Chapter 13 | Jack Behaves Himself | Diamond Dyke

The necessity for providing fresh provisions took the brothers out again next day, but there were no more herds visible, as far as their glass would show, anywhere out upon the plain; but at last they caught sight of half-a-dozen of the graceful little springboks, and after a long gallop got close enough to try a couple of shots, which proved successful; and a little buck was borne home in triumph, a portion cooked, and Dyke sat watching his brother eat that evening, till Emson looked up.

“Why, hullo!” he cried; “not well?”

“Oh yes, I’m quite right,” replied Dyke hastily.

“Then why don’t you eat?”

“Because I wanted you to make up for the past,” said the boy, laughing. “I’m a meal ahead of you. I had such a splendid dinner yesterday off the eland.”

Next morning, upon their visit to the ostrich-pens, Emson’s face brightened, for there was excitement among the birds, the great hen having hatched every egg of those they had brought home in the net; and for the next few days everything possible was done in the way of feeding, so as to help the young brood on into a state of strength.

“Oh, it’s all right, Joe,” said Dyke; “all we’ve got to do is to keep on scouring the plain and finding nests. We shall succeed after all.”

“Yes, but you must scout off after some meal and coffee; we can’t get on without those.”

“And sugar.”

“And sugar. What do you say to starting to-morrow?”

“I’m ready,” said Dyke; and after warning Jack, and making the necessary preparations over night, they sought their couches, and rose before daybreak to go and rouse up the Kaffir and his wife.

The latter soon had her fire glowing; Jack grumpily fetched water, and then proceeded to yoke the bullocks to the wagon, after which he settled down to his breakfast; and after feeding his stock, Emson mounted his horse to ride a few miles with his brother, both keeping a sharp lookout for game; while Duke, who was of the party, kept on hunting through the hushes, and now and then starting a bird.

It was getting toward mid-day before anything was shot, and then another little springbok fell to Emson’s piece, just as they reached the water where they were to make their first halt.

The buck was divided, part to go back to Kopfontein and some to form part of Dyke’s provision, while another portion was cooked at once and eaten.

“There,” said Emson at last, “I don’t think I need say any more to you, old fellow. Jack knows the way well enough. Set him to drive the bullocks, and you ride beside and drive him. Keep a tight rein, and if he shows his teeth and isn’t obedient, tell him you’ll shoot him, and take aim at once, or he won’t believe you.”

“Rather sharp practice, Joe, isn’t it?”

“Not with a man like that. He’ll be ready to play upon you in every way, and you must let him see that you do not mean to be imposed upon. Sounds harsh, but I know Master Jack by heart.”

“You do think he’ll take me straight to all the water?”

“I haven’t a doubt about it, old fellow,” said Emson, smiling. “Jack isn’t an ostrich, and must drink at least once a day, so you need not be nervous about that.—There,” he continued, mounting; “I must be off. Good-bye.”

“Not yet; I’m going to ride a little way back with you,” cried Dyke.

“No, you are not, lad. Rest yourself and your horse.—Here! Hi! Jack!”

The Kaffir came from under the wagon, grinning.

“Drive your bullocks carefully, and bring them back in good condition.”

The man smiled and showed his teeth.

“That’s right. Go along and have your sleep.”

The Kaffir went back and crept under the wagon, and Emson clasped his brother’s hand.

“Take your time, but don’t lose any, old fellow,” he said; “for I shall be glad to see you back. Take care of yourself. I wish I were going with you, but I can’t. There, you are man enough to manage everything, so good-bye.”

He urged his horse forward and went back swiftly along the trail, his nag cantering steadily along one of the broad ruts made by the wagon wheels in the sand, while Dyke went and seated himself just under the wagon-tilt, and watched him till he was out of view.

“Six days and nights at the least,” said Dyke to himself with a sigh, “and perhaps a fortnight, before I get back. Never mind; every day will be one less, and I don’t suppose I shall mind its being lonely, after all. Duke’s good company, and so is Breezy, without counting Jack, and it isn’t so very bad after all to go riding through the country with one’s own tent on wheels. Why, some fellows at home would be mad with joy to get such a chance. Ah, look at that. Why, if I’d been ready, I might have got a couple of Guinea-fowl for the larder.”

For a flock of the curious speckled birds came and settled amongst the bushes on the other side of the water pool, but catching sight of visitors, went off with a tremendous outcry.

