CHAPTER FIVE.
BIG BIRDNESTING.
"You're a dissatisfied young dog, Dyke," cried Joe Emsongood-humouredly, as he smiled down from his high horse at his brother;"always grumbling."
"I'm not," cried Dyke indignantly.
"You are, boy. Just as if any one could be low-spirited when he isyoung and strong, out in this wide free place on such a lovely morning."
"It's all right enough now," replied Dyke, "because it's early and cool;but it is so horribly lonely."
"Lonely! Why, I'm always with you," cried Emson--"the best of company.Then you've Jack and Tanta Sal, and Duke, and Breezy, and all theostriches for pets, and the oxen; while, if you want more company,there's old Oom Schlagen out one way, and old Morgenstern out theother."
"Ugh! Stupid old Boers!" cried Dyke.
"Well, they're civil to you, and that's more than Oom Schlagen is to me.It's because you have got that Dutch name. I say, father meant you tobe a painter, I'll be bound, and here you are, an ostrich-farmer."
"Oh yes, and we're going to be very rich when the birds are all dead."
"And they seem as if they meant to die, all of them," said Emson sadly,as he rode along by his brother, each with his rifle across hissaddle-bow. "I don't seem to have got hold of the right way of managingthem, Dyke: we must follow nature more by watching the habits of thewild ones. I have tried so hard, too."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Dyke merrily. "Who's grumbling now!"
"That's better, and more like yourself, old fellow," said Emson, smilingdown pleasantly. "That's more like the light-hearted chap who promisedto stick to and help me like a brother should. You hurt me, Dyke, whenyou turn so low-spirited and sulky. I've plenty of troubles, though Isay little, over my venture here; and when I see you so down, it worriesme more than I can say."
They rode on over the open veldt that glorious morning in silence forsome minutes, and Dyke looked down at his horse's mane.
"It makes me feel that I have done wrong in bringing a bright, happy ladaway from home and his studies to this wild solitary place. I ought tohave known better, and that it was not natural for a boy like you tofeel the hard stern determination to get on that I, ten years older,possessed. I ought to have known that, as soon as the novelty hadpassed away, you would begin to long for change. Father did warn me,but I said to him: `I'm a man, and he's only a boy; but we've beentogether so much, and always been companions, Dyke and I can't helpgetting on together.'"
"And we can't," cried the boy in a husky voice. "Don't, please don't,Joe, old chap; I can't bear it. I've been a beast."
"Oh, come, come," cried Emson, leaning over to clap him on the shoulder;"I didn't mean to upset you like that."
"But I'm glad you have," cried Dyke in half-suffocated tones. "I knowwell enough I have been a beast to you, Joe, and the more quiet andpatient you've been with me, the worse I've got, till I quite hatemyself."
"Oh no, not so bad as that."
"Yes," cried Dyke excitedly, "it's been worse; and all the while you'vebeen the dear, good old chap to me; just the same as it always was whenI was little, and grew tired and cross when we were out, and you took meup on your back and carried me miles and miles home."
"Why, of course I did," said Emson, smiling.
"There's no of course in it. I was always petty and disagreeable, andready to impose on your good-nature; but you never had an unkind wordfor me."
"Well, you were such a little one, and I was always so big."
"I can see it all, Joe, and it's made me miserable many a time; but thekinder you've been, the worse it has made me. You and father alwaysspoiled and petted me."
"Not we. Only kind to you, because we liked you. I say, Dyke, whatgames we used to have! You see, I never had a brother till you came.There, it's all right. Now then for a canter."
"Not yet," said Dyke. "I feel as if I could talk to you this morning."
"But you have talked, and it's all over now; so come along."
"No," cried Dyke firmly, and he caught his brother's rein.
"I say, old chap, are you the boss here, or am I?"
"I am, this morning," said the boy, looking up in his brother's bigmanly face. "I want you to listen to me."
"Well, go ahead then, and let's get it over."
"It's been like this, Joe. I've got in a bad way of thinking lately.It's all been so disappointing, and no matter what one did, nothing cameright."
"Yes, that's true enough, old chap," said Emson, rather drearily; "andwe have tried precious hard."
"You have, Joe, and I've been a regular sulky, disappointed sort ofbrute."
"Coat been a bit rough, Dyke, old chap, eh? Out of sorts."
"I suppose in my head; but, Joe, I am sorry--I can't say it as I shouldlike to, but I--I will try now."
"Just as if I didn't know. We've been chums so long, old man, eversince you first took to me when I was a big stupid fellow, all legs likea colt, and as ugly, and you were a pretty little golden-haired chap,always wanting to stick your soft chubby little fist in my big paw.There, it's all right. Old times again, old un, and we're going to doit yet, eh?"
