiles or hippos about. There are plenty of fish, though. Wish I'd brought a rod and line."
"Not much good bringing a rifle," said Tiny, who was still harping on the lack of sport. "Carrying unnecessary weight, that's what it is."
"Perhaps," suggested Colin, "there are lions about, and that's what has frightened the springbok. Of course, we wouldn't see them during the day. They'd be lurking in the scrub."
"We haven't seen the spoor of a lion, anyway," objected Desmond. "There must be some other reason."
They left it at that.
An hour later, after having a swim in a deep, clear pool and having had something to eat and drink, they prepared for the return journey.
"I believe there's a thunderstorm working up," remarked Colin, after about half the distance had been ridden. "Let's hurry a bit. It is no joke being caught out in the open in one of these storms."
But, unaccountably, both horses refused to increase their pace. It was not because they had been pressed. Throughout the ride the lads had ridden at quite a moderate pace, which was a mere crawl for the hardy little animals.
In fact, instead of responding to the gentle application of the spur, the animals stopped dead, refusing to move.