Chapter 11 | Being Stalked | Diamond Dyke

Those were minutes which would have made the stoutest-hearted man feel that his case was hopeless; and Dyke struggled along, feeling his legs grow weaker, and as if his feet were turned to heavy weights of lead. Still he kept on at what was no longer a good run, for his pace had degenerated into a weary trot, and there were moments when he fancied that the cob was disappearing in a mist of distance, while at the same time he felt a constant inclination to check his speed, so as to be able to gaze back at his pursuer, which every now and then sent his heart upward with a tremendous throb, as it made a few rapid bounds to gain the shelter of bushes, and disappeared, but, as the boy well knew, to come into sight again much nearer.

The later part of that terrible flight was dreamlike in its strange, wild confusion, and was dominated by a despairing feeling that he had now done all that was possible, and must throw himself down and yield to his fate.

But the instinctive desire for life, the horror of being seized by the monstrous beast, and the thought of Emson and their home, which, shabby and rough as it was, now seemed to be a glorious haven of refuge, kept him struggling on in spite of his exhaustion. Life was so sweet; there was so much to do; and poor Joe would be so lonely and broken-hearted when he found out his brother’s fate. It would be, he knew, the last terrible blow of all to the expedition. For himself, he was so stunned by horror and exertion that he could not feel that there would be much pain; all he hoped for was that the seizure would be sudden and the end instantaneous; but still he kept up that slow, steady double over the burning sand, with his heavy gun going jerk, jerk, giving him, as it were, regular blows across the loins to urge him on.

Another wild glance back, and the lion growing bigger; and another weary stare in advance, and the cob still so distant, but clearer now to his vision, though certainly shuffling away.

Again he looked back, to see the savage beast grovelling itself along, with its lower parts almost touching the sand, and seeming more than ever to keep up that stealthy, cat-like approach, so as to get within springing distance.

And now a reaction began to take place, and through his teeth Dyke’s hot breath panted out:

“I don’t care; I’ll die game. He shan’t kill me for nothing.”

His hand went to his belt, and he snatched out his keen sheath-knife, determined to hold it with both fists before him, and face the lion when the beast sprang. It would not save his life, he felt; but the brute would suffer, and that was some consolation, even then. Then his left hand went to his throat, to tear open his collar, so that he could breathe more freely; but it did not reach the button, for it struck against the big metal whistle which hung from his neck by a twisted leather thong.

His next act was almost involuntary. He placed the metal to his lips, and blew with all his might a long, trilling whistle, despairing as he blew, but still with a faint hope that the shrill sound would reach through the clear air to where the cob was labouring along with its hobbled feet.

The result sent a thrill through the boy, for to his great joy he saw that the cob had stopped.

No: it was fancy.

No: it was no imagination, no fancy of his disordered brain; for the moment before, the horse was end on to him; now, it had turned broadside, and was gazing back; and in his excitement Dyke whistled again with all the breath he could put into the act.

The horse still stared back. It had heard the familiar call, and Dyke felt another thrill of hope, for on looking back he saw that the whistle had had a double effect: the lion had stopped short, sprung erect, and stood at gaze with bristling mane, staring after him, its head looking double its former size.

But Dyke did not pause; he ran on, dragging his leaden feet, till he saw that the cob was once more moving away, and the lion crawling rapidly along in his track.

Another shrill, trilling whistle with the former effect, and the animals in front and rear stopped again, giving the boy a few yards’ gain.

But the reprieve was very short. The lion soon recovered from its surprise at the unwonted sound, one which might mean danger, and resumed its stalk, while the cob again went on.

How long that terrible time lasted Dyke could not tell, but the whistling was resumed over and over again, always with the same effect, and with the hope growing that perhaps at last he might reach the horse, Dyke toiled on.

Despair came, though, in company with the hope; for at any moment the boy felt that the cob might wildly rush off as soon as it realised how near the lion was behind its master—fear getting the better of the long training which had taught it to obey its master’s call. But still Dyke was getting nearer and nearer, and the whistle did not seem to lose its effect, always checking horse and lion as well, till to Dyke’s great joy the cob uttered a loud whinnying sound, answered by a deep muttering growl from the lion.

“I can go no farther,” panted Dyke at last, and his run degenerated into a weary stumble, as he raised the whistle once more to his lips, blew with all his feeble might, and then began to walk.

Hope once more, for the whinnying sounded loudly now; and in spite of the presence of the lion a couple of hundred yards behind its master, Breezy suddenly came toward where Dyke stood, advancing in a stumbling canter. Dyke tried to call to it, but no words would come; and he glanced back to see the lion gliding over the ground nearer and nearer.

How long would it be before it was near enough to make its bound?

Long before he could get down by the cob’s forelegs to loosen the hobbles from its fetlocks, and mount.

Dyke felt that as he staggered to meet the cob, and the beautiful little animal stumbled toward him, whinnying joyfully, seeing for the time nothing but its master, to whom it looked for protection.

“I shall never do it! I shall never do it!” he panted, and he glanced back to see the lion stealing on, with its eyes glaring in the sunshine. And there was no friendly, playful look here, for now Dyke noticed that this was not the lion which he had encountered by the eland, but another, evidently one which had been following the droves of antelopes, and, fierce with hunger, had turned aside after the first object that it had seen.

At that moment Dyke dropped upon his knees, throwing one arm round the fettered legs of his favourite, which had ceased its whinnying, and began to tremble violently, snorting and starting, and, yielding to its panic at the sight of the approaching enemy, threatened to bound away.