“Don’t matter,” said Dyke; “there’s plenty of the buck.”

The sun was sinking low in the west, as after a long, toilsome journey from the last water, Dyke, with the great whip held aloft like a large fishing-rod and line, sat on the wagon-box shouting to the weary oxen from time to time. He was apparently quite alone, save that Breezy was tethered by a long leathern rein to the back of the wagon. There was no Kaffir Jack, no Duke; and the boy, as he sat driving, looked weary, worn out, and disconsolate.

For days past he had been upon a faintly-marked track leading south-west—a track in which hoof-marks and the traces of wagon wheels having passed that way were faintly to be seen, quite sufficient to show him that he was on the right track for civilisation in some form, and he felt pretty certain that sooner or later he would reach Oom Morgenstern’s store and farm.

But it had been a terrible task that managing of the team alone, and urging the sluggish animals to drag the wagon when they reached heavy patches of sand. Then, too, there was the outspanning—the unyoking the often vicious animals from the dissel-boom or wagon pole and trek chain, when he halted by water, and let them drink and feed. Then the inspanning, the yoking up of the oxen again, and the start once more.

That huge whip, too, had been such a clumsy thing to handle, but highly necessary, for without it he would never have reached the end of his journey. Then at night there had been the same outspanning to see to; the feeding of the bullocks; the collection of wood and lighting of as big a fire as he could contrive, to cook his food, boil his coffee, and, finally, make up to scare off wild beasts. In addition to this, a thorn protection ought to have been made to keep off danger from Breezy, but that was impossible; and hour after hour Dyke had sat in the darkness, where the cob’s rein was made fast to the wagon tail, and, gun in hand, had watched over the trembling beast, keeping him company when the distant roaring of lions was heard on the veldt, and the bullocks grew uneasy.

Little sleep fell to Dyke’s lot by night; but in the daytime, when the bullocks were going steadily along the track, which they followed willingly enough for the most part, the boy’s head would sink down upon his breast, and he would snatch a few minutes’ rest, often enough to start up and find the wagon at a standstill, and the bullocks cropping some patch of grass or the tender shoots of a clump of bushes.

Then on again, with at times the great whip exchanged for the gun, and some bird or another laid low, so as to find him in extra provisions by the way. Once, too, he managed to hit a little buck.

A long, doleful, and weary journey, without meeting a soul, or being passed. On and on, over the never-ending plain, often despairing, and with the oxen groaning, empty as the wagon was, for the sun flashed and was reflected up with blinding force, and there were moments when Dyke grew giddy, and felt as if he must break down.

But those were only moments. He set his teeth again, and trudged on or rode, thinking of Joe waiting patiently away there in the lonely, corrugated iron building, tending the ostriches, and feeling in perfect confidence that the journey would be achieved, and the necessary stores brought back.

There were moments, though, when Dyke brightened up, and told himself that he would do it if he tried till to-morrow morning; and at such times he laughed—or rather tried to laugh—for it was rather a painful process, his face being sore and the skin ready to peel away.

But at last, after escaping danger after danger by a hair’s-breadth, the great weariness of the almost interminable journey was coming to an end, for, far away in the distance, there was a building visible through the clear air. He could see a broad stretch of green, too, looking delightful with waving trees, after the arid wilderness through which he had passed; and now, in spite of his great fatigue, Dyke plucked up courage, for the building must be Oom Morgenstern’s farm, and in an hour or so the traveller felt that the first part of his journey was at an end.

Once or twice a feeling of doubt troubled him, but that soon passed off, for reason told him that he could not be wrong—this must be the point for which he had been aiming.

The bullocks began to move more briskly now, for they could see green pasture in the far distance, and there was a moister feeling in the air, suggestive of water not far away.

So Dyke’s task grew lighter, and an hour or so later he could see a big, heavy, grey man standing outside an untidy-looking building, littered about with cask and case, and who saluted him as he halted his team:

“Ach! das is goot. How you vas, mein bube?”

“Here, I say,” cried Dyke, as the big German shook hands with him, “who are you calling a booby, Uncle Morgenstern?”

“Hey? You vas bube. Not gall yourself mans, long time ago to gom. Bube ist poy, goot poy. Zo you gom vrom Kopfontein all py youzelf to puy mealies and dea, and goffee and sugars?”

