The Gold Kloof Read online

  *Chapter III,*

  *UP-COUNTRY LIFE.*

  For some weeks Mr. Blakeney allowed Guy to have what may be called agood time. He was anxious that the lad should not be thrust too sooninto hard collar-work. There is a good deal of steady routine labour,even upon an up-country farm in South Africa, if the farmer isup-to-date and business-like, and means to take his occupationseriously. There are books to be kept; long and hard days to be spentin the saddle; heavy fencing operations, which need care, thought, andapplication; journeys to various market centres with troops of fatstock; and a host of other details, not all of which are exactly whatmay be regarded as pure pleasure or light work. Too many youngEnglishmen, it is to be feared, look upon stock-farming andcattle-ranching as pleasant out-of-door occupations, entailing merely anornamental kind of existence. They picture to themselves, before goingout to South Africa, a shirt-sleeve and broad-brimmed hat kind of life,in which the stock-farmer has merely to have a good time, while hisflocks and herds increase about him. This sort of settler quicklybecomes disillusioned, and, having wasted a thousand or two of goodmoney--probably his father's--returns sadly to urban life again, vowingthat no one can make money by stock-farming in South Africa.

  But there are plenty of hard-working and successful pastoral farmers inmany parts of South Africa who can testify to the excellent result ofapplication and attention to details, united with care, foresight,energy, and experience.

  For a long month Mr. Blakeney or his son Tom, sometimes both of them,rode far and wide with Guy Hardcastle over the twenty-four thousand oddacres comprised in Bamborough Farm. They explored boundaries, pointedout to Guy the various beacons marking off their limits, inspectedcattle, and assisted at the sinking of a well in a distant part of theestate. This well, and the erection of a windmill pump, were needed forthe supply of water to the cattle in what had been so waterless aportion of the ranch that it had been hitherto practically unavailable,excellent as was the grass veldt. A good-sized basin was formed in apiece of limestone formation, where once had existed an ancient nativewell, now long since dry; and here, when the operations were completed,the cattle were able to slake their thirst in a cool, crystal-clearpool, which at once sent up the value of the six thousand acres on thispart of the run by two hundred per cent.

  They had various bird-shooting excursions, riding out with a couple ofpointers, and, so soon as the dogs stood to game, dismounting from theirponies and walking into their shots. In this way they made some prettybags of Coqui and red-wing francolin, koorhaan, and guinea-fowl. One ortwo adventures befell Guy at this period. One day they had sallied outto hunt a troop of hartebeest, which ran on a distant part of the farm.After finding the troop in some prettily-timbered country, well coveredwith giraffe-acacia, the three had become separated, Guy galloping mileafter mile in pursuit of a good bull which he had wounded. Thehartebeest, turning out of the troop and quitting the wooded glades inwhich the herd had been discovered, took away over the open plains. Guywas well mounted, and for a long seven miles pushed after the bigred-brown antelope, which swept away in front of him with a free,machine-like action that, despite its wound--a bullet through the middleof the body--showed no symptom of tiring. At length the hartebeestclimbed the ridge of a wave in the grass plain, and disappeared. Guy'spony, good and willing as he was, was now tiring visibly. The laddoubted whether he could gallop much farther--the pace had been toogreat--and the game looked like getting clean away. It was too annoying.They reached the top of the ridge, and looked over. Nothing living wasto be seen; the plain was untenanted. Apparently the antelope hadvanished into thin air. But Guy's keen eye noted, half a mile or so tothe right, a widish patch of vaal bush. Towards this he now rode. Heapproached within thirty yards, and dismounted. Just as he did so, thewounded antelope rose slowly to its feet from within the shelter of thebush, and essayed to canter off. Too late! The gallant beast had madeits last effort and taken its final gallop. Guy's rifle went up, and asthe antelope slowly moved away, another bullet from the Mannlicherpierced its heart. It tumbled suddenly to the veldt, and after a briefkick or two lay dead.

