By Veldt and Kopje

by W. C. Scully

Now came the main effort of the enterprise; the steep, grassy hillside had to be climbed. Beyond, high up, stood the enchanted forest in the depth of which the red-winged, green-crested lories flitted with noiseless undulations from tree to tree or waked strident echoes with their hoarse-throated calls. There the satyrs of the South—the black-faced, green-backed monkeys—tore swinging along from bough to bough, scattering leaves, flowers and berries from sheer love of mischief. There the great woodland butterflies flitted like ghosts through the nether gloom or circled like fairies around the tree-tops. From there the raucous barking of the rutting bushbucks sounded at midnight across the valley. There were hidden wonders—untold, transcendent—stinging imagination into ecstasy.

The hillside had once been covered with forest, but the timber had, on the lower slopes, disappeared under the blighting hand of man. Now the high, waving Tambookie grass lay thick upon it, and through this the path wound and zigzagged aimlessly, after the manner of South African footways. A stream had once flowed down the decline, but being no longer nurtured by the growth of timber, had shrunk to an underground trickle, the course of which was here and there marked by a funnel-shaped opening filled with bracken. Here a careful ear might discover the musical tinkle of semi-subterranean water.

Tommy became very tired, but pushed bravely on, following the lead of his evil genius. The air became hotter and hotter. A few belated cloudlets, very high up, sailed slowly against the wind. From some of these a few heavy gouts of rain occasionally fell, only to be immediately evaporated by the glowing earth. Now and then a remote metallic clashing of thunder could be heard. A sudden and furious succession of gusts sprang up and joined in a mad whirl from eastward. This covered the hillside with dust, and sent leaves and twigs flying over the billows of the swaying grass.

Tommy looked longingly at the dense forest, which now lay but a couple of hundred yards ahead. The wind blew his hair bewilderingly into his eyes; the hot, acrid dust filled his throat. His legs trembled under him, but he still struggled bravely on. His evil genius stood between him and the worst of the gusts, and the unsavoury kaross proved an acceptable shield against the stinging missiles with which the air was filled.

At length a lull—but the wind was only pausing to gain strength for a burst of wilder fury. Then a dense cloud of dust and detritus arose to windward and advanced with a strident moan.

A small, solid-looking cloud hung above them, shaped like a pear. From this a thin blade of white lightning flickered down and ignited the grass to windward, just in front of the advancing tempest. Immediately the dustcloud closed down on the ignited spot; in an instant the hillside was a hell of roaring, whirling, leaping flame.

Danster did not hesitate for an instant. Dropping the tortoise, the loxia’s nest and the stolen fruit, he seized Tommy by the hand and dragged him swiftly back down the hillside towards the last of the subterranean openings they had passed. It was a race for life with the springing, vaulting flame, which was hurled onward by the wind in immense flakes, pausing for the fraction of a minute here and there as though to gain strength for the next leap. Soon it became apparent that the fire must win. Then a hissing tongue of flame darted out and cut the fugitives off from their goal.

Without pausing for an instant Danster denuded himself of his kaross, wrapped Tommy in it, and, picking him up, dashed naked into the fire with a wild yell, hurling himself and his burthen into the gulf beyond. They sank together into the burning mass of bracken, Tommy beneath and his evil genius above. Then the world went out for Tommy in a wild turmoil of heat, smoke, suffocation and crackling explosions.

The first thing that struck Tommy’s awakening senses was a strong smell of burnt leather. He was lying in a mass of slimy ooze. After a violent struggle he sat up, his head piercing the charred kaross, which had been his shield against the devouring fire. He looked around him with smarting eyes. The sides of the depression in which he lay were jet-black, with here and there a thin whorl of smoke eddying upwards. The strong, amber-tinted sunshine dazzled him. Close by he noticed a pair of yellow, pain-shot eyes, with brown vertical slits. A wild cat with all its fur scorched off was painfully crawling out of the water. He felt a movement at his feet; a half-scorched snake was loosely coiled about his ankles. He turned to look behind him, wondering where Danster was... But what was that blackened, shrivelled, crackling mass contorted so horribly beside him among the charred stumps of the fern? Alas! it was the body of his evil genius, who had died in agony that Tommy might live.

Tommy staggered to his feet. Not so much as a hair of his yellow head had been touched by the fire. He climbed out of the hollow and fled down the blackened hillside, still holding the dead kingfisher in his hand.