“Well, not quite all alone; I’ve got our Kaffir with me.”

“Ach! ten: why you not make him drive die pullock? Lazy tog!”

“He’s in the wagon, bad. I’ve had to drive the bullocks, and inspan and outspan all by myself.”

“Ach! wonterful! All py youself. Goot poy. Ant you are hot, und sehr dursty.”

“Oh yes, horribly thirsty.”

“Goot! Die Frau shall make you zom of mein beaudiful goffees. Das is good vor dursdy.—Hi!” he shouted; and a couple of Kaffir boys came from behind a rough shed, to whom he gave instructions to outspan the oxen and drive them to the abundant pasture by the river side.

“Goot! Now led me see der pad mensch. Zo you haf put you Kaffir in you wagon, and give him a pig ride.”

“Yes; I thought he was going to die.”

“Zo? Ah! zom beebles would haf left him oonter a dree, und zay do him: ‘Mein vrient, you had petter make youself guite well as zoon as you gan. I muss nicht shtop. Goot-bye.’ But you did bring him in dem wagon, hey?”

“Oh yes: I could not leave him.”

“You are a goot poy, my young vrient. And how is der big bruder?”

“Quite well,” said Dyke, looking uneasy as the big, frank-faced, fat, German Boer questioned him.

“Why did he not gom too? I like den big bruder.”

“Too busy minding the young ostriches.”

“Ach zo! Of goorse. Ant you make blenty of money—you gut off der vedders, and zend dem to der Gape?”

“Oh no. We’re doing very badly: the young birds die so fast.”

“Zo? Das ist sehr, very bad. You had petter zell mealie und gorn, und dea und sugars. It ist mooch petters as neffer vas, and you not haf to gom five, zigs, zeven days to me. Now let us zee den Kaffirs.”

The old man had approached the back of the wagon as he spoke, and now drew the canvas aside, to be greeted by a low growl which made him start back.

“Tunder!” he cried. “Der Kaffir tog is gone mad!”

“No, no; that is our dog Duke.”

“Ah! Und is he pad too?”

“Yes: a leopard came and seized him one night and carried him off from under the wagon; but I ran out and fired, and I suppose I hit the beast, for there was a lot of snarling and Duke got away; but I thought he would have died.”

“Ach! boor togs den. What you do to him?”

“Bathed the places with water.”

“Goot!”

“And he licked the wounds himself.”

“Besser.”

“And curled himself up, and went to sleep.”

“Das vas der best of all, mein young vrient. Aha! Goot tog, den. You let me zee how you vas pad. I am your master’s vrient; das ist zo.”

He advanced his hand to where Duke lay just inside the canvas, and the dog gave the skin on which he lay two thumps with his tail.

“Das ist goot,” said the old German trader. “Ach! yaas; you haf been pite on dem pack, und scratch, scratch along bofe your zides; boot you are a prave tog, and zoon be guite well again.”

Duke’s tail performed quite a fantasia now, and he uttered a low whine and licked at the great, fat, friendly hand which patted his head.

“Und now vere is der poy?”

“Get into the wagon,” said Dyke; and the German climbed in, followed by Dyke, and stooped down over the figure of Kaffir Jack, who lay on a blanket, with his head toward the front part of the wagon, through which opening the evening light still streamed.

The Kaffir’s head was tied-up with a bandage formed of the sleeve of a shirt cut off at the shoulder, split up lengthwise at the seams, tied together so as to make it long enough, and this was stained with blood, evidently days old.

The Boer gazed down at the Kaffir, and Jack gazed up at him, screwing up his face in the most piteous fashion.

This scrutiny on both sides went on for some time in a silence which was at last broken by the Kaffir uttering a dismal groan which went right to Dyke’s heart.

“Ah,” said the trader softly, “boor vellow! How you vas?”

Jack uttered a more dismal groan than before.

“Ah, vas it den? Boor mans! you zeem as bad as neffer can be. You doomble off dem vagon, und dread on your vace like dot?”

“Oh!” groaned Jack. “Baas killum.”

“Did he den. Der baas kill der boor vellow dead?” Then suddenly changing his tone from one full of soft sympathy to a burst of fierce anger, he roared out: “Dunder und lightning! You get oot of dis, you oogly black, idle tog. You got sore head, und lazy as big bullock. Out you vas!”

