The Giraffe Hunters

Unfortunately for Congo, they had that morning been in search of something for food, and had returned just in time to see him playing spy upon their camp.

“This is the villain who pretended to quarrel with his master and leave him,” said the man who had knocked the Kaffir down. “I told Van Ormon to send him off with the others, but he was sure the fellow did not wish to assist them, and could not if he would. By his folly our game has been nearly lost. We’ve just been in time; but what are we to do with the black brute, now that we’ve caught him?”

“Kill him!” replied the other, who was the brother of Van Ormon. “He mus never got to de white mens. Dey would come and rob us all.”

“Very likely. Some people are bad enough to do anything; but I have half killed this fellow already, – you may do your share, and finish him, if you like.”

“No Shames; as you pegins this little job, it is besh you finish it yourself.”

Bad as were the two ruffians into whose hands Congo had fallen, neither of them liked to give him the coup de grace, and, undecided what else to do with him, they tied his hands behind his back.

He was then assisted to his feet, and, reeling like a drunken man, was led towards their camp.

Congo soon began to recover from the effects of the blow, and became sensible of the danger he was in. By their talk, he could tell that they intended putting him out of the way. From their savage looks and gestures he could see there was but little hope of his life being spared. His captors would not dare to let him escape. He had learned too much to be allowed to live. No assistance could be expected from his master and companions. They were waiting for him far-away.

“Is this the game you have brought back?” exclaimed the man sitting over the camp-fire, as the others came up dragging their captive after them.

“Yes, and as you are the cook, you must dress it for our dinners,” replied he who answered to the name of “Shames.”

“Well, why don’t you tell me what this means?” interrogated the first.

“Only this: we have caught a spy. We have been tracked by him to this place. But there’s no great harm done yet. We’re in luck, and nothing can go wrong with us. Our catching this fellow is a proof of it.”

A long consultation was now carried on between the ruffians, in which they all agreed in the necessity of putting the prisoner to death.

It would never do to let him live. He would in the end bring them into trouble, even if kept a prisoner for years. His tongue must be silenced forever. There was but one way of silencing it. That was, never to allow him to leave the place alive.

There was a point upon which his captors were a little in doubt. Had the Kaffir undertaken the task of tracking them upon his own responsibility, or with the knowledge and at the instigation of his masters? In the former case only, would they be safe in destroying him. In the latter, the act might be attended with danger. To make sure of this, one of the three men – Van Ormon’s brother it was – proposed going back to the house, there, if possible, to ascertain how the case stood. To this the other two readily consented; and, mounting his horse, he rode off for the kraal of his kinsman.

As soon as he was gone, the others tied Congo to a tree, and then seating themselves under the shade of the cameel-doorn, they proceeded to amuse themselves with a game of cards.

Four hours passed, – hours that to the Kaffir seemed days. He was in a state of indescribable agony. The thongs of hide that bound his wrists to the branches were cutting into the flesh, and besides, there was before his mind the positive certainty that he had not much longer to live.

The fear of death, however, scarce gave him so much mental pain as his anxiety to know something of the fate of his companions, and his wish that Groot Willem should recover the giraffes. He now regretted that he had not revealed his suspicions at the last interview with his young master. This might have saved the hunters from their loss and himself from the fate that now threatened him. It was too late. He had acted for the best, but acted wrongly.

In the afternoon Van Ormon’s brother came riding back to the camp.

“Well! what news?” asked James, as he came within speaking distance.

“It ish all right. Dey don’t know nothing of what’s up. Mine bruder have constant watch over their camp. They be in von quandary, and will soon go home.”

“Is Van Ormon sure that they hadn’t any communication with this Kaffir?” asked James.

“Yesh! they had. One of them came to the house, and saw this fella yesterday. But for all that, blackee never said von leetle word to him. They were well watch while they wash togedder.”

“Then perhaps it is not all right, as you say. They may have the same suspicion that led him here. Why the deuce don’t they go off home? I don’t like their hanging about so long.”

