by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER TEN.
A HORSE CHASED BY WILD HOUNDS.
That night there were sore hearts in the camp under the mowana, and eyesthat closed not in sleep. A mother lay awake, thinking apprehensivelyabout her son; sisters in like manner were in fear for the fate of abrother; while a young girl, not sister, but sweetheart, was no lessuneasy about the absence of a lover.
Perhaps had Piet Van Dorn, the object of this concentrated solicitude,been only sure of its being shared by Katharina Rynwald--for she was thewaking sweetheart--the long, unhappy hours he was constrained to passupon the veldt would have seemed shorter, and been less irksome. As itwas, he too slept little, in part kept awake by the pain of his wounds,and partly by torturing thoughts. Withal, he took steps for passing thenight, in the best and safest way possible under the circumstances.Anticipating a heavy dew,--which indeed, had already begun to fall--withthat raw chilliness, as much the accompaniment of a tropical night as ofone in northern climes, he had need to take precautions against it.Thinly and lightly clad, just as when interrupted at target-practice,ever since hotly engaged, and all over perspiration, experience told himthere was danger from this alone. So, warned by it, soon as he had madeup his mind to remain there he dropped down from the ant-hill, andbethought himself of kindling a fire. But for this the luck was againsthim. There was no wood near, nor anywhere within sight; not a stick.All around the veldt was treeless, and alike bare of bushes; the onlyrelief to its monotonous nakedness being some score or two ant-hills,like hayricks scattered over it.
Yes, there was something more, which after a time came under his eyes;some tall bunch grass growing at no great distance off, or rather hadgrown, for it was now withered and dead. True, it would not make a firethat could be kept up; but the young hunter saw it might be utilised ina way almost as good, by making a warm bed of it. Soon as thought of,he unsheathed his hunting-knife, and set to cutting the grass, as reaperwith "hook and crook." Nor stayed he his hand, till several largearmfuls lay along the earth. These, one after another, he carried up tothe ant-hill he had first stopped at, and which, as already ascertainedby him, had been abandoned by its insect builders.
It was but the task of a few seconds to form the dry grass into a rough,but fairly comfortable couch; upon which he lay down, drawing thestraggled selvedge over him, by way of blanket and coverlet. Thussnugly ensconced, he took out his pipe, with flint, steel, and tinder,struck a light, and commenced smoking.
One passing near, and seeing a red coal glowing in that heap of haylikegrass, with smoke rising in curls over it, might have wondered at thegrass not catching fire, and blazing up. But there was no one passingnear, or likely to pass; and Piet Van Dorn continued puffing away insolitary silence.
After a time the tobacco in his pipe was burnt to the bottom; butfinding it had given him some relief from the stinging of his sores, herefilled the pipe bowl, and went on smoking.
At length the narcotic property of the weed produced a soporific effect;Morpheus demanded his toll; and the wearied hunter, despite pain ofwounds, and mental anxiety, sank into sleep, meerschaum in mouth.Luckily, he lay on his back, and the pipe from habit was held tightbetween his teeth, till the ashes in it became cold. Had it beenotherwise, he might have soon and suddenly waked up, to find himself asa rat in the heart of a burning hayrick.
As it chanced, he slumbered long, though how long he could not tell.Dreamt also; in his dream, fancying himself still charged upon by thebuffalo and that he heard its heavy tread on the firm turf as it camethundering towards him! But was it fancy? Was the thing all a dream?Questions he put to himself, when at length awakened by the visionaryscene, he lay listening. No, not all. The trampling sound was real andrecognisable; not as made by a buffalo, but the hoof strokes of agalloping horse! Had there been any doubt about this, what instantlysucceeded would have solved it--a neigh ringing clear and shrill on thecalm night air.
Quick as a Jack-in-the-box, Piet Van Dorn was upon his feet; and withlike alertness leaped up to the top of the ant-hill. The moon hadmeanwhile risen, and her light flooded the veldt all over, makingobjects distinguishable on it at far distance, almost as by day. But itdid not need looking far for him to see the horse, nor an instant oftime in recognising the animal as his own. Not much longer, either, washe in learning why it galloped and screamed--for it was more scream thanneigh that had waked up the echoes of the night: still waking them, inquick successive bursts, as the horse rushed affrightedly to and fro.No wonder at his fright with such a following; full a hundred otheranimals flecked and spotted, as seen under the clear moonlight: to allappearance a pack of hounds in pursuit of him! And hounds were they,but such as never came out of kennel; far fiercer than these, for theywere the _wilde-honden_ [Note 1] of South Africa. They were scatteredover the veldt, in squads here and there, with the horse careering frompoint to point between them; and go in what direction he would, it wasto get headed off by one group or another.