He accompanied the fierce words with a sharp kick, and Jack bounded up and sprang clear over the wagon-box, to stand out on the trampled ground, staring wildly.

“Ah, you vait till I gom und get das ’noceros whip, und make you tance, you lazy tog. You go take den pferd to water, or you haf no zopper to-night. Roon!”

Dyke stood staring at the change that had come over the Kaffir, who ran to where the horse was tied, unfastened the rein, and led him off without a word.

The old trader chuckled.

“I know whad is der madder mit dose poy. He is guide well as neffer vas, und lie und shleep and say he gannod vork a leedle pid. How game he do domble und gut den kopf?”

Dyke coloured.

“He did not tumble,” said the boy. “I hit him.”

“Zo? Mit dem shdick?”

“No,” faltered Dyke; “with the barrel of my gun.”

“Ach! das ist not goot. You mide break den gun. Der whip handle is der bess. Why you vas hit him on dem het?”

“He would not see to the bullocks. Almost directly after we had started—I mean the next day—he got at the meat and ate all there was.”

“Ach! yas. He look as if he had den gros shdomach. And zo he eat him all?”

“Yes; everything.”

“Und what den?”

“Then he went to sleep and wasted a whole day, and I had to do everything, and cut wood for the fire, and watch to keep off the wild beasts.”

“Ach! boor vellow! he vas shleepy, after eat himself so vull.”

“Yes.”

“Und der next day?”

“The next day he said it was too soon to start, and that I must go and shoot something for him to eat, while he kept up a good fire.”

“Zo? He is a glever vellow,” said the Boer, nodding his head, and with his eyes twinkling. “Und did you go and shoot zom more meat vor den boor poy?”

“No. I told him he must get up, and help to get the wagon along.”

“Und he said he vould not move?”

“Yes,” said Dyke; “and at last I got angry, and kicked him to make him get up and work.”

“Ah zo; und what den?”

“He jumped up, and threatened to spear me with his assegai.”

“Zo; und what den?”

“I hit him over the head with the gun barrel, and he fell down, and has not been up since. I was afraid I had killed him, for he lay with his eyes shut.”

“Und you goot oop your shirt to die oop his het, und you veed him, und drink him, und waid upon him effer since as neffer vas.”

“Yes; I’ve had to do everything,” said Dyke sadly; “but I ought not to have hit him so hard.”

“Vot? My goot younger vrient, you should, und hit him more hart as dot. A lazy, pad tog. He is a cheating rascal. A man is neffer bad when he look guide well as dot. I know dot sort o’ poy, und he shall pe ferry sorry when he go pack, or I keep him here. Now you gom und wash, and meine alt voman shall give you blendy do eat und drink, und den you shall haf a creat big shlafen, und wake oop do-morrow morning as guide well as neffer vas. Gom along. Und zo die ozdridge birds go todt?”

“Go how?” said Dyke wonderingly.

“Todt, dead—vall ashleep, and neffer wake oop no more. Ah, vell, I am zorry for den pig bruder. He ist a ver goot mans. He bay for all he puy at mein shdore, und dot is vot die oder beobles do not alvays do.—Frau,” he continued, as they entered the homely and rather untidy but scrupulously clean house, “dis ist mein younger vrient: you dake him und wash him, und make him a pig evening’s eating, vor he has gom a long way do zee us, und he will shday as long as he like.”

Frau Morgenstern, a big, fat woman, greeted him warmly, and confined her washing to giving him a tin bucket, a lump of coarse yellow soap, and a piece of canvas perfectly clean, but coarse enough to make a sack.

That bucket of water was delicious, and so was the hearty meal which followed, and after being assured by the hearty old German that the cattle were properly tended, and seeing to Breezy himself—an act which brought the old trader’s fat hand down upon his back with “Goot poy: alvays dake gare of your goot horse youzelf,”—the house was re-entered, the door shut, and the host stood up, closed his eyes, and said a prayer in his native tongue, ending by blessing Dyke in true patriarchal fashion.

That night Dyke slept as he had not slept for weeks, and woke up the next morning wondering that he could feel so fresh and well, and expecting to see Kaffir Jack at the other end of the wagon, curled up in a blanket; but though the dog was in his old quarters, Jack was absent, and Dyke supposed that he was asleep beneath.