Chapter 10 | The Hunter Hunted | Diamond Dyke

Dyke was completely paralysed in body, but his mind was wonderfully active, and he noted that the horse even had not divined the approach of the great beast, but was puffing away with snorting breath at the insects upon the tender shoots, and browsing contentedly enough, while the lion had stolen softly up nearer and nearer, without a sound, after perhaps following on the track of the antelopes for weeks, and taking toll from time to time, which might have accounted for its sleek condition and glistening hide.

In spite of the feeling of horror which chilled the boy, he could not help admiring the beauty of the magnificent beast before him, with its full flowing mane, and sunny, yellowish eyeballs intently watching him, as the long lithe tail, with its black tuft of long hairs at the tip, swung to and fro, now seen upon the left side, now upon the right, in other respects the great animal being as motionless as the boy.

For many moments Dyke could not even breathe, but at last he uttered a gasp, followed by a sharp, catching sound, as he inspired with a sob, and the lion raised the hair about his ears, as if to frown, and uttered a low, deep, growling noise.

Dyke’s heart seemed to stand still as, with his eyes still fixed upon those of the beast, he waited for it to spring upon him, and drive him back. What then?

He shuddered softly, trying hard not to move, and irritate the lion into hastening its aggression at a time when life was so sweet, and every moment was greedily grasped before the end. He was horribly frightened, but this did not trouble him so much, for he felt stunned, and a great deal of what passed was dreamy, and seen as if through a mist. But one thing he knew, and that was that he would have some little warning of the attack, for the lion would crouch and gather its hind-legs well under it before it made its spring.

Then a wave of energy ran through Dyke, who, though still motionless, felt his heart throb with greater vigour as he began to think of self-defence. There was his gun close at hand, so near that he could have reached it; but it was useless. He might make one bold stroke with it; but the stock would only snap. Any blow he could deliver would only irritate the beast. And now a dawning feeling of admiration began to broaden as he gazed at the great, massive head and the huge paws, recalling the while what he had seen since he had been in South Africa—a horse’s back broken by one blow, the heads of oxen dragged down and the necks broken by another jerk; and he felt that he would be perfectly helpless when the brute made its first spring.

And still the lion stood, with the tail swinging in that pendulum-like motion; the great eyes gazing heavily at him; while during those painful minutes Dyke’s brain grew more and more active. He thought of mice in the power of cats, and felt something of the inert helplessness of the lesser animal, crouching, as if fascinated by the cruel, claw-armed tyrant, waiting to make its spring. And he knew that at any moment this beast might come at him as if discharged from a catapult. But all the same the brain grew more and more acute in its endeavours to find him a way of escape. If he had only had a short bayonet fixed at the end of his gun, that he might hold it ready with the butt upon the ground, and the point at an angle of forty-five degrees, so that the lion might at its first bound alight upon it, and impale itself, just as it had been known to do upon the long, sharp, slightly curved prongs of the black antelope, piercing itself through and through, and meeting the fate intended for its prey.

But then he had no bayonet at the end of his gun, and no weapon whatever, but his strong sheath-knife. He could hold that out before him; but he knew well enough that he could not hold it rigid enough to turn it to advantage against his foe.

It might have been so many seconds only, but it appeared to Dyke a long space of time numbered by minutes, as he waited there, expecting the great animal to crouch and spring, making short work of him before going on to gorge itself upon the carcass of the eland. There was no possibility of help coming, for it must be hours before Emson could return, and then it would be too late.

At last the power to move came back, and Dyke’s first thought was to turn and run, but second thoughts suggested that it would be inviting the great active beast to spring upon his back, and he remained firm, never for a moment taking his eyes off those which stared so fixedly into his, although he was longing to look wildly round for the help that could not be at hand.

Then his heart gave one great leap, for he saw a quiver run through the lion, which crouched down, gathering its hind-legs beneath it, and outstretching its fore; but it was some moments before the boy grasped the fact that the brute’s movement was not for the purpose of making a tremendous bound, but only to couch, as if it would be easier and more comfortable to gaze at him in a seated position after making a very long stalk.

