Chapter THE TENTH: Driving Sheep to Market (1)

"I say, Halliday, you're in clover here," said Ferrier, as the two sat smoking in the bungalow after Said Mohammed had made their hearts glad with a capital dinner. "My grandfather made his pile ranching in Manitoba, and you'll do the same here."

John laughed. "We're not paying our way at present," he said, "and I know my father grudged the money for his passage home again so soon. He'll grudge it still more now that his journey has turned out useless, and there are doctors' bills to pay in the bargain."

The two young men had exchanged confidences during the latter part of their march to the farm. Charles Ferrier's father had been called to the Canadian bar, but he had never practised, his fortune being sufficient to keep him and his family in something more than comfort, and to pay for the sporting expeditions which were his real interest in life. Charles, who was twenty years old, had just come down from the McGill university, and his father had brought him to East Africa to "give him a run," as he put it, before he settled down to work.

"And his ambition for me was that I should enter the Canadian legislature," said he, with a wry face. "It's not work much after my mind; I'd prefer ranching like my grandfather. Poor father! D'you think I ought to stick to his notion now that he's gone?"

"I think every man should follow his own bent," said John. "The mischief is we mayn't know till it's too late what our bent is. For instance, I like this life out here, but I don't know I'll succeed at it, and some day I may eat my heart out because I didn't take up law, as my father wished. He's a good sort, and didn't urge it. Well, khansaman, what is it?" he asked, as Said Mohammed entered.

"Entreating your pardon, sir, Coja has made a discovery and is in an excessive state of amazement, jolly well flabbergasted, as it were. He declares that when you went on donkeys to visit the honourable gent you took three rifles marked with initials D.H., but lo! when he examines the weapons brought back, he finds four. Q.E.D."

"That's rum, certainly," said John. "How did one of our rifles get into the hands of your men, Ferrier? We took three, as Coja says. Your messenger had one."

"I don't know. Wait a bit, though: didn't you bring three rifles into camp? Of course: you took one from the man you half throttled outside our boma. But how could that be marked with your initials?"

"Tell Coja to bring it here, khansaman," said John. "I've a suspicion, Ferrier; we'll soon prove it."

When Coja brought the rifle, John examined it carefully. It was a Snider.

"It's as I thought, Ferrier," he said. "This is one of the rifles run off with by those porters of ours--the sweeps! I don't like the look of it. Looks as though they've started an organized band of freebooters. We shall have to report this at Fort Hall or Nairobi; perhaps you'll do that. I suppose you'll be off to-morrow to get that arm of yours properly attended to."

"That's all right. It's beginning to heal, rather slowly though, and if you can put up with me for a few days I'd like to stay here. Food and rest is what I want more than doctors. Besides, if your deserters have joined that pack of savages they may make a raid on you, and I'll be of some use, even left-handed."

"No, sah," said Coja, "bad man no come all dis way. Juma and dem debbils, oh yes! but not de Embe, oh no! dey never live for come long way."

"Coja's right, Ferrier," said John. "By all accounts no natives will go raiding more than twenty miles from their village, except the Masai, and we haven't to deal with them. Juma and his Swahilis might come if they dared, but they won't venture without support. That'll do, Coja. How's your shoulder, by the way?"

"Jolly fine, sah. Bill him give me stuff to put on, berry good magic."

"There you are, Ferrier," cried John, laughing. "We've got a doctor on the spot. Bill is a Wanderobbo we've made friends with, a little old man who lives by himself and tells fairy-tales about a wonderful store of ivory belonging to him in an enemy's country. He's by way of being a herbalist, too, it appears. We'll have a look at his 'berry good magic' by and by."

The magic turned out to be a decoction of herbs which Bill had smeared on Coja's wound, binding it up with leaves. He begged the new msungu to make a trial of it, and Ferrier after some hesitation consented. His wound healed more rapidly after the application, and Bill was delighted with the present of a few cents--without doubt the first doctor's fee he had ever earned.