“I tell you, Shames, it ish all right. We have only to get rid of the spy. He must never see the fools who own him, again. What ish we to do with him?”

“Send a bullet through his body,” said the man who had been left in charge of the giraffes.

“Yes; he must be killed in that way or some other, certainly,” said James; “but which of us is to do it? It’s a pity we did not shoot him down while he was running. Then was the time. I don’t like the thing, now that I’ve cooled down.”

Bad as the ruffians were, none of them liked to commit a murder in cold blood. They had determined that Congo must die, yet none of them wished to act as the executioner.

After a good deal of discussion and some wrangling, a bright idea flashed across the brain of Van Ormon’s brother. He proposed that their prisoner should be taken to a pool that was some distance down the gorge; that he be tied to a tree by the side of the pool, and left there for the night.

“I see de spoor of lion dare every mornin’,” said he, grinning horribly as he spoke. “I’ll bet mine life we find no more of dis black fella ash a few red spots.”

This plan was agreeable to all; and at sundown the Kaffir was released from his fastenings, conducted down the narrow valley, and firmly spliced to a sapling that stood close to the edge of the pool.

To provide against any chance of his being heard and released by a stray traveller, a stick was stuck crosswise in his mouth, the bight of a string made fast over each end of it, and then securely knotted at the back of his head.

After taking a survey of his fastenings, to see that there was no danger of their coming undone, his cruel captors made him a mocking salute; and, bidding him “good bye,” strode off towards their camp.

Chapter Seventy One.

A Fight by Firelight

Anxiously did Groot Willem wait for the next morning and the promised visit from Congo.

But the morning came and passed without any Congo, Willem became impatient, and could not content himself any longer in the camp.

“This will not do,” he exclaimed, as he saw that the sun was again going down in the sky. “We must not remain here. Perhaps Congo cannot come. Of course he cannot, or he would have been here before now. We must look for him, but it will not do for all of us to go together. Hendrik, will you come with me?”

Hendrik readily responded to the invitation. The two mounted their horses and rode off towards the residence of Van Ormon.

From the behaviour of Congo when Willem had last seen him, the latter was quite certain that his visits at the kraal were not desired. The Kaffir probably supposed that they might interfere with his plans, by bringing suspicion upon himself.

This, however, did not prevent Willem from going to see him once more.

Congo had broken his promise; and that was a proof that something must be wrong.

On their new visit to Mynheer Van Ormon, this gentleman did not take the slightest trouble to show them civility.

“Dat plack villen you call Congo,” said he, “goed away last night. We thought he vash mit you. When you fints him again take him to der tuyfel, if you likes, and keep him dare.”

“Do you think he has gone away from this place?” asked Willem of Hendrik, as they rode out from Van Ormon’s enclosures.

“Yes,” answered Hendrik; “I see no reason to doubt it.”

“But why did he not come to me, as he promised?”

“There’s some good reason for his not having done so.”

“I wish I knew in what direction he has gone.”

“That difficulty may soon be removed,” said Hendrik. “I fancy I can tell it to a point of the compass. It will be found a little to east of north.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it was in that quarter we encountered the two men on the day after the giraffes were missing. Moreover, we know they are not south, for that is the way those false guides wanted us to take.”

Too excited to return to camp without doing something, Willem proposed that they should ride out on the plain towards the north-east, and see whether anything could be learned about Congo. To this Hendrik agreed; and, after going southward about a mile from Van Ormon’s house, they turned, rode circuitously around it, and then struck off for the north-east.

They had no great hope of finding the object of their search, but it was necessary for them to do something; and, as Hendrik’s surmise was not without some probability, they kept on.

After making about five miles across the plain, they came within sight of some hills that began to loom up on the horizon to the north-east. They were still, to all appearance, about four miles distant.

“Just the place where our property might be concealed,” suggested Hendrik. “No one would hide giraffes on a plain. If we do not find them yonder, and this very night, we deserve to lose them.”