“He can’t be hungry!” came to Dyke’s brain on the instant, and then boy and lion sat opposite to each other, gazing hard, till the great cat’s head and mane seemed to swell and swell to gigantic proportions before the boy’s swimming eyes, and they appeared misty, strange, and distant.

Then came another change, for the animal suddenly threw itself over, stretched, and turned upon its back, patted at the air with its paw, and gazed at the boy in an upside-down position, its lower jaw uppermost, but keeping a watchful eye upon him, as if expecting an attack. A moment or two later it was drawing itself over the sand to where Dyke sat, and made a quick dab at him with one paw, striking up the sand in a shower; and as the boy started away, the brute sprang to its feet, shook itself, and with two or three bounds plumped itself down upon the eland, and buried its teeth in the dead antelope’s throat.

Dyke uttered a hoarse sigh of relief, and rested himself by pressing his hands down beside him, breathing heavily the while.

It was a temporary reprieve, but he dared not move for fear of drawing the attention of the lion to him, and clung to the hope that perhaps the great creature might be content to glut itself upon the game.

The beast was well-fed and not savage, that was plain enough, but its action might change at any moment, and, worse still, there was the prospect of others arriving at any moment to join in the feast.

For a full hour Dyke sat there, watching the great animal, and listening to it as it tore off pieces of the neck from time to time, the crack of a bone every now and then making him start violently, and shudder at the thought of certain possibilities connected with himself. And all this time the beast was in such a position that one eye was toward him, and a gleam therefrom made it apparent that he was carefully watched the whole time. But at last the lion turned itself more away to get at a more meaty portion, and a thrill of excitement ran through Dyke.

Grasping his knife firmly in one hand, his gun in the other, he turned over, and fixing upon one of the low bushes a short distance away, beyond which was other good cover, he began slowly and silently to crawl sidewise away, keeping a watchful eye the while upon the lion, so as to stop short at the slightest movement on the part of the great beast.

It was an exceedingly difficult mode of progression, and it was hard work to keep to it, for with every yard the desire to get up and run toward where Breezy would be grazing increased. Once he could reach the cob, take off the hobbles which confined its forefeet, tighten the girths, and slip the bit between its teeth, he did not care. But there was a great deal to do, he knew, before he could achieve this.

Yard by yard he crept on, the sand hushing every sound, and he had nearly reached the low bush cropped short all over the top by the horse or some passing animal, when there was a quick movement and a low growl which made him feel that all was over.

But a sharp crick, crack of a broken bone nipped in the powerful jaws reassured him, and after waiting a few minutes, he crept sidewise again a little farther, and he was behind the bush, which shut out all view of the lion and smouldering fire, and of course hid him from his enemy.

He could now make better progress, for if the lion turned, he would be invisible; and taking advantage of this, he crept on from bush to bush, till he was quite a hundred yards away. And now the longing was intense to stand erect and look out for Breezy, but the bushy growth had been so closely cropped that it was nowhere a yard in height, and to stand up might have meant to bring him full in his enemy’s sight.

There was nothing to be done, then, but to crawl on to a more open spot, and as he was going in the direction taken by the horse in feeding the last time he saw it, the boy felt not the slightest uneasiness, being sure that he should come in sight of it directly.

Still the minutes glided on as he made for the more open part where the sand lay bare, and he began now to grow uneasy at not seeing the cob, and at last, like a crushing disaster, he saw that the poor animal must have scented the lion, or been alarmed at the cracking of the bones, and, in consequence, it had quietly shuffled as far away as it could in the time. There it was, a couple of miles away, right in the open plain, and though at that distance its movement could not be made out, it was in all probability shuffling its way along to save its life.