Ferrier remained for the present at the farm, his healthy constitution soon reasserting itself after the strain of his recent experiences. His father's death had left him his own master. He had an only sister living with an aunt at Toronto, and he wrote to her and to the family lawyers, relating what had happened, but saying nothing of his intentions. The letters were entrusted to his porters, whom he dismissed with the exception of three. On reaching Nairobi, the men would take the train to Kisumu, and reach their homes in Uganda by steamer across the Victoria Nyanza.

It was more than a month since John had heard from his father. A few days after Ferrier's arrival he received a note which made him very angry.

"I'm on the mend. Doctor says my leg couldn't have healed better if I were ten years younger. Cousin Sylvia has been very good. Insists on making reparation for the damage (financial and physical) she has done me. 'Twas _her_ chauffeur, and _her_ motor-car, and so on. Upshot is that as you're getting on so well I'm inclined to accept her invitation of a run through the Continent. Will let you know when I sail. Cousin Sylvia sends her love.

"P.S. Glad to hear you got the lambing over well. Be sure and _don't wean them too soon_."

This apparently innocent note made John furious.

"You see what it is!" he cried, striding up and down the room. "That woman's got hold of him, and she'll marry him, and all our plans will be spoilt by an old--old--I don't know what to call her. Sends her love, indeed!"

Seeing that John was in a passion, Ferrier wisely said nothing, and the storm presently blew over.

The presence of Ferrier at the farm solved John's difficulty about the sheep and calves. He had rather more than 800 lambs altogether, of which 450 rams were for sale, and might be expected to fetch about L90. He had also fifteen calves, which might realize L1 each, and the L105 thus gained would relieve his present anxieties and go far towards defraying the second year's expenses. In addition to these, there was a considerable weight of cheese to be taken to market. He had become so chummy with Ferrier that he did not hesitate to mention to him the difficulty about transporting the animals.

"There's no difficulty at all," said the Canadian at once. "Take them yourself. I'll stay here while you are gone. A rest will do me all the good in the world. You must certainly leave a white man in charge, and I've come in the nick of time."

"It's jolly of you," said John. "I'd accept your offer in a moment if it weren't for those blackguards who stole our rifles. It would be hard lines on you if they came and attacked you while I was away."

"They won't do it. You told me yourself that you'd sent Bill out to see if he could discover their whereabouts, and he didn't hear anything of them. Besides, if they do come we can defend ourselves. They didn't show any eagerness to come to very close quarters with us, and I don't doubt for a moment that with my men and yours--I suppose the Indians can handle a rifle on occasion?--we could beat them off."

"Very well, then: I'll chance it. I'll take Wasama and three men from the village: his boy can look after the cattle here. I shall have to hire another Masai to help when I get back: there's too much work for two now. You'll find Bill a great help; I wish he would come and live here, but he's an independent old boy and won't leave his little hut in the wood."

"Hadn't you better take him with you? Four men won't be enough for the job. You must carry food and a tent, you know."

"I didn't mean to take a tent. Why not camp in the open?"

"You'd be rather sorry if it happened to rain."

"But the rains aren't due for another month," objected John, looking at his almanac.

"I dare say not, but they may start a bit earlier, and if you think you're going to get all those beasts to Nairobi in a week, or even two, you're mistaken. Remember the streams to cross and the thorn bush to get through. And you'll have to put a boma round the whole lot every night, and that will be a long job with so few men. You'll need twenty at the very least, my boy, so make up your mind for it. Ask Wasama."

John had in fact felt some misgiving lest the party he proposed to take should not be strong enough to guard the animals against wild beasts, or natives who chanced to be hostile or predatory; but he was so anxious to economize that he had stilled his doubts. When Wasama backed up Ferrier's point, he yielded to the inevitable, and engaged fifteen more men in the village. Ferrier insisted on his taking the three Uganda men he had retained out of his safari, because they were not only trained porters, but very fair shots. John wished he had a horse to ride, or at least a mule, not caring about donkey-rides: but Ferrier chaffed him on his singular regard for appearances, and he decided at last to mount the best of the donkeys.

