Chapter 8 | The Desert Herds | Diamond Dyke

“I tell you what, little un,” said Emson some mornings later, “I’m going to start a crest and motto, and I’ll take a doubled fist for the crest, and Nil desperandum for motto.”

“And what good will that do you?” said Dyke, hammering away as he knelt on the sand with the lion’s skull held between his knees.

“What good! Why, I shall always have my motto before me—‘Never despair,’ and the doubled fist to—”

“To show that you are always ready to punch Kaffir Jack’s head,” cried Dyke quickly; and bang went the hammer on the end of the cold chisel the boy held.

“No,” said Emson, laughing—“to denote determination.”

“‘Inasmuch as to which?’ as the Yankee said in his book.—Pincers, please. Here, what have you done with those pincers, Joe?”

“Haven’t touched them. They’re underneath you, stupid.”

“Oh, ah! so they are,” said Dyke; and picking them up, he took careful hold of one of the lion’s tusks, after loosening it with the hammer and chisel, and dragged it out without having injured the enamel in the least.

The two sharply-pointed fangs had been extracted from the lower jaw, and Dyke was busily operating on the skull, which was, like the bones scattered here and there, picked quite clean, the work of the jackals and vultures having been finished off by the ants; and as Dyke held up the third tusk in triumph, his brother took the piece of curved ivory and turned it over in his hand, while Duke and the horses seemed to be interested spectators.

“Magnificent specimen of a canine tooth,” said Emson thoughtfully.

Dyke laughed.

“I know better than that. It can’t be.”

“Can’t? But it is,” replied Emson. “What do you mean?”

“Canine means dog, doesn’t it? Dog’s teeth can’t grow in a big cat. It’s a feline tooth.”

“They can grow in human jaws—in yours, for instance. You have four canine teeth, as the naturalists call them; so why can’t they grow in a lion’s?”

“Because it’s unnatural,” said Dyke, beginning to chip away some of the jawbone from around the last tusk. “Canine teeth can grow in my jaws, because you said one day that I was a puppy.”

“I say, don’t, little un. You’re growing too clever, and attempts at jokes like that don’t seem to fit out here in this hungry desert. Mind what you are about, or you’ll spoil the tooth.”

“I’m minding; but what did you mean about your Nil desperandum?”

“That I’ll never despair. When we’ve tried everything we can out here, and failed, we’ll go back home and settle in London. Something always turns up, and you’re so handy, that we’ll start as dentists, and you shall extract all the teeth.”

“All right, Joe. My word! this is a tight one. But people wouldn’t have their teeth taken out with hammer and chisel.”

“You could use laughing gas.”

“They wouldn’t laugh much, gas or no gas,” cried Dyke, “if I got hold of their teeth with the pincers, like this. I say, this is a tough one. He never had toothache in this. You have a go: your muscles are stronger than mine.”

“No; have another try.”

“But it makes me so hot.”

“Never mind. Remember my crest and motto—doubled fist for determination, and ‘Never despair.’”

“Who’s going to despair over a big tooth?” cried Dyke, holding on to the pincers with both hands, giving a good wrench, and tearing out the tusk. “That’s got him. Phew! it was a job. I say, they’ll look well as curiosities.”

“Yes, they’re a fine set,” said Emson, taking out his little double glass, and beginning slowly to sweep the plain.

“See anything?” asked Dyke, as he rose to his feet, and put the hammer, chisel, and pincers in a leather case buckled behind his saddle, and washed his hands, drily, in sand.

“Not yet.”

“Oh, do see something! We must get a buck of some kind to take home with us.”

“Yes, we ought to get something, or Jack will forsake us because we are starving him; and take away his wife. You’ll have to cook then, little un.”

“Won’t matter, if there’s nothing to cook,” said Dyke sharply. “But, I say, Joe, you do think we are getting on better with the birds? Only two chicks have died since we took home those eggs.”

“Only two,” said Emson, rather bitterly. “That’s one a week. Easily calculate how long we shall be in getting to the end of our stock.”

“I say, what about your motto? Who’s looking on the black side?”

“Guilty, my lord. Come along; jump up. We will have something or another to take back for a roast.”