  Guy now set to work to skin his prize and take off the head. It was afine bull, carrying excellent horns, and his pride and satisfaction athaving thus secured his first big game trophy were very great. By thetime he had completed his operations, and slung the skin and a quantityof venison behind the saddle, the hot afternoon was wearing away.Carrying the hartebeest's head in front of him, resting on the pommel ofthe saddle, Guy now rode back for the woodland. It was a long eightmiles, and his nag was by no means fresh after his tremendous exertions.They reached the acacia groves at last. By this time there remained anhour to sunset. Through these endless groves and glades, all muchresembling one another, the young Englishman now attempted to thread hisway, with the result that, by the time the sun sank, he found himselfcompletely lost. Just at this moment there came from far to theeastward the faint report of a gun, then another. Guy rode that way,but in half an hour the light had clean vanished, and it became a matterof difficulty to manoeuvre a path through the gloom of evening amid thistrackless forest. Night fell; there was no moon; and although the starsglittered brilliantly above, it became apparent to Guy that he wasbenighted. He heard no more shots.

  After wandering on, leading his now dog-tired pony, the lad came to theconclusion that he had better camp for the night. He had, luckily, inthe hunting pouch at his belt, a box of matches and a compass, twothings which his uncle had warned him always to carry on expeditions ofthis sort. He knew that there was no water within many miles of wherehe stood, and that it was useless to think of attempting to find any.He had, unluckily, finished the last remnant of lime juice and waterthat remained in his water-bottle; bitterly did he now regret the fact.He was terribly thirsty after hunting all day under a burning sun. Hefelt that at this moment he would gladly have given half a crown, nay,half a sovereign, for a quart of clear water. It was useless to thinkabout it, however, and, philosophically enough, Guy set to work toprepare for the night. First he cut a quantity of grass and placed itbefore his pony, which by this time he had off-saddled and tied to abush. On the lee side of this bush he himself meant to sleep, and forthis purpose cut more grass and made a rough bed. Then clearing aspace--for he had no wish to start a veldt fire--he cut and gatheredsticks and odd timber. He had camped by a dead acacia tree, destroyedby white ants, and soon had before him a cheerful blaze. Now cuttingsome collops of venison, he cooked them in the hot embers, and, with abiscuit that remained over from his lunch, made out a respectable meal.It was hard work eating without water, and with a thirst such as he nowpossessed; but he managed to swallow some food, and felt a triflebetter. The air grew chill, and he now unfastened his coat from hissaddle and put it on; then, piling up more wood on the fire, and makinga pillow of the inner part of his saddle, he fell asleep. He knew thathere, in this waterless and semi-desert part of the veldt, few wildbeasts--leopards, cheetahs, or hyaenas--would be wandering about; andbesides, he was too tired to trouble much if any there were.

  At dawn he awoke, cold and stiff; the fire was out; his pony wasmunching the remains of the grass that lay near him. Guy rose, somewhatrefreshed, but with a terribly dry mouth and tongue. Saddling up, henow prepared to seek his way home. By the position of the sun and theaid of his compass, he could now steer some sort of way through thisperplexing forest, and he steadily pushed on. Two hours later, havingcleared the timber country and emerged once more upon the open plains,he came upon the spoor of horses, which convinced him that he was goingin the right direction. After another hour of cantering and walking, hestruck a wagon track, and knew that he could now find his way to thehomestead. Very shortly he heard the reports of two guns, then a third.He guessed that these were fired by his uncle or cousin, now no doubt insearch of him. Cantering that way, he soon caught sight of threemounted men, and in five minutes was shaking hands with his relativ
es.They had with them a native servant, and were riding out to look forhim.

  "My word, Guy," said his uncle heartily, "I am glad to have come acrossyou so soon. This is a dickens of a country to get lost in--the veldtis so waterless, except during the rains; and I was getting seriouslyanxious about you. We wandered about firing shots yesterday afternoon,and then made for home to bring out more water, and hunt you up to-day,in case you had completely lost yourself. Didn't you hear our shotsyesterday?"