One fine September day the safari set off, numbering twenty in all. Coja was very much depressed at not being able to accompany his master, but his wound was not yet sufficiently healed. The start was watched by the whole community, and as John rode off in the rear of the caravan he felt sure he heard Said Mohammed's high-pitched voice quote, "The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea," and proceed to a recitation of the Elegy.

John had had an inkling of the difficulties of droving, but the reality turned out to be immeasurably worse than the anticipation. The animals, being young, could not be driven hard; their pace at the best was two miles an hour, and often less than one, and as frequent halts were necessary, the longest day's march did not exceed eight miles. The obstacles which had given only amusement or excitement on the journey from Nairobi caused exasperation now. There were many streams to cross, and it was often difficult to induce the sheep to face them. Sometimes they were almost invisible in the long grass, and when they came among thorny bush, the men had to use their knives freely in hacking a path for the beasts, causing hours of delay. For the first week all went fairly well. The bleating of the sheep attracted hyenas, but by dint of great vigilance and activity they were kept off, and only two sheep were seized. In crossing one stream Wasama had a narrow escape from the jaws of a crocodile; but the water in most ran so low after the dry season that it was easy to examine the beds and avoid danger of this kind.

On the eighth night, however, John was awakened by the pattering of rain on his tent. It poured in torrents, and when he got up in the morning he found half-a-dozen sheep stretched lifeless on the sodden earth. It was still raining at the usual time for starting, and the animals could not be induced to move, but turned their backs to the wind and huddled together in a compact mass. The weather cleared about ten o'clock, and then a start was made; but the safari had only been an hour on the road when another downpour checked them. So it continued all day--drenching rain, with brief intervals of sunshine. John persevered, taking advantage of every bright period to move on a little farther; but when the rain finally ceased in the evening he found that during the whole laborious day he had not covered more than about three miles. Some of the sheep had lagged terribly, and it was quite dark when the last of them came into camp, and before they could all be got within the boma a couple of hyenas sprang among them out of the surrounding bush and killed several.

This was only the beginning of trouble. It rained nearly every night, and every night some of the sheep died. The streams were much swollen and flowed so swiftly that it was only with the utmost difficulty that the men prevented the animals from being washed away. One river took two hours to cross, each individual animal having to be passed over from hand to hand. At another the current was so rapid that it seemed hopeless to attempt to cross it at all, until John, with a good deal of risk, managed to swim over slantwise with a rope, which he fastened to a tree on the further bank. With the help of this, every man and beast was got across safely, but with such an expenditure of labour that all were thoroughly exhausted. That night, to add to John's misfortunes, his donkey was killed by a hyena, and he was in a state of miserable depression when he started to resume his journey.

The one satisfactory feature of the march was that the natives met _en route_ had been friendly. The food was exhausted when the safari had been ten days on the road, but they had no difficulty in purchasing muhindi or cassava at the villages. John's rifle provided all necessary meat, and at one stream he shot a crocodile, the flesh of which was highly prized by his men. But the very friendliness of the people became a source of anxiety. They offered their services in helping to drive the animals, and at the end of a day when they had apparently been very useful, John found that six sheep had mysteriously disappeared. He blamed Wasama for not warning him of the thievish propensities of the volunteer drovers, much to the surprise of the Masai, who said he thought everybody knew that a man would take what he could get if he had the chance. After that, John refused all assistance, however generously it was pressed upon him, and kept a sharp eye on the natives who hung about the flanks of the safari. With all his vigilance he lost a dozen more sheep and a fine bull calf by theft, and he began despairingly to wonder whether he would have any animals left by the time he arrived in Nairobi.

