On reaching the ridge of one of the undulations of the plain, Hans Marais drew rein and gazed intently towards the distant horizon. At the same time Considine’s horse pricked up its ears, pawed the ground, and exhibited unwonted signs of a desire to advance.

“Hallo, Rob!” exclaimed its master, “what’s wrong with you?”

“Your horse has been gifted by his Maker with a power,” said Hans, “which has been denied to man. He scents water. But before he shall taste it he must help me to procure fresh meat. Do you see the boks on that koppie?”

“Do you mean those white specks like ostrich eggs on the hillock to the right of the big bush?”

“The same. These are springboks. Ride away down by that hollow till you get somewhat in their rear, and then drive them in the direction of that clump of bushes on our left, just under the sun.”

Without waiting for a reply Hans rode off at a gallop, and Considine proceeded to obey orders.

A few minutes sufficed to bring him close to the springboks, which beautiful antelopes no sooner observed him than, after one brief gaze of surprise, they bounded away in the direction of the bushes indicated by Hans,—conscious apparently of their superior fleetness, for they seemed in no great haste, but leaped about as if half in play, one and another taking an occasional spring of six feet or more into the air. As they passed the bushes towards which Considine drove them, a white puff was seen to burst from them, and the huge roer of Hans Marais sent forth its bellowing report. It seemed as if the entire flock of boks had received an electric shock, so high did they spring into the air. Then they dashed off at full speed, leaving one of their number dead upon the plain.

When Considine came up he found that Hans had already disembowelled the springbok, and was in the act of fastening the carcase on his horse behind the saddle. Remounting immediately, the hunter galloped towards a mound, on the top of which the bushes formed a dense brake. Skirting this till he reached the other side, he pulled up, exclaiming—

“There, you’ll find good water in the hollow; go drink, while I prepare supper on the koppie.”

Considine went off at once. Indeed, he could not have done otherwise, for his impatient horse took the bit in its mouth and galloped towards a small pool of water, which was so yellow with mud that it resembled thin pea-soup.

Thirsty though he was, the youth could not help smiling at his new friend’s idea of “good” water, but he was not in a condition to be fastidious. Jumping out of the saddle, he lay down on his breast, dipped his lips into the muddy liquid, and drank with as much enjoyment as if the beverage had been nectar—or Bass. Rob Roy also stood, in a state of perfect bliss, in the middle of the pool, sucking the water in with unwearied vigour. It seemed as if man and horse had laid a wager as to who should drink most. At last, the point of utmost capacity in both was reached, and they retired with a sigh of contentment, Rob Roy to browse on the plain, and his master to betake himself to the encampment on the knoll, where Hans Marais quickly supplied him with glorious steaks of springbok venison.

“Isn’t it an enjoyable thing to eat when one is hungry, eh?” said Considine, after half an hour’s silent devotion to the duty in hand.—“Why, where got you that?”

He referred to an ostrich egg which his companion had taken from a saddle-bag, and in one end of which he was busy boring a hole.

“Found it in the sand just before I found you,” said Hans. “Did you ever eat one?”

“No, never.”

“Well then, you shall do so now, and I’ll show you how the niggers here make an omelet.”

He planted the huge egg in the hot ashes as he spoke, and kept stirring its contents with a piece of stick until sufficiently cooked.

“Not bad,—eh?”

“Glorious!” exclaimed Considine, smacking his lips.

Both youths continued to smack their lips over the egg until it was finished, after which Charlie pronounced it not only a glorious but a satisfying morsel. This was doubtless true, for an ostrich egg is considered equal to twenty-four hen’s eggs.

Returning to the springbok steaks, the half-starved youth continued his repast, while Hans Marais, having finished, extended his huge frame beside the camp-fire, leaned upon his saddle, and smoked his pipe in benignant contemplation of his companion.

“This is pleasant!” said Charlie, pausing, with a sigh, and looking up.

“Ja, it is pleasant,” replied Hans.

“Ja!” repeated Charlie, quoting the Dutch “Yes” of the other; “are you a Dutchman?”

“I am; at least I am a Cape colonist descended from Dutchmen. Why are you surprised?”

“Because,” replied his companion, while he prepared another steak over the embers, “you speak English so well that I could not have known it. How came you to learn the language so perfectly?”

“My father, being wiser than some of his friends and neighbours,” said Hans, “sent me to Capetown to be educated. I suppose that is the reason. We dwelt in the western part of the colony then, and I was the eldest of the family. When a number of us Dutchmen left that part of the country—being disgusted with the Government,—and came up here, my brothers and sister had to be taken from school. This was a pity, for education taught me to know that education is an inestimable blessing—the want of it a heavy misfortune.”

“True,” remarked Considine. But being still too busy with the steaks to pursue the subject he merely added—“Does your father live near this?”

“About seven hours’ ride, which, as I daresay you know, is forty-two miles. You shall go home with me to-morrow.”

“How many are there of you?” asked Considine, looking at the young Dutchman over a bone. “Excuse my being so impolite,” he added, “but d’you know, one feels horribly like a tiger after a two days’ fast.”

“Don’t stand on ceremony,” said the other, with a laugh. “When you are satisfied we can converse. There are fifteen of us: father, mother, sister, and eleven boys besides myself. I’ll tell you about them all after supper; meanwhile I’ll go fetch the horses, for there are lions about, as I daresay you know, and some of them are nearly as ravenous as yourself.”

Hans rose, put his pipe in the band of his broad-brimmed hat, and sauntered heavily out of the thicket.

In a few minutes he returned, leading the horses, and then busied himself in surrounding the camp with an almost impenetrable wall of mimosa-thorn branches, the spikes of which were so tremendous that it seemed as if nothing smaller than an elephant could force its way through. This done, he sat down and quietly refilled his pipe, while Considine, having at last finished his meal, drew the embers of the fire together, disposed his limbs comfortably on the ground, lay back on his saddle, and prepared to enjoy a contemplative gaze at the cheering blaze and an interrogative conversation with his new friend.

“Do you smoke?” asked Hans.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes me sick, and I don’t like it.”

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