"And you'll forgive me, Joe?" said Dyke earnestly.
"Forgive you?" cried Emson, looking at his brother with his big pleasantmanly face all in wrinkles. "Get along with you! What is there toforgive?"
"I will try now and help you, Joe; I will, indeed."
"Of course you will, old chap," cried Joe, a little huskily too; "and ifyou and I can't win yet, in spite of the hot sun and the disease and thewicked ways of those jolly old stilt-stalkers, nobody can."
"Yes, we will win, Joe," cried Dyke enthusiastically.
"That's your sort!" cried Emson. "We'll have a good long try, and ifthe ostriches don't pay, we'll hunt, as, I know, we've got plenty ofroom out here: we'll have an elephant farm instead, and grow ivory, andhave a big warehouse for making potted elephant to send and sell at homefor a breakfast appetiser. Who's going to give up, eh? Now, then, whatabout this canter? The horses want a breather--they're getting fidgety.I say, feel better now, old chap, don't you?"
Dyke pinched his lips together and nodded shortly.
"So do I.--Here! What's that?"
He checked his horse, and pointed far away in the distance.
"Ostrich!" cried Dyke.
"Yes, I saw her rise and start off! My word! how she is going. I cansee the spot where she got up, and must keep my eyes on it. There's anest there, for a pound. That means luck this morning. Come alongsteady. Lucky I brought the net. Why, Dyke, old chap, the tide's goingto turn, and we shall do it yet."
"But the goblin's dead."
"Good job, too. There's as good ostriches in the desert as ever cameout, though they are fowl instead of fish. It's my belief we shallsnatch out of that nest a better game-cock bird than ever the goblinwas, and without his temper. Come along."
Dyke felt glad of the incident occurring when it did, for his mind wasin a peculiar state just then. His feelings were mingled. He feltrelieved and satisfied by having shifted something off his mind, but atthe same time there would come a sense of false shame, and a fancy thathe had behaved childishly, when it was as brave and manly a speech--thatconfession--as ever came from his lips.
All the same, on they rode. And now the sky looked brighter; thereseemed to be an elasticity in the air. Breezy had never carried Dyke sowell before, and a sensation came over him, making him feel that he mustshout and sing and slacken his rein, and gallop as hard as the cob couldgo.
"Yohoy there! steady, lad," cried Emson; "not so fast, or I shall losethe spot. It's hard work, little un, keeping your eye on anything, withthe horse pitching you up and down."
Hard work, indeed, for there was no tree, bush, or hillock out in thedirection they were taking, and by which the young Englishman could markdown the spot where he imagined the nest to be.
So Dyke slackened speed, and with his heart throbbing in a pleasantlyexhilarated fashion
, he rode steadily on beside his brother, feeling asif the big fellow were the boy once more whom as a child he used totease and be chased playfully in return. Emson's way of speaking, too,enhanced the feeling.
"I say, little un," he cried, "what a game if there's no nest after all.You won't be disappointed, will you?"
"Of course not."
"'Member me climbing the big elm at the bottom of the home-close to getthe mag's nest?"
"To be sure I do."
"Didn't think we two would ever go bird's-nesting in Africa then, didwe?"
"No; but do you think there is a nest out yonder, Joe?"
"I do," cried Emson, "I've seen several hen birds about the last fewdays; but I never could make out which way they came or went. I've beenon the lookout, too, for one rising from the ground."
"But is this a likely place for a nest?"
"Well, isn't it? I should say it's the very spot. Now, just look: herewe are in an open plain, where a bird can squat down in the sand andlook around for twenty miles--if she can see so far--in every direction,and see danger coming, whether it's a man, a lion, or a jackal, andshuffle off her nest, and make tracks long before whatever it is getsnear enough to make out where she rose. Of course I don't know whetherwe shall find the nest, if there is one. It's hard enough to find alark's or a partridge's nest at home in an open field of forty or fiftyacres; so of course, big though the nest is, and the bird, it's a dealharder, out in a field hundreds of miles square, eh?"
"Of course it is."
"'Scuse my not looking round at you when I'm speaking, old chap; but ifI take my eye off the spot, I shall never find it again."
"I say, don't be so jolly particular, Joe," cried Dyke, laughing.
"Why not? It's just what you and I ought to be," said the big fellowwith simple earnestness. "We're out here in a savage land, but we don'twant to grow into savages, nor yet to be as blunt and gruff as twobears. I'm not going to forget that the dear old governor at home is agentleman, even if his sons do rough it out here."
"Till they're regular ruffians, Joe.--I say: see the nest?"
"Oh no; it's a mile away yet."