But everything comes to an end. One day, nearly four weeks after leaving the farm, he caught sight of the chimney-stack of the Nairobi locomotive works in the distance. Five hours later he trudged wearily into the town, conscious that he presented a deplorable and disreputable appearance. His clothes were torn and dirty; the sole of his right boot had parted from the upper and flapped as he walked, while that of the left boot had gone altogether, and he trod on his sock. He felt thoroughly knocked up, and after he had seen his animals safely penned, he could hardly drag himself to Mr. Gillespie's house. To his surprise nobody in the streets seemed to pay the least attention to his appearance; he supposed that such sights were not uncommon; and Mr. Gillespie did not start back with the look of horror which in his self-consciousness John had expected. The coffee-planter greeted him warmly, but had no sooner taken him to his room than he whipped out a clinical thermometer and stuck it into John's mouth.

"Thought so," he said, when he examined it. "You've a touch of fever, and no wonder. You'll go straight to bed, my boy. We'll have a talk in the morning."

After a hot bath, John was tucked up between the blankets and dosed with quinine by Mrs. Gillespie, and he fell asleep with a happiness and a sense of security to which he seemed to have been a stranger for years.

He was better in the morning, but Mr. Gillespie would not allow him to quit his bed.

"You just leave it to me," he said when John protested that he must see about selling his animals. "I'll go and take a look at them. You won't sell them for a day or two: they'll be all the better for a rest. I've just heard from your father, by the way. He's a gay old dog, upon my word, gadding about on the Continent. You must have written glowing accounts of the farm, or he'd have been back before this. I dare say there's a letter for you by the same mail: you'll find it when you get back. And how do you like ranching, eh?"

They had a long talk, and Mr. Gillespie said he thought he had done very well for the first year. He laughed when John related the incidents of his march.

"You'll get used to it," he said. "It's rather disheartening at first, but you may think yourself lucky the natives didn't bother you. When I first came out here ten years ago I had a running fight with one of the tribes for a week, and lost practically everything I possessed. Things are safer now."

John told him about the desertion of Juma with the rifles, and the plight from which he had rescued Ferrier.

"That's unpleasant," said Mr. Gillespie. "If you take my advice you'll go back by way of Fort Hall and report to the District Commissioner. He may be disposed to send a company of the Protectorate police to deal with the ruffians. I'm afraid it's not a big enough job for the King's African Rifles. Probably they won't trouble you again, however. Their ammunition will soon be exhausted, and they can't get any more."

John remained in Nairobi for a week. He found that he had lost fifty-two sheep and one calf, besides his donkey; but Mr. Gillespie said that the animals were a healthy lot, and handed over 1500 rupees as the proceeds of the sale. The cheese fetched 100 rupees. John banked the greater part of the money, keeping a little to buy new clothes for himself, a few articles for the farm, and a fresh stock of "trade" for the payment of his native workers. Then, feeling that Ferrier might be growing uneasy at his long absence, he set off one day with his safari on the return journey, feeling pretty well satisfied with the tangible result of his first year's labours.

He went by way of Fort Hall, as Mr. Gillespie had suggested. He found it to be only a fort in the sense in which that word was used to describe the stations of the Hudson's Bay Company in the Far North. A substantial house perched on a hill, with a solid stone wall and a ditch around it, the flag of the Protectorate flying from a staff in the compound, a few huts and houses, a jail, and an Indian bazaar: that was Fort Hall. The Commissioner received him hospitably, and listened attentively to his story.

"Well, Mr. Halliday," he said, "the tribesmen certainly ought to be taught a lesson: in fact, they clearly have been taught a lesson. I don't know that I can do anything. I got your message, of course, but had no men available. You see, we don't care to start police expeditions if we can avoid it. It means great expense, and we want all our funds for peaceful development. Of course if you hadn't already given them a dressing we should have had to do something; but I fancy you've given them a fright, and they won't bother you again. You're rather far away, and a few years ago you would have had a very hot time there; but there are signs all over the country that the natives are settling down peaceably under our government, and the moral effect of the crushing of the Masai rebellion has been enormous. Let me know at once if you have any further trouble."

The interview left John with the impression that he could expect little assistance from the officials. In this he probably did them an injustice. It is not altogether harmful that the settler should be self-reliant.

CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH--Rhinoceros and Lions

"I'm jolly glad you're back, old man," said Ferrier, as John marched in one day at the head of his safari. "Began to think you were lost. How did you get on?"

"Splendidly," said John, cheerful after his quick journey home. "That is, pretty well; in fact" (as his memory and his sense of veracity awoke) "I had the rottenest time I ever had in my life. That sounds a bit of a muddle, I know, but I'll tell you all about it presently. How have things been going here?"

"Splendidly: that is, pretty well; and I'm glad you're back in time to prevent me from having the rottenest time I've ever had in my life. It's just short of that at present."

"What! Have those blackguards been bothering you?"

"Worse! Lions!"

"Oh! Is that it? I don't know that they're worse than the natives, though."

"Yes, they are, because it doesn't come to a fair stand-up fight. They're cowardly, skulking brutes, and so disgustingly clever."

John laughed at Ferrier's aggrieved tone and look.

"Well, I'll get a bath and a feed, and then we'll talk it over," he said. "I hope our people have behaved well?"

"Oh yes! Lulu has been a mother to me--at a distance, of course; and Said Mohammed has been a delight three times a day. But go and get your bath; you'll stand here talking for ever."

Half-an-hour later John, having changed into a suit of white drill, was sitting at table with Ferrier in the little dining-room of the bungalow. It struck him as rather bare and cold-looking after Mr. Gillespie's comfortable rooms, and he resolved, if things went well the second year, to buy a few bits of furniture.

"It wants a woman, you know," said Ferrier. "She'd rig up some curtains and make things look cheerful in no time. But you'll never get a woman to live among lions."

"Verree true, sir--excuse the liberty," remarked Said Mohammed, as he handed the fish. "A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing; for there is not a more fearful wild-fowl than your lion living."

"That's how he goes on," said Ferrier, exploding when the Bengali had gone for the joint. "That's Shakespeare; next time it'll be Milton."

"Did Shakespeare write that rubbish about the wild-fowl?"

"Why, that's the excellent Nick Bottom in _Midsummer Night's Dream_!"

"Never read it: we only did _Julius Caesar_ and _Henry V_. But tell me what's happened."

"Nothing, for three weeks, except rain. My word, didn't it come down! I'm sorry to say some of the sheep died until we thought of covering them up at night. But a week ago I heard a lion roaring in the night, and in the morning a calf was gone. Last night it was two sheep. The boma's not a bit of good to keep them out. Why don't you put up some wire fencing?"

"It's expensive, but I will by and by."

"The lion got clear away the first time, but last night I was roused by the commotion among the animals, and managed to get a shot as he was slinking off: it was bright moonlight. I'm afraid I missed: my right arm isn't fit for much even yet. I wanted Bill to go and hunt him with me; but he wouldn't. I suppose he won't visit us again now you've come back: Coja said he's sure the lion's an afreet, which is devil, I suppose, and knows when the coast is clear."

"I rather fancy he finds other game scarce in this rainy weather. It's much easier to break into the boma than to hunt game in the open, and I expect now that he's tasted blood again and got back his confidence we shall have some more trouble. We shall have to tackle him."

"If you excuse me, sir," put in Said Mohammed, so respectfully that John could not resent the indiscretion, "I will tell you of the machinations of my prophetic soul my uncle. He has a small property in the Sunderbunds; choice site, excellent amenities, et cetera. There lurks the tiger, tiger burning bright. In my childhood innocence I resided with my avuncular relative, and he being a great shikari I saw some A1 sport. I should esteem it a privilege to be allowed to give you a leg up in hunting the abominable creature. The sahibs in general have derogatory opinion of us Bengalis; but I am a Socialist, gentlemen, in so far as believing in equality of chances, and I am cocksure that if only I get a look in I shall prove to demonstration that I am full of both grit and beans."

"All right, khansaman, I'll give you a rifle and you shall come with us when we go after the beast. It may be rather exciting."

"A regular beano," said Ferrier, sotto voce. "But I want to hear all about your droving, Halliday."