Dyke sprang upon his horse, the dog gave a joyful bark, and they cantered off, Dyke placing his rifle on his rein hand, while he rearranged the tusks in his pocket, to keep them from rattling.

“Which way are we going?” he said.

“Let’s try west; we may perhaps see ostriches.”

“Oh, don’t talk about them,” cried Dyke; “I do get so tired of the wretches. I say, that young cock number two showed fight at me this morning, and kicked. He just missed my leg.”

“What? Oh, you must be careful, old chap. I can’t afford to have your leg broken. But, I say, I had a look at the stores this morning before we started.”

“I saw you, and wondered what you were doing.”

“The mealie bag is nearly empty. One of us will have to take the wagon across to old Morgenstein’s and buy stores.”

“Why not both go? It would make a change.”

“I’ll tell you, little un. When we got back, half the birds would be dead, and the other half all over the veldt.”

“Oh, bother those old ostriches! they’re always in the way,” cried Dyke. “All right, Joe; I’ll stop and mind them, only don’t be longer than you can help.”

“I can’t see how it can be done in less than ten days, old fellow,” said Emson thoughtfully; “and if the old Boer is away, it may take a fortnight.”

“All right; I won’t mind,” said Dyke with a sigh. “I’ll take care of the place, and I’m going to try some new plans. There shan’t be a single bird die. I say, oughtn’t those young birds to be out by now?”

“I’ve been expecting them every day for a week,” said Emson, rather dolefully. “But, look here, little un: if you took Jack with you, do you think you could manage the journey yourself?”

Dyke turned on his horse and looked quite startled.

“There’s the driving.”

“Jack would drive,” said Emson hastily.

“And the inspanning and outspanning.”

“Which he could see to.”

“And camping out in the wagon alone.”

“Yes: you’d want good fires every night; but I can’t help it, old fellow. Only one could go, and you’d be happier with the work and excitement than you would be moping at the house, all alone, and watching for me to come back.”

“But that would be just as bad for you, Joe; and you’d be thinking that the lions had got me.”

“No, I shouldn’t; but I should be trembling for the oxen, my boy. There, I’ve made up my mind to send you, and you’ll go.”

“Oh, I’ll go,” said Dyke sturdily; “but why not go to Oom Schlagen? it’s twenty miles nearer. He has a much better lot of things and is more civil than Morgenstern.”

“Yes, I know all that, little un,” said Emson; “but Morgenstern is honest. He charges well for his corn and meal, but he’ll give you just measure, and will deal with you as fairly as he would with me. Old Uncle Schlagen would, as soon as he saw you—a boy—coming alone, set to work to see if he couldn’t rob you of a span of oxen, saying they were his, and trick you over the stores in every way he could.”

“Then I’ll go to old Morningstar’s.”

“You won’t mind going?”

“Oh yes, I shall, because it will be so lonely; but I’ll go.”

“I don’t like sending you, little un; and there’s another difficulty.”

“Oh, never mind that; it’s all difficulties out here.”

“True; but some are bigger than others.”

“Well, what’s the big one now?” said Dyke contemptuously, as if he had grown so hardened that he could face anything.

“Jack,” said Emson laconically.

“What! Jack? Yes, he’d better be,” cried Dyke. “If he gives me any of his nonsense, he’ll have a rap over the head with the barrel of my gun.”

“How much of that is honest pluck, old chap, and how much bunkum?” said Emson, speaking very seriously.

“I don’t know,” cried Dyke, colouring; “I don’t think there’s any bounce in it, Joe. I meant it honestly.”

“But he is a man, and you are a boy.”

“Oh yes, he’s a man, and he bullies and threatens Tanta Sal, and makes believe that he is going to spear her, and directly she rushes at him, he runs. I don’t think I should be afraid of Jack.”

“Neither do I, little un,” cried Emson warmly. “That will do. I was nervous about this. I felt that he might begin to show off as soon as you two were away from me, and if he fancied that you were afraid of him, he would be master to the end of the journey.”

“But if it came to a row, Joe, and I was horribly afraid of him, I wouldn’t let him see it. Perhaps I should be, but— Oh no, I wouldn’t let him know.”

