The Vee-Boers: A Tale of Adventure in Southern Africa

by Mayne Reid

  CHAPTER ELEVEN.

  TRACKING BACK TO CAMP.

  His lost steed, thus strangely, as it were miraculously, restored tohim, gave Piet Van Dorn gratification in more ways than one. Thethought of his horse reaching the camp before himself, and so causingkeenest alarm, had been his major trouble. But there was a minor one,far from insignificant, affecting his skill as an equestrian. Of hishunter-prowess he had the proof; but who would know how the horse hadgot away from him, save those who might put faith in his own account ofit? That there would be some to discredit him, he knew; Andries Blomwould take care of that. But now he would ride back to camp with thebuffalo's tail flouted triumphantly at the muzzle of his gun, as flagcaptured from an enemy; instead of sneers, or sympathy, to receivecongratulations.

  Under the excitement of this pleasant anticipation, that night he couldsleep no more, nor did he try. And there was enough to keep him awake,in caring for his horse, the poor animal needing all the attention hecould give it. Having cut some wisps of the withered grass, he rubbedits coat dry, which greatly refreshed it; while the grass itself proveda fodder not unpalatable. But the horse suffered more from want ofwater than food, as he could see; and there was no water near, an addedreason for making quick departure from the place. He would have startedaway from it at once, but the sky had become suddenly overcast, the moonobscured by thick cumulous clouds, and the night darker than ever. Hecould barely see the white ant-hills close around him, and of course thetrail he had needs still follow would be undistinguishable. So he mustwait for the morning's light.

  But light came sooner, and from a different source--out of the cloudsthemselves. They were rent by forks of lightning, and illumined by itsflashes, with an accompaniment of thunder. Rain followed, descending insheets, as if emptied out of dishes--true storm of the tropics.

  There was water now for a hundred thousand horses, yet how was he tocatch enough for one? He had no vessel, or aught else, to collect asmuch as a mouthful, though his animal was in a very agony of thirst,himself the same. He looked around in hopes of seeing a puddle, butthere was none. Soon as it fell the water filtered into the loose sandysoil, as if poured into rat-holes. What was to be done?

  "Ha! A happy idea; the very thing itself!" So soliloquised he at sightof the rain running down the sloped sides of the ant-hills in rivulets.Drawing knife again, he commenced delving into the firm tough compost,and kept at it till he had hollowed out a trough capable of containing agallon. Then making some diagonal scratches to guide the water into it,he had the satisfaction of seeing it soon fill, while he and his horsedrank their fill also.

  The downpour was not of long continuance, though long enough to leavehim without a dry rag on his body. Little recked he of that now, beingfar more solicitous about another effect it might have produced, andwhich he feared it had. Nor was his fear groundless; for when day atlength dawned, and he rode out to get back upon the trace hithertoguiding him, not a sign of it was to be seen, neither track of horse norbuffalo. They had been all filled up by the rain wash--completelyobliterated--and once more he was a lost man!

  This time, however, he was less dismayed, from having his horse underhim. The sun had not yet risen, but the aurora, its precursor, told himwhich point was east; and, believing this to be the right direction, hetook it. But long after the sun was up, he found himself wandering onthe veldt, as much puzzled about his course as ever. The points of thecompass he knew well enough, but the belt of timber was still invisible,and he may have gone too far eastward.

  He was about reining round to try another slant, when again tracks cameunder his eye--hundreds of them. All buffalo tracks these were, thehoof-prints well defined and easily recognisable. For the ground wasdifferent from that by the ant-hills, a firm, stiff clay, which hadresisted the beating down of the rain. He had little doubt of theirbeing made by the drove of yesterday's chase, and less after riding inamong them, and making note of their number; the buffaloes had beenclose to the camp-ground, and it only needed proceeding along theirtrail to reach it.

  Once more was Piet Van Dorn full of confidence. But only for a very fewseconds, when uncertainty again took possession of him. In whatdirection had the buffaloes been going when they passed that point?Towards the camp, or from it, after being met and turned by themarksmen? He was unable to answer this question, and its answer was ofabsolute necessity ere he could proceed a step farther. Without it heknew not which was his way, and would be as likely to take the wrong asthe right one. It might be of serious consequence if he went wrong--indeed fatal--so what he should do next needed deliberation.

  What he did do was, first to make more careful examination of thehoof-marks, hoping from them to draw deductions that would serve him.Not as to time; in that respect there could not be any great differencebetween the tracks going toward the camp and those from it. Even ifthere had, the rain would have rendered it imperceptible. But theremight be a difference in the stride: animals pursued would make longerbounds than if running at will.

  His new inspection, however proved of no avail; nor could it, as he nowbethought himself, recalling the fact that the buffaloes were in fullrun when first seen, and likely long before.

  He was about raising his eyes despairingly, when something on the groundcaught his glance, and kept it rivetted. It was only a little pool ofwater--rain that had fallen still lying--but water dyed red, and withblood, beyond a doubt! Of this he was confident; and equally sure itwas blood from one of the buffaloes that had been wounded when thevolleys were fired into the drove.

  Hitherto he had been rather inclined to go as they had gone, stillthinking his proper course lay eastward. Now he knew better; andwithout further delay, wheeled his horse round, and struck along thetrail backward.

  Thenceforth it was all plain sailing, the track easily distinguishable,in places as if a steam-plough had passed along turning up the soil. Hecould have gone at a gallop, and would but for sparing his horse, whichstill showed signs of suffering from the terrible strain late put uponit. Withal, he made fair way, and in another hour came upon familiarground, where the buffalo-bull he had himself pursued separated from theherd. Without seeing its tracks, or those of his horse, he could nothave mistaken the place. There lay the carcases of two other buffaloes,the pair killed by Rynwald and Blom. They were little more thanskeletons now; for as he rode up to them nigh a score of jackals wentscampering off, while twice that number of vultures rose sluggishly intothe air.

  At this point, for the first time since leaving it, Piet Van Dorn caughtsight of the timbered belt, to comprehend why he had not sooner sightedit. The reason was, the river, with some miles breadth of the adjacentterrain, being below the general level of the plain. He saw the mowana,too, under which was the laager, perceiving that he was even yet leaguesfrom it. But distance no more troubled him; his thoughts, as hisglances, being now given to two horsemen who were coming in quick galloptowards him. On their drawing nearer he recognised one of them asHendrik Rynwald; the other not Andries Blom, but his own brother.

  They had come in quest of him, sent by anxious friends, themselves asanxious as any. Rejoiced were they at the encounter, and not less he,though his joy in part proceeded from another and different cause.Never listened he to sweeter words than those blurted out by HendrikRynwald, a generous, guileless youth, who said, grasping his hand--

  "I'm so glad, Piet, to see you safe! And won't Sis Kattie, too! Idon't believe she slept a wink, all of last night."