John gave him a running account of his experiences, which were more amusing in retrospect than in actuality. They spent the rest of the day in going over the farm together. John was very well pleased with the signs of progress he saw everywhere. The sheep and cattle looked healthy; the second crops were in good condition; and the only failures among all the vegetables he had planted were the onions and artichokes, which had produced too much stalk and gave no indication of fruiting.

That night a lion broke in and carried off a ram. John was too late to get a shot at the beast, and next day was too much occupied about the farm to go in search of it. But when Wasama came in with the sheep, somewhat earlier than usual, and reported that he had seen a black-maned lion with his mate on the edge of the bush, John determined to go out after them at once. It was the first time lions had been seen by day, and this sign of growing boldness convinced him that it was high time to attempt reprisals. He was accompanied by Ferrier and Said Mohammed with two of the Baganda, but by the time they reached the bush the lions had disappeared, leaving, however, a trace of their depredations in the freshly-picked bones of the stolen sheep. Roars were again heard at night, and John kept watch with Ferrier in anticipation of another visit; but as had happened before, no lions appeared, and they turned in towards morning very much disgusted.

Next day John sent for Bill and asked him to lead them over the track of the lions. Meat was required for the larder, and he had determined to combine game-shooting with a lion hunt. News of his arrangements was carried to the village by one of the women working on the farm, and just as he was setting off, a dozen men arrived and begged to be allowed to join the party, their motive being probably a desire for excitement mingled with the hope of sharing the spoils. John's policy being to keep on good terms with them, he made no objection, and shortly after ten the party set off, consisting of the two white men with Bill, Said Mohammed (very proud in the possession of a rifle), and the three Baganda, the villagers following at a distance.

Business coming before sport, Bill led the party along the river-bank where he expected to find the tracks of animals which had come down to drink. The proximity of the farm had had the effect of scaring antelopes and gazelles and the timider animals away from the neighbourhood. Already John had had to go farther afield for game than in the early days of the farm a year before. The Wanderobbo found his way among the dense vegetation by following old hippo paths, which crossed and recrossed in what seemed to the wasungu hopeless confusion. But he came after some miles to a region where there was an abrupt gap in the larger trees: a fairly wide and recent hippo path led through the tall grass on the crest of the river-bank; and the party began to be on the alert for game.

Suddenly Bill halted and took a backward leap which nearly landed him in the arms of John.

"Faro! faro!" he cried excitedly, and on John asking where the rhinoceros was, he pointed a few yards ahead, where, almost hidden by the grass, lay a huge bull animal right across the path, and apparently asleep. The white men had brought only their double-barrelled rifles, which were not the best of weapons for shooting rhinoceros, and John, having no licence for such big game, though Ferrier had, ordered the natives to shout, hoping that this would scare the beast away. When it remained unmoved he went to the river-bank on the right, and breaking off some clods of earth, flung them at the slumberous creature, which completely blocked the way. But this proving ineffectual ("It's like shooting peas at a Dreadnought" said John) there was nothing for it but to try a rifle shot.

Ferrier went forward, cocked his rifle and fired, aiming at the brain; but though he was ordinarily a dead shot, his right arm had not yet fully recovered, and he missed. The rhinoceros was now thoroughly awake; snorting angrily, he sprang to his feet with extraordinary nimbleness for so unwieldy a brute, and after a glance round came charging full at Ferrier. He fired his second barrel, and this time hit; but the shot had no effect except to make the beast more furious, and Ferrier turned and bolted for his life. All the other members of the party except John had turned tail and fled away shrieking at the first moment of the animal's rising. John, licence or no licence, let fly with both barrels in rapid succession; whether he hit or not he could not tell; certainly he failed to check the charging beast, which made with lowered head straight for Ferrier.