"Then there isn't one. You couldn't have seen it at all that distance."
"I never said I could see the nest, did I? It was enough for me thatI've seen the birds about, and that I caught sight of that one makingoff this morning. We call them stupid, and they are in some things; butthey're precious cunning in others."
"But if they were only feeding?"
"Why, then, there's no nest. But I say breeding, and not feeding; andthat's rhyme if you take it in time, as the old woman said."
"But you talked about hen birds. Then there may be more than one nest?"
"Not here. Why, you know how a lot of them lay in the same nest."
"At home, shut up in pens, but not on the veldt."
"Why, of course they do, and 'tis their nature to, like the bears andlions in Dr Watts. You don't know everything quite yet, old chap. Ifyou took the glass, and came and lay out here for two or three days andnights, and always supposing the birds didn't see you--because if theydid they'd be deserting the nest and go somewhere else--you'd see firstone hen come to lay and then another, perhaps six of them; and whenthey'd packed the nest as full as it would hold, with the sand banked upround the eggs to keep them tight in their places with the pointsdownwards, so as to be close, you'd see hen after hen come and take herturn, sitting all day, while the cock bird comes at nights and takes histurn, because he's bigger and stronger, and better able to pitch intothe prowling jackals."
"How did you know all this, Joe?"
"Partly observation, partly from what I've heard Jack say," repliedEmson modestly. "Everything comes in useful. I daresay you won'trepent saving up all those odds and ends of stones and shells and eggsyou've got at home."
"Why, I often thought you'd feel they were a nuisance, Joe. I did seeyou laugh at them more than once."
"Smile, old man, smile--that's all. I like it. You might grow aregular museum out of small beginnings like that."
"Then we ought to have stuffed the goblin," cried Dyke merrily.
"Oh, come, no; that wouldn't do. Our tin house isn't the BritishMuseum; but I would go on collecting bits of ore and things. You mayfind something worth having one of these days, besides picking up a lotof knowledge. I'd put that piece of old iron the ostrich swallowedalong with the rest."
"Would you?"
"Yes; but now let's have all eyes, and no tongues, old chap. We aregetting near where that bird got up off the nest."
"If there was one."
"If there was one," assented Emson. "Now then: think you're mushroomingout in the old field at home, and see if you can't find the nest. Moveoff now a couple of hundred yards, and keep your eyes open."
Dyke followed out his brother's advice, and for the next hour they rodeover the ground here and there, to and fro, and across and across,scanning the sandy depressions, till Emson suddenly drew rein, andshouted to Dyke, who was a quarter of a mile away.
Dyke sent his cob off at a gallop and joined him.
"Found it?" he cried excitedly.
"No, old fellow. It's a failure this time. Man wants sharp eyes to getthe better of an ostrich. I made sure we should get it, but we're done.We've been over the ground times enough, and it's of no use."
"What! give up?" cried Dyke merrily. "Didn't say we'd find it the firsttime, but I mean to have that nest, if I try till to-morrow morning."
"Well done, little un," shouted Emson, laughing. "That's the rightspirit, and I should like to have had the eggs; it would have started uson again. But I'm afraid we shall be wasting time, for we've lost countnow of the position where I saw the bird rise, and in this great wastewe may wander farther and farther away."
"But we can tell by the hoof-marks where we've been."
"Yes; and we've pretty well examined the ground. I tell you what, we'llbring the glass this evening, and lie down watching till dark. We maysee a bird come to the nest, and then we'll mark down the place, and oneshall stop back, while the other rides forward, and number one cantelegraph which way to go with his arms."
"I am disappointed," said Dyke, looking round about him over the levelplain.
"So am I, old chap, but we won't be damped. It's only putting it off.--What are you looking at?"
"That," said Dyke; and, kicking his nag's sides, he went off at a canterfor a couple of hundred yards, and then sent up a joyous shout.
"Why, he has found it!" cried Emson; and galloping up, there sat Dyke,flushed and happy, beside a depression in the sand, evidently scrapedout, and with the sand banked round to keep the eggs in their places.There they all were, thirty-nine in number, neatly arranged with theirpoints downward, while outside were several more, and on Dyke bendingdown, he found that they were all of a comfortable temperature; thoselying outside being cold, and apparently freshly laid.
"Well, you have eyes, old chap!" cried Emson, slapping his brother onthe shoulder, and then proceeding to loosen a coarsely meshed net frombehind his saddle. "Bravo, Dyke! I told you the tide had turned.We'll get these home at once and put them under one of our hens.Shouldn't wonder if we get a nice little lot of chicks from these."
"If we can get them home without breaking."