  "Yes," answered Guy, "I heard two just before sundown last evening; butthey were far away to the east, and I couldn't make anything of them,though I wandered that way after dark. Then I camped, made a fire, andslept, and here I am."

  "Excellent, my boy," said his uncle; "but you must be terribly dry.Here, April," turning to the native; "unfasten that water-bottle andgive Baas Guy a drink. Drink up, lad; it's cold tea, and will do yougood."

  Guy drank and drank, and presently returned the bottle.

  "Never tasted anything so good in my life," he said, wiping his lips."It's nectar. I begin to understand what thirst really is. In Englandwe can have no idea of it, in a country where you can't go a milewithout coming on water of some kind or other."

  "You're quite right," added Mr. Blakeney. "They don't half appreciatethe blessings of life at home. You want to rough it out here a bit tounderstand what English comfort and English luxury really mean. Why, wehad a man staying with us a year back, looking at stock, who got lost inthe veldt out here for three days, two of which he passed without a dropof water. Ultimately we tracked him to a native kraal on the Molopo,thirty miles away. In this kind of country--in fact all throughBechuanaland, on the Kalahari side--you've got to watch it, or you mayeasily get lost, and perhaps die of thirst and starvation. Now, let'sbe off home for breakfast. We have an hour and a half's ride stillbefore us."

  Meanwhile, Tom Blakeney had been examining his cousin's hunting trophy."By Jove, Guy," he exclaimed, "you've got a first-rate head! That's areal good old bull hartebeest; you seldom see finer horns."

  "Yes, Tom," rejoined his cousin, "I thought it was a good head; and if Ihad had to go without water another twenty-four hours, I should havebrought it back with me. It's my first hunting trophy, and I shallalways be proud of it."

  "You'll do, Guy!" exclaimed his uncle, as they rode homewards. "I liketo see a fellow keen; and I'm sure you will shoot many a head of biggame before you've finished. Some day we'll go into the real huntingveldt, where you can prove your mettle against more formidable beasts."

  A week or two later, Tom and Guy were shooting redwing partridges andkoorhaan in a pretty piece of country some miles from the homestead.They had quitted the banks of a periodical stream, where they had baggedhalf a dozen brace of redwings and a steinbuck, and were now in searchof black and white koorhaan and Coqui partridges on a wide piece ofgrassy plain which ran up to a distant line of kopjes. Juno, thepointer, stood; and Tom, slipping quietly from his saddle, walkedcautiously forward, his gun at the ready. Still the staunch dog stood,pointing stiffly at something in front of her. Tom advanced yetfarther, and then, without a cry and very noiselessly, there rose fromthe long grass a single bird, with long greenish legs and a big head.It was an easy shot, and Tom fired and brought it down.

  "A dikkop," he cried, as he ran forward and picked up the bird. Guycame up and inspected the game, which was of a species he had not yetseen in Bechuanaland.

  "Why, it's the same as our Norfolk plover, or thick-knee," he said."Father shot one years ago in Suffolk, and had it stuffed. I can tellit by its big staring eyes."

  "Yes, it's nearly the same bird," rejoined his cousin. "I believethere's some little difference in the species, here we call it by theDutch name dikkop, or thickhead. They're rattling good eating, andwe'll stick it in the bag."

  Smoothing the bird's feathers, and placing it in the wallet slung behindhis saddle, they went on.

  In another half hour, during which time they got no shot, Juno, thepointer, became curiously restless. She seemed to neglect the sport infront of her, and turned perpetually to sniff the breeze which blew fromtheir left flank. Suddenly, after quartering the ground in thatdirection, she stopped and barked furiously.

  "What's the old girl up to?" ejaculated Tom. "I'll go and see."

