The Young Yagers: A Narrative of Hunting Adventures in Southern Africa

That it would succeed he had little doubt. They were all nicely placed. The two boys had got round to the opposite side of the herd, and once these showed themselves a little nearer, the antelopes would face round – they were browsing towards the side to which the boys had been sent – and feed in the direction of the concealed hunters. Springboks would do so, said Groot Willem to himself.

But springboks are not blesboks. They differ not only in size and colour, but in many of their habits; and just by a difference in one of these last was Groot Willem destined to disappointment. A curious habit they have – and one which is shared by a few other animals, both of the antelope and deer species – knocked all Groot Willem’s fine calculations into “pie.”

Instead of turning when Klaas and Jan approached them from the opposite side, as all expected they would do, the stubborn creatures would not be turned, but kept on most determinedly in their original course. It is true that they swerved a little to get past the boys; but as soon as they were fairly beyond them, they headed once more in the same direction as before.

Klaas and Jan were at some distance from each other, so as to make a wider front to the drive; but for all that, the blesboks swept past both at such a distance as to give no chance for a bullet, even though sent from the long roer. Neither of the boys fired, as they had been told not to do; and as both behaved discreetly and quietly, the antelopes, after galloping some distance to their rear, slackened their pace, and again commenced browsing.

Groot Willem felt considerably chagrined at the result, and got well laughed at by both Hans and Arend; but what annoyed him still more was a word or two uttered by the rival hunter.

“I knew,” said Hendrik emphatically – “I knew it wouldn’t do. Do you take blesboks for sheep, to be driven about by a pair of boys mounted on ponies? Bah!”

This was a terrible cut for Groot Willem; but he replied to it by alleging that his plan had not had a fair trial. It was now plain to all that the blesboks fed up wind; and, therefore, the stand-men should have headed them instead of the drivers.

“Let us try it that way. I’ll warrant you we’ll succeed. If we don’t, then we can do as Master Hendrik recommends; and we’ll see how his plan, which is no plan at all, may answer.”

There was a slight touch of sarcasm in Groot Willem’s tone when he referred to Hendrik, and the emphasis on the “Master,” partook strongly of the character of a sneer counter to his which Hendrik had given.

There could be no objection to try the thing over again, according to the mode suggested by Groot Willem; and they all assented to his proposal. It was plain that the blesboks ran in the “wind’s eye,” else they never would have “run the gauntlet” against Klaas and Jan, as they had done. Such being the case, the hunters, by laying in wait to windward, would have a decided advantage, and, properly placed, could not fail to reach some of the advancing herd.

Should the scheme turn out differently, then they could follow Hendrik’s advice, and ride tail-on-end upon the blesboks.

With these ideas, the four galloped away to one side, and, making a wide détour, headed the game. Klaas and Jan were left in the rear to follow it up, and force it gently forward.

In good time the stand-men were again placed, and watched the advancing antelopes with interest. The “blaze” upon their faces appeared larger and larger, and their broad, white muzzles gleamed in the eyes of the hunters, almost within range of their guns. But at this moment, the animals raised their graceful necks, uttered a strange, snorting cry, and then, instead of turning to fly back, bounded right forward!

Surely they were coming within range, thought every one, as he knelt with ready firelock behind his sheltering mound. “Good!” muttered Groot Willem to himself. “I’ll turn the laugh upon the whole of them – that I shall.”

But Groot Willem was destined once more to a humiliating disappointment. As the blesboks came under the lee of each hill that covered a hunter, they suddenly swerved, and swept round him at such a distance as to render shooting at them a perfectly ridiculous thing. Groot Willem had levelled his roer for a chance shot, when he thought of the unpleasant consequences of a “miss;” and reluctantly bringing down his piece he permitted the blesboks to sweep past.

In a few seconds the herd was far beyond the place where they had passed the hunters; but as no assault had been made upon them, and no gun fired, they quieted down after a while, and once more commenced browsing.

Hendrik was now the proud man of the hour. He would show them how the slow creatures could be galloped into. He would run half-a-dozen of them down before they could clear out of the plain.

“Come on!”

All once again mounted their horses, and rode briskly towards the herd. When near, they moved more slowly and quietly, so as not to startle them.

As soon as they had got within the usual distance of four hundred yards, the bucks moved forward; and then came the “view hilloa!” The dogs were let slip, the horses sprang forward, and the chase swept wildly over the plain.

They had not galloped a mile, before Hendrik discovered his mistake. Both dogs and horses were distanced by the swift antelopes, and both lagged far behind.

One by one the hunters fell into the rear, and drew up their foaming steeds; and in less than twenty minutes time, Hendrik alone, and one or two of the best dogs, held on.

Hans and Arend, believing that it was a hopeless chase for their horses, gave it up; and Groot Willem did not wish to succeed! Of course, Klaas and Jan were with the hindmost; and they all sat in their saddles, watching first the purple backs of the bucks, and then the head and shoulders of Hendrik disappearing among the distant ant-hills!

Chapter Twenty Eight.

Hendrik’s Hard Gallop

On swept the blesboks over the level sward and on galloped Hendrik after them – his horse and dogs running at their utmost speed. For all that, not a yard could either hunter or hounds gain upon the swift antelopes. There was no chance for either to “run cunning.” There was no taking “a cut” upon the game. The blesboks made not the slightest double – swerved not a point from their course, but ran in a straight line, dead in the wind’s eye. No advantage, therefore, was given by the pursued, or could be taken by the pursuers. It was a simple question of speed between horse, dogs, and game.