"Oh, we'll do that," cried Emson, dismounting and spreading out the netupon the sand before they began carefully removing the spoil of thenest--that is to say, the eggs, which evidently contained chicks.
This done, the net was folded over and tied here and there so as to forma long bag, the ends fastened securely; and each taking an end, theymounted, and swinging between them the huge bag, which now weighednearly a hundredweight, started for home. They left the new-laid eggsto be fetched that evening, or next morning, leaving them just as theywere spread, looking clean and fresh, about the outside of the nest,much to Dyke's regret.
"Why, we could manage them too," he said.
"We might, but if w
e did we should have mixed them up with the others,which would be a pity; for if we put them under a bird, they would onlybe addled, whereas if we keep them separate, they will be good either toset under another hen, or to eat. They will not hurt there."
Dyke said no more, but held on tightly to the end of the net, helpinghis brother to keep their horses a sufficient distance apart, so thatthe egg purse might keep well off the ground, and not be shaken too muchby the horses' gentle pace.
"Wonder what the young birds think of their ride," said Dyke merrily."We shall have one of them chipping an egg presently, and poking out hishead to see what's the matter, and why things are getting so cold."
"Cold, in this scorching sun!" said Emson; "why it would hatch them out.Hold tight."
"Right it is!" cried Dyke in seafaring style. "I say, what a smash itwould be if I let go!"
"Ah, it would," said Emson; "but you won't. Cry stop when you're tired,and we'll change hands.--Steady, boy!" he continued to his horse, whichseemed disposed to increase its speed, and they jogged gently alongagain.
"I always used to read that the ostriches did lay their eggs in the sandand leave them for the sun to hatch."
"There is some truth in it," said Emson; "but the old writers didn't getto the bottom of it. The sun would hatch them if it kept on shining,but the cold nights would chill the eggs and undo all the day's work.It's of a night that the birds sit closest.--Like to change now?"
"Yes: they are getting heavy for one's wrist," said Dyke; and the greatpurse was lowered to the ground, the eggs clicking together as if madeof china. Then the brothers changed places and hands; raised the net;the horses hung apart again, and the slow journey was resumed.
"Gently!" cried Dyke before they had gone very far. "If you hang awayso hard, I shall be dragged out of the saddle."
The tension was relaxed, and they went on again riding by slow degreesback to Kopfontein, which they finally reached with their heavy andfragile load intact.
Dyke was hungry enough, but they neither ate nor rested till their eggswere borne into one of the pens where three hens and their husband had anest which contained only ten eggs, and these were known to be addled,for the time was long past for hatching; and upon the brothersapproaching the nest, there was a great deal of hissing and cackling,the cock bird beginning to roar like a lion, and stalking menacinglyround the net, which he kept on inspecting curiously.
"Be on the lookout for a kick," said Emson, as the net was lowered.
"Oh, he won't kick me--will you, old chap?" cried Dyke, giving the largebird a playful poke, which had the effect of sending him offremonstrating angrily, as if he resented such liberties being taken withhis ribs. For he turned when he reached the fence, and stood flutteringhis short wings, clucking, and making threatening gestures with hishead.
The hen bird sitting was much more amenable to their approach, for,after a little persuasion, she rose in a very stately way, blinked herrather human-looking, eye-lashed optics, and stalked to the other wivesto stand with them, hissing and cackling a little, while the bad eggswere removed and the fresh thirty-nine were put in their place, Emsonarranging them as regularly as he could in accordance with the bird'shabits.
But as Dyke handed them to him one by one, they had hard work to getthem in on account of the impatience displayed by the wives, two ofwhich displayed a great eagerness to have first sit upon the nestful,and needing to be kept off until all were ready.
Then began a severe quarrel, and a good deal of pecking before theyoungest and strongest succeeded in mounting upon the nest, shufflingthe eggs about so as to get them more in accordance with her own idea ofthe fitness of things, and then, when all were in order, she settleddown with her plumage regularly covering up the eggs, while the otherbirds now looked on.
"Do you double up your perambulators?" said Dyke mockingly. "Yes,madam, I see you do; but pray don't put a toe through either of theshells."
The hen uttered a strangely soft clucking kind of noise, as if in reply,and there was a peculiar look of satisfaction about the huge tamecreature as she covered the gigantic clutch.
"So they are," said Dyke--"something like eggs, aren't they?--I say,look at the others," he continued, as they stalked off to go apparentlyto discuss the new arrivals with the cock bird over at the other side ofthe enclosure.
"There," said Emson, "you can have these addled eggs cleaned out, Dyke,and we'll make chunking cups of them. When shall we fetch the otherlot? This evening?"
"If you like."
"No; we'll leave it till to-morrow, and give the nags a rest."
Diamond Dyke Page 5