  As he turned his horse that way, the pointer, hitherto standing withhackles up, manifestly in a state of intense anger, suddenly turned andfled, her tail between her legs. Guy Hardcastle, curious to know whathad so alarmed the dog, walked his nag that way. The two cousins rodeon together for thirty yards, and then, with a curious hissing sound,there rose, ten paces in front of them, the head and neck of an enormousserpent. The reptile reared itself so suddenly, and its aspect was somenacing, that Guy's pony shied violently and swerved off, nearlyunseating its rider as it did so.

  "Look out, Guy!" cried his cousin. "It's a python. Canter away a bitand slip in louper cartridges [buck shot], and then we'll have a go atthe brute. He's been following us." They cantered away forty or fiftyyards, changing their cartridges as they did so, and then returned tothe charge.

  Meanwhile the python, which had undoubtedly been stalking them, hadthought better of it, and, seeing more formidable quarry than it hadbargained for, was slipping away. The lads galloped to the spot wherethey had last seen it; and Tom, pointing to a movement in the long grassin front of them, exclaimed excitedly, "There it goes; come on!"

  Guy, who was not used to snakes, didn't half like the idea of stalkingsuch a monster; but as his cousin galloped on, he touched his pony withthe spur and rode after him. Nearer and nearer they drew towards therustling grass. Suddenly the movement ceased, and the huge,evil-looking head rose before them. The serpent was undeniably angry,and a big python in a rage is a formidable opponent.

  "Shoot," whispered Tom in a steady voice.

  Guy needed not incitement. Already his gun was up; they fired together,and as the double report rattled out, the great serpent, stricken in thehead and neck, fell writhing into the pale grass. One of the two shotshad luckily broken its backbone a foot or so below the head; but thehuge serpent was by no means disabled, and now, half impotent though itwas, it struggled furiously to reach its adversaries. Beating andflapping the earth in its agony and rage, it writhed itself towards thetwo horsemen, who now separated and gave it another shot apiece. Then,recharging their guns, they returned, and finished the wounded monsterwith a couple more charges.

  Having ascertained that the snake was really dead, they dismounted andapproached it; then, stretching out the reptile to its full length, Tomtook a tape measure from his pocket and ran over its dimensions.

  "Eighteen feet," he remarked, rising from his task. "The biggest pythonkilled in these parts!"

  "Have you many of these brutes about the place?" asked Guy, turning overthe monster with his foot, and comparing the greenish white of itsunderparts with the brilliant markings of its upper colouring.

  "No, not many," answered Tom. "They're shy, secretive beggars, and onevery seldom, indeed, comes across them. I've not heard of one for twoor three years."

  "Thank goodness for that," rejoined Guy. "I must say, if I thoughtthere were many of these creatures in the neighbourhood, I should comebird-shooting precious seldom, especially on foot. Surely they aredangerous? They're not poisonous, I suppose?"

  "No, they're not poisonous, luckily," returned Tom. "But they canconstrict. Whether they can kill a man I don't know. I shouldn't liketo try the experiment. Father says they can't. Still, they can try; andif they were big enough--like this one, for example--they might give youa very unpleasant time of it. They certainly do kill small buckoccasionally. Three years ago a python--rock snakes, the colonists callthem--which father had shot was found to contain the bones of a duykerin its stomach; and our native boys killed another, with theirknobkerries, which had killed and eaten a steinbuck just before, and wascompletely gorged and stupid after its meal."

  They finished their shoot across th
e flat, adding three brace ofkoorhaan and Coqui partridges to their bag, and then came back to thedead python. Fastening this to the end of a piece of cord which Tomcarried with him, they trailed the serpent behind them and struck forhome. Arrived at Bamborough towards four o'clock, they stretched outthe great serpent in the front garden, and invited all and sundry tocome and view their conquest. It was agreed that so large a python hadnever before been seen in that part of the country.

