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.