To get the hobbles undone was impossible, for Dyke’s hands trembled from weakness and excitement; but spurred again by despair, he made a couple of bold cuts, severed the leather thongs, and sprang to his feet.

But there was much yet to do: the bit to fasten, and how could he get it into the mouth of the horrified beast?—the girths to tighten, while the cob backed away.

Neither was possible, and glancing once over his shoulder, Dyke snatched at the mane, but missed it, for the cob started violently, but stopped a couple of yards away, paralysed with horror at the approach of the great, stealthy beast.

Another clutch at the mane, and the cob started again; but Dyke had seized it fast, and was dragged a few yards before Breezy stopped, trembling in terror; as making one last effort, the boy made a leap and scramble to mount, dragging the saddle half round, but getting his leg over, clinging now with both hands to the mane.

Nothing could have been narrower.

The lion had given up its stealthy, creeping approach, and risen at last to commence a series of bounds, ending with one tremendous leap, which launched it through the air, and would have landed it next upon Dyke and his brave little steed; but horror drove off the trembling, paralytic seizure, and Breezy made also his frantic bound forward, with the result that the lion almost grazed the horse’s haunches as it passed, and alighted upon the sand. The beast turned with a savage roar; but, urged by fear, and spurred by its master’s hoarse cries, the cob was galloping, with its eyes turned wildly back, and every breath coming with a snort of dread.

Certainly nothing could have been narrower, for, enraged by its failure, the lion was in full pursuit, keeping up bound after bound; but swiftly as it launched itself forward, its speed fell short of the pace at which the brave little cob swept over the sand, spurning it at every effort in a blinding shower right in the lion’s face, while Dyke, lying prostrate, clinging with hand and knee, was in momentary expectation of being thrown off.

The pursuit was not kept up for more than three hundred yards. Then the lion stopped short, and sent forth a series of its thunderous, full-throated roars, every one making Breezy start and plunge frantically forward, with the sweat darkening its satin coat.

But the danger was past, and for the next ten minutes Dyke strove hard to master a hysterical sensation of a desire to sob; and then gaining strength, and beginning to breathe with less effort, he drew himself up erect, and tried by voice and caress to slacken the frightened animal’s headlong speed.

“Wo-ho, lad! wo-ho, lad!” he cried, and the speed slackened into a canter.

“My word!” muttered the boy to himself, “I don’t know how I managed to stick on!”

Ten minutes later he managed to stop the cob, and sliding off wearily, he stroked and patted its reeking neck, unbuckled and slipped in the bit, attached the reins to the loose side, and arranged them ready for mounting. Then dragging the saddle back into its place, he properly tightened the girths, and gave two or three searching glances backward the while.

But the lion, far or near, was well hidden, and they were well out in one of the barest parts of the plain, which now spread tenantless as far as eye could reach, while the eland was quite out of sight.

And now, as he proceeded to mount, Dyke awoke to the fact that his back was bruised sore by the gun, which had beaten him heavily; he was drenched with perspiration; and it was an effort to lift his foot to the stirrup, his knees being terribly stiff. He was conscious, too, of a strange feeling of weariness of both mind and body, and as he sank into the saddle he uttered a low sigh.

But he recovered a bit directly, and turning the cob’s head, began to ride slowly in the direction of Kopfontein, whose granite pile lay like an ant-hill far away, low down on the eastern horizon.

He was too tired to think; but he noted in a dull, half-stunned way that the sun was getting very low, and it struck him that unless he hurried on, darkness would overtake him long before he could get home.

But it did not seem to matter; and though it hurt him a little, there was something very pleasant in the easy, rocking motion of Breezy’s cantering stride, while the wind swept, cool and soft, against his cheeks.

Then he began to think about the events of the day—his narrow escape, which seemed to be dreamlike now, and to belong to the past; next he found himself wondering where the dog was, and whether it had found his cartridge pouch. Lastly, he thought of Emson, and his ride back to fetch Jack and the oxen—a long task, for the bullocks were so slow and deliberate at every pace.

But it did not seem to matter, for everything was very restful and pleasant, as the golden sun sent the shadow of himself and horse far away along the plain. He was safe, for the lion could be laughed at by any one well mounted as he was then. At last the pleasant sensation of safety was combined with a dull restfulness that grew and grew, till, moving gently in that canter over the soft sand, which hushed the cob’s paces to a dull throb, the glow in the west became paler and paler, and then dark.

Then bright again, for Dyke recovered himself with a jerk, and sat upright, staring.

“I do believe I was dropping off to sleep,” he muttered. “That won’t do. I shall be off.—Go on, Breezy, old boy. You had a good long rest, and didn’t have to crawl on your knees. How far is it now?”

Far enough, for the kopje was only just visible against the sky.

But again it did not seem to matter, for all grew dull again. Dyke had kept on nodding forward, and was jerked up again, but only for him to begin nodding again. Soon after he made a lurch to the left, and Breezy ceased cantering, and gave himself a hitch. Then followed a lurch to the right, and the cob gave himself another hitch to keep his master upon his back, progressing afterwards at a steady walk, balancing his load: for Dyke was fast asleep, with the reins slack and his chin down upon his chest, and kept in his place by the natural clinging of his knees, and the easy movement of the sagacious beast he rode. But all at once he lurched forward, and instinctively clung to the horse’s neck, with the result that Breezy stopped short, and began to crop the shoots of the bushes, only moving a step or two from time to time.