  "Yes," said Mr. Blakeney, as he watched Tom and Guy divesting thecreature of its beautiful skin, "it's a big snake. Three years ago Igot quite a fright with one of these reptiles. I was shooting alone andon foot about two miles from here. Juno was with me, and she seemedvery uneasy, just as she was with you to-day. Suddenly, as I turnedround--I don't know what made me do it--I saw, sticking out above thegrass not ten yards behind me, a python. Just for one second I was in areal fright, I promise you--the thing was so sudden. However, the brutelooked very nasty, and I put up my gun and fired at once, smashing itshead to pieces. It struggled a bit, and another shot finished it. Now,that snake had followed me right across the flat from the riverbed--where, I imagine, it had its holt or hiding-place in some bush oramong the rocks--for a distance of more than a mile. It was ratheruncanny, wasn't it?"

  "Very uncanny, indeed," answered Guy. "I don't like the brutes at all.Do you think they would go for one?"

  "No; on the whole, I don't think they would," said Mr. Blakeney. "Andif they did, although they might frighten you and even hurt you, I don'tthink they could kill a man. They could kill a child, as they doundoubtedly kill a young calf sometimes; and for that reason I'm notover fond of them--in fact, I destroy them whenever I come across them,if I can. They're slippery brutes, however, and once let them get nearrocks or bush and you'll never see them again."

  "The natives about here, father, don't like them?" queried Tom, as hefinished his part of the task, and together he and Guy rolled thestripped body of the serpent from its skin, which they had nowcompletely flayed away from the flesh.

  "No, the Bechuanas don't like them," rejoined Mr. Blakeney. "At thesame time they don't care about molesting them. In Zululand the nativeswill never touch them. They have an idea that the souls of theirancestors return to the bodies of these serpents, and will even allowthem to live close to their huts. For my part, I don't like theproximity of such neighbours."

  Having carefully scraped every fragment of fat or flesh from the skin,the two lads rubbed in arsenical soap, and pegged it out on the shadyside of the wall of an outhouse, where in a day or two the cure wascomplete.

  In a few more weeks Guy Hardcastle had acquired a very fair knowledge ofthe far-spreading pastures of Bamborough Farm. He began to pick up,too, some knowledge of stock and stock-farming, for he was a quick lad,who always had his wits about him, and was anxious to gain any sort ofinformation that might be useful to him. He had seen mealies and oatsreaped, and assisted in other operations. He had had a very good time,for, mingled with the preliminaries of a pastoral farmer's life, towhich his uncle had introduced him, he had had a fair amount ofshooting, several pleasant excursions with his cousins to neighbouringfarms, and a trip to Mafeking to bring home stores. At the end ofJanuary he accompanied his uncle to Johannesburg with a herd of fatcattle, which were disposed of for excellent prices on their arrivalthere.

  On this expedition, although they were assisted by native servants, theyhad to experience some of the roughs and tumbles of veldt life. Theylived for the most part in the saddle, sleeping at night in a light mulewagon which accompanied them. The weather was broken and unsettled; therains, which began in December, still fell heavily at intervals, andthey were often drenched to the skin. Even their wagon tent by no meanssufficed to protect them from the tropical downpours that periodicallyfell from the lowering heavens. Nevertheless, to the secretsatisfaction of Mr. Blakeney, Guy bore all the discomforts that overtookthem with the most cheerful spirit, and arrived at Johannesburg inexcellent heart and fettle. He had proved himself a very usefulauxiliary, and his uncle was more than well pleased with his behaviour.The return from the gold city was made with much less discomfort, and,unencumbered with a big herd of cattle, they reached home within afortnight.

  One evening, a short time after their return, Mr. Blakeney called Guyinto his own room, the "den," as he called it, in which he did most ofthe office work connected with the farm, and kept his papers, books, andaccounts, as well as his guns, rifles, and ammunition. Guy was just thenengaged in a game of chess with his aunt, who was a skilful player, andwas teaching him something of the rudiments of the art.

  "Well, aunt," he said, as he rose with a cheery laugh, "I'm defeatedagain, I see. You have mate in another move, haven't you?"