The sun was just setting as they reached the crest of the first range of hills. Looking back over the road they had just travelled, a horseman was seen coming across the plain, a mile distant from the spot where they had halted.

“If we watch that man,” said Hendrik, “and not let him see us, we shall probably find what we’re in search of. If not one of the thieves themselves, he looks to me very like a messenger going to them from Van Ormon’s. From the behaviour of the boer, I’m now convinced that our giraffes have been stolen, and Van Ormon himself is the thief.”

Riding in among some trees, they dismounted, and, securing their horses in the cover, watched the man who was approaching from the plain.

In the twilight, they saw him toil slowly up the slope, a little to the east of them, and then continue his course over the summit of the ridge, going on toward the next.

The night was now so dark that he could not be kept in sight without their riding very near to him. In this there would be danger. The hoof-strokes of their horses might be heard. To avoid this they permitted him to keep far in the advance, and rode slowly and noiselessly after, trusting to chance to conduct them upon his track.

Fortune favoured them.

On mounting a hill about half a mile from the place where they had last seen the lone horseman, they came in sight of a camp-fire that appeared burning in the bottom of the ravine below. Both dismounted, tied their horses to the trees, and silently stole towards the light.

It grew larger and brighter as they advanced upon it. Without the slightest danger of being themselves seen, they drew nearer and nearer, until they could make out the figures of three men seated around the fire. These appeared engaged in an earnest confabulation.

But for the messenger who had gone back to the house of Mynheer Van Ormon, Willem and Hendrik might have long wandered amongst the hills without seeing anything to reward them for their journey. As it was, they saw that which caused Willem a thrill of joy, – so intense he could scarce restrain himself from crying out.

Congo’s suspicions, whether based upon instinct or reason had not been idle fancies. Tied to a tree under the glare of the camp-fire stood two young giraffes, – the animals that had not strayed but been stolen.

A hurried consultation took place between the two hunters. They must obtain possession of their property, but how? They did not wish to be killed in the endeavour to right themselves, and they did not wish to kill those who had robbed them, if they could avoid doing so.

“Let us give them a chance,” said Willem. “If they will surrender the stolen giraffes peaceably, we shall let them off. If not, then I mean to shoot them down without mercy. We must take the law into our own hands. There is not a court or magistrate within one hundred miles of us.”

While they were thus hastily arranging upon a plan of action, the three men seated around the fire commenced cooking their suppers.

Only a few words more were interchanged between Willem and Hendrik, who had come to an understanding as to how they should act. Carrying their guns at full cock, they stepped silently forward side by side and close together. Under cover of the timber they advanced within ten paces of the unsuspecting thieves, and then boldly stepped out into the light.

“Keep your seats,” cried Groot Willem in a loud, commanding voice. “The first of you that stirs shall die like a dog!”

The man known as “Shames,” showed signs of an intention to spring to his feet and seize hold of a gun that lay near.

“Don’t! for your soul’s sake, don’t!” shouted the great hunter.

The warning was not heeded; and the man rushed toward the gun, took it up and at once brought it to the level. But before he could touch his trigger, Willem’s roer delivered its loud report, and the thief fell forward on to the fire.

Van Ormon’s brother, not heeding the fate of his companion, made some show of resistance; but this was instantly ended by a blow from the butt of Groot Willem’s gun, which he now held clenched in his hand. The third of the thieves did not stay for similar treatment, but bolted from the camp at a pace that would have left most horses behind him.

The guns of all three were picked up, discharged, and then smashed against a tree. The giraffes were untied and taken up to the place where the horses had been left. After which, Willem and Hendrik mounted into their saddles, and, leading the camelopards behind them, commenced a backward march toward camp, where they had left their companions.

The fate of the two men left by the fire remained from that moment unknown to our adventurers. Nor did they care to inquire about it. Before leaving the spot, it was seen that neither of them had received a mortal wound; and, as there was still one unharmed to take care of them, in all probability they recovered. That, at least, was the hope and belief of the hunters.