Dyke’s heart sank in his breast as he knelt there in the sand, feeling as if his case was as hopeless as ever, and for the moment he felt disposed to creep right into the densest place he could find, and lie there till darkness set in, when he would take his bearings as well as he could from the stars, and then try to reach Kopfontein. But at that moment there came to him his brother’s words, and the little absurd story about trying till to-morrow morning. A trifling thing; but at that moment enough to make Dyke sling his gun over his back, thrust the knife into its sheaf, mark down the position of the fire by the faint smoke, and then start off crawling on all-fours straight away, not after the horse, but so as to keep the bushes well between him and the lion.

The exertion was great and the heat terrible. Never had the sand seemed so hot before, nor the air so stifling to breathe; but he crept on silently and pretty quickly, till, glancing back over his shoulder, he found that he might move straight at once to where he could see Breezy looking distant and misty through the lowest stratum of the quivering air. For the low bushes hid him no longer; there was the faint smoke of the fire still rising, and just beyond it the big carcass of the eland, made monstrous by the great maned lion, crouching, tearing at the neck.

At the sight of this, Dyke dropped down flat, and lay panting and motionless for a few minutes. Then he began to crawl straight for the horse, grovelling along upon his breast. But this soon proved to be far too painful and laborious a mode of progression, and he rose to his hands and knees, feeling that it must be that way or nohow, though fast growing desperate enough to rise to his feet and run.

A minute’s anxious reflection brought the feeling that this would be a mad act, and might rouse the lion into following him, so he kept steadily getting farther and farther away, and more and more foreshortened, as the artists term it, till he was pretty well end on to the lion, and he felt that he must present a singular aspect to the monster if it looked across the plain.

“I shall never do it,” muttered Dyke. “Poor old Breezy! he was frightened. I can’t blame him, but I don’t get any nearer. He’s going on as fast as I am, and I shall be obliged to get up and run.”

But he did not. He kept up the uneasy crawling, putting hundred-yard space after hundred-yard space between him and the fire, while, when he did glance back, it was after dropping flat behind some bush and raising his head till he could see the eland lying like a low hummock or patch of bush, and with the lion growing less distinct.

On he went again, refreshed by the trifling rest, but far more by the fact that he was really getting more distant from the great danger. For it was in vain to try to assure himself that as the lion did not molest him before it had fed, it was far less likely to do so now.

As he crawled onward, wishing he could progress like the baboons which haunted some of the stony kopjes in the neighbourhood, he tried to think how long it would be before he overtook the cob, and in spite of the danger and excitement he could not help smiling, for his position reminded him of one of the old problems at school about if A goes so many yards an hour and B so many, for twenty-four hours, how long will it be before B is overtaken by A?

“A fellow can’t do that without pen, ink, and paper,” he said to himself. “It’s too big a sum to do on sand, and, besides, I don’t know how fast I am going, nor B for Breezy either. But oh, how hot I am!”

At last he could bear it no longer; he was apparently getting no nearer the cob, but he certainly must be, he felt, sufficiently far from the lion to make it safe for him to rise and trot after the nag. He had his whistle, and if he could make Breezy hear, the horse would come to him. But he dared not use that yet; besides, he was too far away.

At last he did rise, gazed timorously back, and then started onward at a steady trot—a means of progression which seemed quite restful after the painful crawl, and gaining spirit by the change, he went on with so good effect that he saw that he was certainly gaining on the cob. This infused fresh spirit within him, and congratulating himself on the fact that he must soon get within whistling distance, he had another glance back to see that eland and lion were an indistinct mass, or so it seemed for the moment. Then he turned cold again in spite of the heat, for there, moving slowly over the sand, about a quarter of a mile back, was a tawny, indistinct something which gradually grew clearer to his startled eyes, for unmistakably there was a lion stealthily stalking him, taking advantage of every tuft to approach unseen, and before many minutes had passed he felt that it would be within springing distance, and all would be over in spite of his almost superhuman toil.

There was only one chance for him now, he felt, and that was to run his best.

He did not pause to look, but began to run over the burning sand, his breath coming hot and thick; but he must go on, he knew, for at every affrighted glance behind, there was his enemy keeping up its stealthy approach, and the cob was still so far away.