“That’ll do, old fellow,” said Emson, looking at his brother proudly. “You shall go, and I’ll take care of the stock and— Here! Look, look!”

This last in a tone of intense excitement, for a herd of zebra seemed suddenly to have risen out of the ground a couple of miles away, where nothing had been visible before, the beautifully striped, pony-like animals frisking and capering about, and pausing from time to time to browse on the shoots of the sparsely spread bushes. There were hundreds of them, and the brothers sat watching them for some minutes.

“Not what I should have chosen for food,” said Emson at last; “but they say they are good eating.”

“There’s something better,” said Dyke, pointing. “I know they are good.”

“Yes, we know they are good,” said Emson softly, as he slipped out of the saddle, Dyke following his example, and both sheltered themselves behind their horses.

“They haven’t noticed us,” said Emson, after a pause. “Mixed us up with the zebras, perhaps.”

“They’re coming nearer. Why, there’s quite a herd of them!” cried Dyke excitedly.

They stood watching a little group of springbok playing about beyond the herd of zebra—light, graceful little creatures, that now came careering down toward them, playfully leaping over each other’s backs, and proving again and again the appropriate nature of their name.

And now, as if quite a migration of animals was taking place across the plain, where for months the brothers had wandered rarely seeing a head, herd after herd appeared of beautiful deer-like creatures. They came into sight from the dim distance—graceful antelopes of different kinds, with straight, curved, or lyre-shaped horns; fierce-looking gnus, with theirs stumpy and hooked; ugly quaggas; and farthest off of all, but easily seen from their size, great, well-fed elands, ox-like in girth.

“I never saw anything like this, Joe,” said Dyke in a whisper.

“Few people ever have in these days, old fellow,” said Emson, as he feasted his eyes. “This must be like it used to be in the old times before so much hunting took place. It shows what an enormous tract of unexplored land there must be off to the north-west.”

“And will they stay about here now?”

“What for? To starve? Why, Dyke, lad, there is nothing hardly to keep one herd. No; I daresay by this time to-morrow there will hardly be a hoof. They will all have gone off to the north or back to the west. It is quite a migration.”

“I suppose they take us for some kind of six-legged horse, or they would not come so near.”

“At present. Be ready; they may take flight at any moment, and we must not let our fresh-meat supply get out of range.”

“’Tisn’t in range yet,” said Dyke quietly.

“No, but it soon will be.”

“What are you going to shoot at?—the springbok, and then mount and gallop after them and shoot again, like the Boers do?”

“What! with big antelope about? No, boy; we want our larder filling up too badly. Look: impalas; and at those grand elands.”

“I see them; but they must be a mile away.”

“Quite; but they are coming in this direction. Dyke, boy, we must make up our mind to get one of these.”

“But we could never get it home. They’re bigger than bullocks.”

“Let’s shoot one, and then talk of getting it home. What about a span of oxen and a couple of hurdles! We could drag it back, and it would make biltong, and so last us for weeks.”

“Ugh! Leather!” cried Dyke.

“And give us plenty of fresh meat for present eating, and fat to cook for months.”

“Don’t make my mouth water too much, Joe.”

“Hush! Be quiet now; move close up to your horse’s shoulder, rest your gun across it, and then you will be better hidden. Are you loaded all right?”

“Bullet in each barrel.”

“That will do. Now mind, if we do get a chance at one, you will aim just at the shoulder. Try and don’t be flurried.”

“All right.”

“Give him both barrels, so as to make sure. Try and fire when I do.”

Dyke nodded, and they waited for fully two hours, during which time zebras, quaggas, and various kinds of antelopes charged down near them, startled by the sight of the two curious-looking horses, standing so patiently there in the middle of the plain, and after halting nervously, they careered away again, the trampling of their feet sounding like the rush of a storm.

Again and again the hunters had opportunities for bringing down goodly, well-fed antelope, when a herd bounded up, wheeled, halted, and stood at gaze; but there in the background were the great eland, each coming slowly and cautiously on, as if they had also been surprised by the aspect of the horses, and were curious to know what manner of creatures these might be.

Dyke wanted to say “Let’s shoot;” but his lips did not part, and he stood patiently watching at one time, impatiently at another, feeling as he did that his brother was letting a magnificent chance go by.