At a glance the young hunter took in the situation, and trembled for hissteed. The poor animal was black with sweat, and evidently farexhausted. No doubt it had been running thus pursued for hours, and atany moment now might be pulled down, and torn to pieces. How was such afate to be averted? How could the horse be saved.
The first impulse of its master, so interrogating himself, was to catchhold of his gun, and rush out to the rescue. The gun he caught hold of;but then came the thought, that instead of saving the horse, he would behimself sacrificed. Well knew he the habits of the wilde-honden withtheir fierce, savage nature, and that, in their then excited state, manwould be no more feared by them than horse, or any other animal. Itwould be like bearding a pack of hungry wolves; in fact, flinging awayhis life. But what ought he to do? What could he? Nothing.
"Ah! yes; something!" he exclaimed, hope returning with a thought thathad flashed across his brain. "There may still be a chance, if I canmake him hear me."
Saying which, he thrust the tips of three fingers between his lips, andblew a whistle that went screeching across the veldt, repeating itseveral times. But much repetition was not necessary.
At the first note of it reaching his ears, the horse was seen to give astart of recognition; then, as the second was sent after, the sagaciousanimal, trained to the signal, answered it with a joyous neigh, and camegalloping up to the ant-hills. In half a minute more he was among them;and now guided by a well-known voice, soon stood by his master's side,panting, quivering in every fibre of his frame, but confidentlywhimpering, as if at length assured of safety.
But he was not safe yet; neither he, nor his master, as the latter wellknew. If he did not, it was instantly made known to him, as he saw thewilde-honden gather in from all sides trooping after. In a trice theytoo had entered among the ant-hills, and were still coming on for thatbeside which he and the horse stood. To the young hunter it was acrisis, dangerous as when being charged by the buffalo, and equallyslight seemed his chance of escape. He had dropped back to the ground--knowing he would be no safer on the ant-heap, which the clawed creaturescould easily scale--and stood holding his horse in hand. The animal wasstill under saddle and bridle, as when it ran away from him. Should hespring upon its back, and attempt to escape by flight? Impossible. Thehorse was already tottering on his legs; another mile, perhaps half thatwith a rider on his back, and he would surely go to grass.
Piet Van Dorn was left no time for deliberation. What he did after wasdone in hottest haste, unreflectingly, almost despairingly. Yet wereits results of the best; could not have been better, if planneddeliberately and in coolest blood. He first discharged his roer at thenearest and foremost of the honden, which went rolling over with a howl.The report of the gun--noise so unexpected--caused the rest to falterand hang back; then, before they had recovered confidence, they weresaluted by a second clap of that thunder, so new to them, with its blazeof lightning, which still further cowed them. For all, they did not yetseem inclined to retreat; and Piet Van Dorn, fancying the fl
ash morefrightened them than the crack, suddenly bethought him of a way to makeit more effective. Quickly striking a light, he set fire to thewithered grass, on which he had lately been lying. It caught at once,flaring up with a flame that mocked the moon. And to keep it ablaze heemployed the long barrel of his now empty gun, fork fashion, tossing thetufts of burning grass high in the air, all the while shouting at theloudest pitch of his voice. Continuing to shout so, he would soon havebeen hoarse. Fortunately he was spared this infliction; for thewilde-honden, at first sight of the conflagration, which they doubtlessbelieved to be the veldt on fire, took to their heels, and scampered offin every direction; leaving the young hunter, and his newly-recoveredhorse, masters and sole possessors of the field.
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Note 1. "Wilde-honden" (_Canis picta_). These wild dogs of SouthAfrica have some affinities with hyenas. They are sometimes called thehunting hyena (_Hyena venatica_). They are as large as stag-hounds, andflecked and spotted in a similar manner, black and white blotches on aground colour of reddish brown. But for their erect ears, which arelarge and black, they would bear a still greater resemblance to hounds.There is this also in their habit of pursuing their prey in packs, whichrenders them much more formidable than the hyena. They have little fearof man, and men have been often killed by them.