The dogs gave up first. They broke down one after another, until only Hendrik’s favourite hound kept near. Another mile’s running, and he too was used up, and fell to the rear; and now Hendrik galloped alone.

For nearly ten miles he galloped, until the sweat streamed from his horse’s flanks, and the froth from his lips, and still the blesboks scoured on before him at too great a distance to be reached by his rifle. On a fresh horse he could easily have overtaken them now, for they ran but slowly. Perhaps he could have closed upon them as it was, but, with all his desire to do so, he was compelled to ride with caution. The burrows of the ant-eater lay in his path, and once or twice, as he was closing upon the game with good prospect of getting near, his horse had stumbled, and lost ground again. This gave the antelopes a decided advantage, as with light hoof they skimmed over these impediments without fear.

And still Hendrik was reluctant to pull up. He thought of the empty boasting he had made. He thought of the scornful laugh that would greet him on his return. He thought of Groot Willem!

If he could only take back one hide – one pair of horns – all would be well. The laugh would be his. With such thoughts he had been urged forward, in this long and desperate ride.

He began to despair of success. The blesboks seemed to run lightly as ever, while his horse sprang heavily under him. The noble brute must soon give up.

Hendrik at length felt for him, and would have drawn bridle; but while half-resolved to do so, he noticed a range of mountains directly in front of him. They appeared to extend across the plain transversely to his course, or rather two chains met in a sort of angle, quite closing up the plain in that direction. Towards this angle the blesboks were directing their course!

Did they propose taking to the mountain? was the question put by Hendrik to himself. If so, he might find an advantage there. They might come to a stop, and under cover of the rocks and bushes that grew upon the mountain-side, he might be able yet to stalk them.

As Hendrik reflected thus, his eyes wandered along the base of both ranges from the angle where they met to a good distance on each side. To his surprise he perceived that the bases of both ended in a precipitous cliff, with no apparent pass leading up! He was now close enough to see the cliff. Not a break appeared along its whole line!

Hendrik was gratified with this discovery. He was driving the game into an angle, a very trap. They would be compelled to turn upon him, and out of such a thick mass, he could not fail to knock over one. One was all he wanted.

His hopes returned, inspiring him with new vigour; and, uttering a word of encouragement to his horse, he pushed forward.

His ride did not last much longer. Another mile, and it was over.

He had got within five hundred yards of the mountain foot, and less than half that distance from the bucks that still continued to run straight toward the angle of the cliffs. He was now quite sure of a shot. In less than a minute, the herd would be compelled either to stop, or turn back, and meet him in the teeth.

It was time to get his rifle in readiness; and as he intended to fire into the thick mass, he took several small bullets from his pouch, and hastily dropped them into the barrel. He then looked to his percussion-cap, to make sure that all was right. It was so. The copper was properly adjusted on the nipple.

He cocked his gun, and once more looked forward to the game. Not an antelope was in sight!

Where were they? Had they sprung up the mountain? Impossible! The precipice could not be scaled? Impossible! Even had they done so, they would still have been seen upon the mountain face. They were not in sight, not one of them! The hunter reined up, his gun dropped back to the withers of his horse, his jaws fell, and for some moments he sat with parted lips, and eyes glaring in wonderment.

Had he been of a superstitious nature, he might have been troubled with some painful feelings at that moment. But he was not superstitious. Although for a moment or two he could not feel otherwise than astonished at it, he knew there was some natural cause for the “sudden and mysterious disappearance” of the bucks.

He did not pause long in doubt, but proceeded at once to the proper quarter for an explanation. The tracks of the herd guided him to that, and after riding three hundred yards further, the mystery was explained to his full and complete satisfaction.

The angle, after all, was not an angle, for the apex was wanting. There was a “thoroughfare” without the slightest obstruction. Although at a short distance the converging cliffs appeared to impinge upon each other, there was an opening between them – a narrow pass that like an isthmus connected the plain over which the chase had gone, with another and very similar one that stretched away on the other side of the mountains. The blesboks must have known it well enough, else they would not have run so direct for the false angle in the cliffs. Hendrik trotted up the pass to convince himself that it was no cul-de-sac. After going a few hundred yards, the isthmus widened again, and he saw to his chagrin the violet backs of the bucks far off upon the plain that stretched beyond.

Overcome with disappointment and chagrin, he flung himself from his saddle, and staggering a few paces, sat down upon a boulder of rock. He did not even stop to fasten his horse, but, dropping the bridle over his neck, left the froth-covered and panting steed to himself.

Chapter Twenty Nine.

Hendrik Chased by the Keitloa

Hendrik’s feelings at that moment were not to be envied. His reflections were sharply bitter. He felt mortified and humiliated. He wished he had never set eyes upon a blesbok. A sorry figure would he cut on his return to camp. He had laughed heartily at Hans and Arend. They would reciprocate that laugh, and add interest. He had ridiculed the idea of Groot Willem. Groot would not fail to pay back his scorn.

Besides, he had done his horse no good; perhaps had injured the animal. There stood he, with steaming nostrils and heaving flanks, quite used up. They were nearly twelve miles from camp. He would scarce be able to carry his rider back, and Hendrik even began to entertain doubts about his way.

The thought that he might have lost himself was just entering his mind, when his reflections were interrupted by a sound that caused him to start up from that rock, as nimbly as he had ever risen from a seat in his life.