Nothing, to the Bushman"s mind, could be more clear than that Congo"s stupidity in falling into the first pit had led to his own downfall into the second.
This was now a source of much consolation to him, and the verbal expression of his wrongs enabled him for a while to feel rather happy at the fine opportunity afforded for reviling his rival. The amus.e.m.e.nt, however, could not prevent his thoughts from returning to the positive facts that he was imprisoned; that in place of pa.s.sing the day in cooking and eating _duyker_, he had been fasting and fretting in a dark, dirty pit, in the companionship of loathsome reptiles.
His mind now expanding under the exercise of a startled imagination, he became apprehensive. What if some accident should have occurred to Arend, and prevented his return to the camp? What if Groot Willem and the others should have strayed, and not find their way back to the place for two or three days? He had heard of such events happening to other stupid white men, and why not to them? What if they had met a tribe of the savage inhabitants of the country, and been killed or taken prisoners?
These conjectures, and a thousand others, flitted through the brain of the Bushman, all guiding to the conclusion that, should either of them prove correct, he would first have to eat the reptiles in the pit, and then starve.
It was no consolation to him to think that his rival in the other pit would have to submit to a similar fate.
His unpleasant reveries were interrupted by a short, angry bark; and, looking up to the opening through which he had descended, he beheld the countenance of a wild dog,--the "wilde honden" of the Dutch Boers.
Uttering another and a different cry, the animal started back; and from the sounds now heard overhead, the Bushman was certain that it was accompanied by many others of its kind.
An instinctive fear of man led them to retreat for a short distance; but they soon found out that "the wicked flee when no man pursueth," and they returned.
They were hungry, and had the sense to know that the enemy they had discovered was, for some reason, unable to molest them.
Approaching nearer, and more near, they again gathered around the pits, and saw that food was waiting for them at the bottom of both. They could contemplate their victims unharmed, and this made them courageous enough to think of an attack. The human voice and the gaze of human eyes had lost their power, and the pack of wild hounds, counting several score, began to think of taking some steps towards satisfying their hunger.
They commenced scratching and tearing away the covering of the pits, sending down a shower of dust, sand, and gra.s.s that nearly suffocated the two men imprisoned beneath.
The poles supporting the screen of earth were rotten with age, and the whole scaffolding threatened to come down as the wild dogs scampered over it.
"If there should be a shower of dogs," thought Swartboy, "I hope that fool Congo will have his share of it."
This hope was immediately realised, for the next instant he heard the howling of one of the animals evidently down in the adjoining pit. It had fallen through, but, fortunately for Congo, not without injuring itself in a way that he had but narrowly escaped. The dog had got transfixed on the sharp-pointed stake, planted firmly in the centre of the pit, and was now hanging on it in horrible agony, unable to get clear.
Without lying down in the mud, the Kaffir was unable to keep his face more than twelve inches from the open jaws of the dog, that in its struggles spun round as on a pivot; and Congo had to press close against the side of the pit, to keep out of the reach of the creature yelping in his ears.
Swartboy could distinguish the utterances of this dog from those of its companions above, and the interpretation he gave to them was, that a fierce combat was taking place between it and the Kaffir.
The jealousy and petty ill-will so often exhibited by the Bushman was not so strong as he had himself believed. His intense anxiety to know which was getting the best of the fight, added to the fear that Congo was being torn to pieces, told him that his friendship for the Kaffir far outweighed the animosity he fancied himself to have felt.
The fiendish yells of the dogs, the unpleasant situation in which he was placed, and the uncertainty of the time he was to endure it, were well-nigh driving him distracted; when just then the wild honden appeared to be beating a retreat,--the only one remaining being that in the pit with Congo. What was driving them away? Could a.s.sistance be at hand?
Breathlessly the Bushman stood listening.
CHAPTER FIVE.
AREND LOST.
In the afternoon, when Groot Willem, Hans, and Hendrik returned to the camp, they found it deserted.
Several jackals reluctantly skulked off as they drew near and on riding up to the spot from which those creatures had retired, they saw the clean-picked bones of an antelope. The camp must have been deserted for several hours.
"What does this mean?" exclaimed Groot Willem. "What has become of Arend?"
"I don"t know," answered Hendrik. "It is strange Swart and Cong are not here to tell us."
Something unusual had certainly happened; yet, as each glanced anxiously around the place, there appeared nothing to explain the mystery.
"What shall we do?" asked Willem, in a tone that expressed much concern.
"Wait," answered Hans; "we can do nothing more."
Two or three objects were at this moment observed which fixed their attention. They were out on the plain, nearly a mile off. They appeared to be horses,--their own pack animals,--and Hendrik and Groot Willem started off towards them to drive them back to the camp.
They were absent nearly an hour before they succeeded in turning the horses and driving them towards the camp. As they pa.s.sed near the drift on their return, they rode towards the river to water the animals they were riding.
On approaching the bank, several native dogs, that had been yelling in a clump, were seen to scatter and retreat across the plain. The hors.e.m.e.n thought little of this, but rode on into the river, and permitted their horses to drink.
While quietly seated in their saddles, Hendrik fancied he heard some strange sounds. "Listen!" said he. "I hear something queer. What is it?"
"One of the honden," answered Willem.
"Where?"
This question neither for a moment could answer, until Groot Willem observed one of the pits from the edge of which the dogs appeared to have retreated.
"Yonder"s a pit-trap!" he exclaimed, "and I believe there"s a dog has got into it. Well, I shall give it a shot, and put the creature out of its misery."
"Do so," replied Hendrik. "I hate the creatures as much as any other noxious vermin, but it would be cruel to let one starve to death in that way. Kill it."
Willem rode up to the pit and dismounted. Neither of them, as yet, spoke loud enough to be heard in the pits, and the two men down below were at this time silent, the dog alone continuing its cries of agony.
The only thing Willem saw on gazing down the hole was the wild hound still hanging on the stake; and taking aim at one of its eyes he fired.
The last spark of life was knocked out of the suffering animal; but the report of the great gun was instantly followed by two yells more hideous than were ever uttered by "wild honden."
They were the screams of two frightened Africans,--each frightened to think that the next bullet would be for him.
"Arend!" exclaimed Willem, anxious about his brother, and thinking only of him. "Arend! is it you?"
"No, Baas Willem," answered the Kaffir. "It is Congo."
Through the opening, Willem reached down the b.u.t.t-end of his long roer, while firmly clasping it by the barrel.
The Kaffir took hold with both hands, and, by the strong arms of Groot Willem, was instantly extricated from his subterranean prison.
Swartboy was next hauled out, and the two mud-bedaubed individuals stood gazing at one another, each highly delighted at the rueful appearance presented by his rival.
Slowly the fire of anger, that seemed to have all the while been burning in the Kaffir"s eyes, became extinguished, and broad smile broke like the light of day over his stoical countenance.
He had been released at length, and was now convinced that no one was to blame for his protracted imprisonment.
Swartboy had been punished for his ill-timed mirth, and Congo was willing to forget and forgive.