  "I'm afraid it is so, Guy," replied Mrs. Blakeney. "Never mind; you aregetting along very well. This has been quite a good fight, and inanother six months you will be crowing over me, I expect."

  Guy walked quickly to his uncle's room, where an oil lamp shed a brightglow over everything. Mr. Blakeney was a man of methodical habits. Hisbooks and papers were always in their right places; his guns gleamedbrightly on their racks; everything was in apple-pie order.

  "Sit down, Guy," said his uncle, pointing to the chair near him; "I wantto have a bit of a talk with you. First of all, I want to know somethingabout your views of cattle-farming and South African farming lifegenerally. Is it the kind of life you think will suit you, and can youmake up your mind to settle down to it? You have now had a three months'apprenticeship, and have probably formed your own opinions."

  "Well, Uncle Charles," replied Guy, "my answer is a very short one. Ilike the life immensely, and mean to stick to it. I can think ofnothing that will suit me half so well as to settle down steadily to thesame kind of existence that you lead here. I should like it above allthings, and I have thought the whole matter very carefully over."

  "Remember, Guy, my boy," said his uncle kindly, "that hitherto, exceptfor the journey to Johannesburg, which wasn't a very pleasant one,although from a financial point of view it answered excellently, youhave seen rather the bright side of things out here. This place,although I say it who perhaps shouldn't, is rather a cut above theaverage. We have put capital into the thing, my cousin and I--I mean,of course, George Forster, who farms the adjoining land, and is mypartner. We do the thing well, and our homesteads are exceptionallygood. We have, as you see, some of the refinements as well as thecomforts of civilization about us. And hitherto we have had goodseasons and great luck. But you have to remember that there come timesof drought; various diseases attack stock, locusts destroy the veldt,and the farmer's losses are often very heavy indeed. They sayrinderpest is on its way south, and will in time reach us even here. Ithas got as far as Nyasaland, and will probably work its way rightthrough the continent to the very shores of Cape Colony. You must lookat all these things before you decide."

  "Well, uncle," repeated Guy, "I can only say that I have honestly triedto look at the thing all round. I know--and many thanks to you all forit--that you have shown me the best and brightest side of everything,and that I can't always expect to live in the lap of luxury, as I dohere. Please take my word for it. I want to go in for this kind oflife. I mean to stick to it seriously and learn the business, and tryand make something out of it; and I do hope you will do what you oncesaid you might be inclined to do--that is, teach me the business, andlet me in time get hold of some land near you. I have quite made up mymind, and that's my decision."

  "Well, Guy," said his uncle, with a pleased look on his kindly,expressive face, "I'm very glad to hear this. I like you, my boy. Ibelieve you will stick to your business, and not look at it merely as ahobby or a plaything; and I can only say, for my part, that I will doall in my power to help you on. For your father's sake, as well as yourown, I shall do this; and I hope in a few years, when you've gotexperience, you will do very well for yourself. Meanwhile, I've latelyhad my eye on two farms, hitherto unoccupied, which t
ouch our north-westboundary. They are called Hartebeestfontein and Bushman's Kraal. I canget them cheap. They are the usual six thousand acre farms, and I canbuy them from Government for L600 the pair. I shall write to my agentat Vryburg to-morrow to secure these farms, which I shall henceforthtake to and stock. I shall hold these at your disposal, either one orboth of them; and in two or three years' time, if you like to try andmake a start on your own hook, why, we'll put up a decent house for you,open up the water supply--I know on Hartebeestfontein there is a spring,and I believe there are some likely _aars_ [veins] in the limestone,where more water is pretty certain to be found--and stock the place, sothat you can make a fair beginning. But we must go slow for a time, andmeanwhile you've got to learn your business. Still, I am bound to saythat I believe and hope you'll do very well. You are steady, or I amvery much mistaken; you have brains; and I know, I can see, that, likeyour dear father, you will always go straight, which in this life is agood deal more than half the battle."