Chapter Seventy Two.

All right once more

On finding himself tied to a tree, gagged, and abandoned Congo could see but one chance of his being released from his confinement, and that was by some beast of prey.

He was quite sure that those who had left him there would never return to relieve him. His reflections were anything but pleasant. They bore some resemblance to those of a sick man, who has been assured by his physician that there is No chance for him to recover.

The Kaffir was not one to give way to a cowardly fear of death, but there was another thought in his mind almost as disagreeable, and that was the chagrin he felt of not being able to see his beloved master again, and make known his discovery of the giraffes.

He even thought, while waiting for his approaching fate, that, if by any means he could let Groot Willem know where his property was concealed, he could then die content.

An hour passed, and a heavy darkness gathered around him. It was the shades of night. A few small animals of the antelope kind came trotting up to the pool, and quenched their thirst.

They were followed by some jackals. Other visitors might soon be expected, – visitors that might not depart without rudely releasing him from his confinement.

Half an hour later, and his eyes, piercing through the gloom of the night, became fixed upon a quadruped, whose species he could not well make out. It appeared about the size of a leopard. It was crawling slowly and silently towards him.

It drew nearer; and just as he thought it was about to spring upon him, it uttered a low, moaning noise. Congo recognised the dog Spoor’em.

For a moment there was joy in the African’s soul. The faithful dog was still living, and had not forsaken him. If he was to die, it would be in company of the most affectionate friend a man can have among the brute creation. Groot Willem and the giraffes were for a while forgotten.

As the dog crawled close up to him, Congo saw that it carried one leg raised up from the ground, and that the hair from the shoulder downwards was clotted with blood.

Spoor’em appeared to forget the pain of his wound, in the joy of again meeting his master, and never had Congo felt so strongly the wish to be able to speak. Gagged as he was, he could not. Not one kind word of encouragement could he give to the creature that, despite its own sufferings, had not forsaken him. He knew that the dog was listening for the familiar tones of his voice, and looked reproachful that he was not allowed to hear them.

Congo did not wish even a brute to think him ungrateful, and yet there was no way by which he could let Spoor’em know that such was the case.

Not long after the arrival of the dog, Congo heard the report of a gun. To the sharp ears of the Kaffir it seemed to have a familiar sound. It was very loud, and like the report of a roer. It sounded like Groot Willem’s gun, but how could the hunter be there? Congo could not hope it was he. Some minutes of profound silence succeeded the shot, which was then followed by three others, and once more all was still. A quarter of an hour passed, and hoof-strokes were heard on the hill above; a party of horsemen were riding along the crest of the ridge. Congo could hear their voices, mingling with the heavy footfall of the horses.

They were about to pass by the spot. “The thieves,” thought Congo. “They are shifting their quarters.”

They were not more than a hundred yards from the tree where he was tied; and, as they came opposite, and just as he became satisfied that they were going on without chance of seeing him, he heard a sort of struggle, followed by the words: “Hold up a minute, Hendrik; my horse has got on one side of a tree, and Tootla the other.”

The voice was Willem’s, and “Tootla” was the name of one of the young giraffes!

Congo made a desperate effort to free his hands from their fastenings, as well as to remove the stick that was distending his jaws. The struggle was in vain.

There appeared no way by which he could sound an alarm and let his friends know that he was near. He could think of none.

They were leaving him. They would return to Graaf Reinet, and he should be left to die at the foot of the tree, or be torn from it by wild beasts. He was almost frantic with despair, when an idea suddenly occurred to him.

He could not speak himself, but why could not the dog do so for him.

His feet were still free, and, raising one of them, he gave Spoor’em a kick, – a cruel kick.

The poor animal crouched at his feet and uttered a low whine. It could not have been heard thirty paces away.

Again the foot was lifted, and dashed against the ribs of the unfortunate dog, that neither made an effort to avoid the blow nor any complaint at receiving it.

The only answer vouchsafed was but a low, querulous whine, that seemed to say, “Why is this, master? In what have I offended you?”