Twice over the position was startling, when first a herd of quaggas and then one of gnus charged down upon them, and Dyke felt that the next minute he would be trampled under foot by the many squadrons of wild-eyed, shaggy little creatures. But the horses stood fast, comforted and encouraged by the presence of their masters, while the fierce-looking herds halted, stood, stamped, and tossed their heads, and went off again.

At last, when hundreds upon hundreds of the various antelopes had passed, the elands were still browsing about, nearly half a mile away, and seemed not likely to come any nearer. A herd of smaller antelopes were between them and the hunters, and there appeared to be no likelihood of their firing a shot.

“I’ll give them a few minutes longer, Dyke,” whispered Emson, “and then we must, if they don’t come, go after them.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to pick off a couple of these?” said Dyke softly.

“No; we must have one of those elands. We shall have to ride one down, and when we get close, leap off and fire. Be ready for when I say ‘Mount.’”

Dyke nodded smartly, and waited impatiently for a full quarter of an hour, during which they had chance after chance at small fry; but the elands still held aloof.

All at once Emson’s voice was heard in a low whisper: “Do you see that fat young bull with the dark markings on its back and shoulders?”

“Yes.”

“That is the one we must ride for.—Ready! Mount, and off.”

They sprang into their saddles together, and dashed off to follow the elands, while at their first movements the whole plain was covered with the startled herds, one communicating its panic to the other. There was the rushing noise of a tremendous storm; but Dyke in the excitement saw nothing, heard nothing, but the elands, which went tearing away in their long, lumbering gallop, the horses gaining upon them steadily, and the herd gradually scattering, till the young bull was all alone, closely followed by the brothers; Emson dexterously riding on the great brute’s near side, and edging it off more and more so as to turn its head in the direction of Kopfontein; hunting it homeward, so that, if they were successful at last in shooting it, the poor brute would have been helping to convey itself part of the way, no trifling advantage with so weighty a beast.

On and on at a breakneck gallop, the horses stretching out like greyhounds in the long race; but the eland, long and lumbering as it was, kept ahead. Its companions were far behind, and the plain, which so short a time before had been scattered with herds of various animals, now seemed to have been swept clear once more.

At last the tremendous pace began to tell upon both horses and eland, while the difficulty of driving it in the required direction grow less. But all at once, rendered savage by the persistency of the pursuit, the great antelope turned toward the horses and charged straight at Dyke.

The boy was so much astonished at this sudden and unexpected attack that he would have been overturned, but for the activity of Breezy, who wheeled round, gave one bound, and just carried his rider clear.

It was no light matter, and Dyke wondered that, in the sudden twist given to his loins by the cob’s spring round, he had not been unhorsed.

But the eland did not attempt to renew the attack, gathering up its forces and bearing away for the distant herds, with Duke snapping at its flank; and the chase was again renewed, with Emson’s horse beginning to lose ground, while Breezy seemed to have been roused to greater effort.

Emson shouted something to Dyke, who was some distance to the left, but what it was the boy did not hear. He had one idea in his mind, and that was to secure the game so necessary to their existence, and to this end he urged his cob on, getting it at last level with the great antelope, which was a few yards to his right.

It was all a chance, he knew, but Emson was beaten, and the antelope seemed ready to go on for hours; so, waiting his time, he checked his speed a little, and let the animal go on while he rode to the other side and brought it on his left.

There was good reason for the act. He could now let the barrel of his heavy piece rest upon his left arm, as he held it pistol-wise, and at last, when well abreast, he levelled it as well as he could, aiming at the broad shoulder, and fired.

A miss, certainly, and then he galloped on for another hundred yards before he ventured to draw trigger again, this time watchfully, for fear of a sudden turn and charge, and not till he was pretty close and perfectly level.

Breezy was in full stride, and going in the most elastic way in spite of the long run, but the eland was labouring heavily, as Dyke drew trigger, felt the sharp, jerking recoil shoot right up his arm to the shoulder; and then to his astonishment, as he dashed on out of the smoke, he was alone, and the eland lying fifty yards behind, where it had come down with a tremendous crash.