All this had happened in a few seconds. Ferrier was running hard, but it was clear that the rhinoceros must soon overtake him, and John knew that one blow from those terrible horns would inflict a fatal gash. His hand shaking with nervous anxiety, he reloaded, but when he lifted the rifle to his shoulder he saw that he could not strike a fatal spot, the animal being directly between him and his friend. He ran after them, hoping for some chance to give him a shot. At this moment Ferrier became aware that the rhinoceros was almost within tossing distance, and leaving the path made a sudden swerve to the right, plunging into the long grass. The animal immediately turned to pursue him, for the first time presenting his flank to John. It was a ticklish moment. John knew that his friend's life probably depended on his coolness. He steadied himself, took aim at a spot behind the beast's shoulder, and fired. He heard the thud of the bullet, but for a moment feared it had not penetrated the tough hide. The rhinoceros made a half-turn as if to charge his new assailant, and John, glad that he had at least diverted the pursuit from Ferrier, was preparing to fire his second barrel when the great form staggered, recovered itself, made two tottering strides, and then fell over on its side.

The air was rent with jubilant shouts as the natives emerged from their hiding-places in the grass and ran towards the prostrate beast. They started back in affright when it made a last convulsive effort to rise. John put it out of pain with another shot, and the natives surrounded it and immediately set about cutting it up.

"Thanks, old man," said Ferrier, coming up. "That's the second time."

"I say, what's the penalty for shooting a rhino without a licence?" cried John, to cover his embarrassment.

"The same as if you shot an armed burglar breaking into your house: the thanks of every honest man for ridding the world of a villain."

Said Mohammed, who had watched the incident from a safe distance, wondered that two young men should talk so strangely at a time when they ought to have been overcome with emotion. That is the English way. John had once seen M. Perrichon in the play fling his arms round his preserver's neck and weep with gratitude. "What sickening rot!" he had said. "Come and have an ice."

While the natives were cutting up the rhinoceros, the others marched on. They had no need to shoot more for the larder; there was at least a ton of meat on the huge carcase, which would last for several days. It was now a question of finding the track of lions. John went ahead with Bill, Ferrier walking with Said Mohammed a few yards behind. The Bengali was talking, and his high-pitched voice carried well in the crisp, clear air. John heard him say--

"In my humble opinion, sir, backed by inestimable experience in the Sunderbunds, it was deplorable error of judgment to bunk. My uncle, sir, on that never-to-be-forgotten occasion when I shed the light of my countenance on his tiger-hunt, he put the tiger to dumbfounder and flight--how, sir? By standing firm as a rock, 'without or life or motion,' as the poet Coleridge beautifully says, and staring with unflinching gaze into the opposing optics. Moreover and in addition, he recited with unfaltering lips the words of a charm he had learnt from some old cock of a jogi--you have no word for that in your lovely lingo, sir, but, without disrespect, I might say parson. Tableau! Exit tiger. Triumph of mind over matter. 'He held him with his glittering eye,' et cetera."

"'The man recovered from the bite,
The dog it was that died,'"

quoted Ferrier.

"Oliver Goldsmith, sir," cried the Bengali delightedly, "who wrote like an angel but talked like poor Poll. I esteem it a glorious privilege to hold communion, even in humble capacity of cook and bottle-washer, with gentleman of literary taste and elegant extracts."

The river-bank had descended until the path was almost level with the surface of the water, and passed several patches of reeds which Bill negotiated warily, saying that any one of them might harbour a lion. The white men followed him with growing excitement, and John confessed he felt rather nervous, not knowing but that a lion might at any moment spring up at their feet. He stole a glance at Said Mohammed, and exchanged a smile with Ferrier as he saw that the cook looked decidedly jumpy. Far in the rear came the villagers, eager not to miss the sport, and yet fearful to approach too near.

All at once Bill halted and bent towards the ground. There were the unmistakable pug marks. Following the track with his eyes, but without moving from the spot, after a few moments he stretched out his spear towards a clump of trees about a hundred yards ahead, whispering, "Simba!" Neither John nor Ferrier could at first distinguish the lion, but presently two lionesses sprang out of the undergrowth, and made off with long low bounds across the plain. For a moment the white men watched their graceful movements with admiration, forgetting that these were the pests they had come out to slay. Then they set off in pursuit. But they had not advanced three paces when a huge black-maned lion showed his head among the bushes, snarling angrily. He stared at the strangers for a moment or two, then turned with another growl and trotted after his mates.