Just as the foot was lifted for the third time, the air reverberated to a long, loud roar. It was the voice of a hungry lion, that appeared to be only a few paces from the spot.

Spoor’em instantly sprang to his feet, and answered the King of beasts by a loud defiant bark.

The faithful animal that would not resist its master’s ill-treatment, was but too ready to defend that master from the attack of a third party.

In the bark of Spoor’em there was an idiosyncrasy. It was heard and instantly recognised.

The moment after Congo had the pleasure of hearing the tramp of horses, as they came trotting down the hill; and the voice of Willem calling out to him!

When released from the tree, and the gag taken from his mouth, the first words he uttered were those of apology to Spoor’em, for the kicks he had just administered!

From the demonstrations made by the dumb creature, there was every reason to believe that he accepted the apology in the spirit in which it was given!

Willem compelled Congo, who had now been thirty-six hours without food, to mount upon his own horse; but this the Kaffir would consent to do only on the condition that he would be allowed to take Spoor’em up along with him.

They at once started away from the spot, and by an early hour of the following morning reached the camp, where Hans, Arend, and the others had remained.

Swartboy, in the joy of seeing them again, increased by the sight of the giraffes, declared that he would never more call Congo a fool.

This promise he has never been known to break.

In the afternoon, the journey towards Graaf Reinet was resumed. Spoor’em being carried for two or three days on the back of one of the oxen, snugly ensconced in a large willow basket, woven by Congo for that express purpose.

Chapter Seventy Three.

Conclusion

One evening, after a long day’s journey, our adventurers found themselves within a few miles of home. A gallop of an hour or two, would place them in the society of the relatives and friends from whom they had been so long absent. Arend and Hendrik were impatient to ride forward, in advance of their companions. But each refrained from making the proposition to the other.

Greatly to their annoyance, they saw Hans and Willem halt at the house of a boer, and commence making arrangements for passing the night.

This the two did with as little unconcern as though they were still hundreds of miles from home.

Both Willem and Hans possessed a fair share of old-fashioned Dutch philosophy, that told them no circumstances should hinder them from being merciful to the animals that had served them so long and so well.

Early next morning, as the hunters passed through Graaf Reinet, on the way to their own homes, all the inhabitants of the village turned out to bid them welcome.

By most of the people dwelling in the place, the young giraffes were looked upon with as much astonishment as the four Makololo felt while gazing upon the spire of the village church.

There was not an inhabitant of the place over ten years of age who had not heard something of the expedition on which our adventurers had set forth some months before. All knew the objects for which it had been undertaken; and course the majority had prophesied another failure in the accomplishment of what so many experienced hunters had already failed to effect.

“We are now returning home in a respectable manner,” remarked Hendrik to the others, as he observed the enthusiastic spirit in which they were welcomed by the people.

“Yes,” answered Arend, “and it is to Willem’s perseverance that we owe all this.”

“I don’t know that I’ve displayed any great perseverance as you call it,” said Willem. “I was as anxious as any of you to return home, but I did not like to come back without a couple of young giraffes. That was all the difference between us.” The others made no reply, but rode on silently, thinking of the generosity of their gigantic companion.

On former expeditions our adventurers had been absent even a longer time, but never did home seem so dear to them as now, and never did they find on their return so warm a welcome as that extended to them now.

The two young ladies, Trüey Von Bloom and Wilhelmina Van Wyk, were delighted at again meeting with their lovers, and, what is more, were honest enough to admit that such was the case.

Congo and Swartboy endeavoured to repay themselves for the hardships of the past, by assuming grand airs over the other servants, domestics belonging to their masters, as also by an unusual indulgence in eating, drinking, and sleeping.

Groot Willem had still another journey to accomplish. It was to accompany Hans to Cape Town on his intended trip to Europe, and to deliver to the Dutch consul the captured camelopards. This journey, however, was not undertaken until he had given himself, his horses, and giraffes a month’s rest.