"Come along," said John excitedly. "We can't get a fair shot at him yet."

They set off at a run, not troubling about Bill or Said Mohammed, who followed at a discreet distance. They gained on the beast, but after running some three hundred yards found themselves rather short of wind, owing to the fact that they were in rarefied air at least 6000 feet above sea-level.

"We shall spoil our aim if we get puffed," said Ferrier. "Better go slow."

At this moment, however, the lion halted behind a tree, as if to check the pursuit of the lionesses, and stood watching the huntsmen, growling in a very threatening way. He seemed disinclined to budge, so John lay down on the path, and bringing his rifle to his shoulder, covered the huge head.

"Confound it, look how my hand wobbles," he whispered to Ferrier. "I can't fix the sight on him. Be ready to shoot if I miss or just sting him, for he'll fly at us like the wind."

He steadied his arm and pulled the trigger. The fierce head instantly dropped out of sight, and the air was filled with such appalling roars that John hastily fired the second barrel, in the hope of finishing the beast before he could charge. He had to aim by guess-work, and fired half-a-dozen shots before the roaring ceased.

"Now the others," cried John, shouting to the Wanderobbo to keep his eye on the spot.

He ran forward with Ferrier towards the lionesses, which had halted a quarter of a mile away, and could just be seen above the grass. At the men's approach they cantered off, and though the chase was kept up for nearly a mile, they always got to cover before the pursuers came within effective range, and finally disappeared among a large patch of reeds by the river, whence it was hopeless to attempt to dislodge them.

"Better luck next time," said John, as they retraced their steps. "You shall have first shot, Charley."

Returning towards the spot where the lion had been shot, they found that Bill had deserted his post. He was standing in the middle of the path with Said Mohammed, a good hundred yards away from any bushes or trees. The natives were chattering at a little distance.

"Why didn't you do as I told you?" cried John, vexed at the possibility of having lost his quarry.

"Conscience made a coward of him, I fear, sir," said Said Mohammed.

"Well, go and see if you can find the lion. Get the natives to help. I don't know which tree it was we shot him at," he added to Ferrier, "but I'm not going back without his head."

The party split up and made a systematic search, the natives beating the bush and long grass thoroughly with their spears. At last one of them shouted that he had found the simba, instantly running away from the spot at the top of his speed. There was no growling to be heard, however, so plucking up his courage he returned to the place with his comrades. When John reached them, he found the men grouped a yard or two from the lion's tail, jabbering in much excitement. The beast was stretched on his side, but John was surprised to see by the heaving of his flanks that he was not yet dead. Judging that the chatter of the men would have roused him if he had been able to rise, John went towards his head, but the moment the lion caught sight of him he uttered a terrible roar and to John's amazement sprang to his feet. Stepping hastily backward, John stumbled against Said Mohammed, who, believing like every one else that the beast was helpless, had become bold. The Bengali went down like a ninepin. John recovered his footing with an effort, and raising his rifle, fired at the lion at a range of four yards; but he was too hurried and agitated to take a careful aim, and the shot merely had the effect of throwing the infuriated animal on his haunches as he prepared to spring.

All this had happened so quickly that Ferrier, who had been beating the bush in the opposite direction from John, had not yet come up. The sudden flight of the villagers apprised him that something was wrong, and as he hurried to the spot he was horrified at the sight that met his gaze. Man and beast seemed only a yard apart. He dared not shoot for fear of hitting John, and seeing that the shot had but momentarily checked the animal, he had given up his friend for lost when, as by a miracle, a sudden diversion occurred. The lion was leaping on John, who fired his second barrel with shaking hand and missed, when Said Mohammed scrambled to his feet and flew down the path, shrieking at the top of his voice. As if supposing that this white-clad yelling creature was his worst enemy, the lion changed the direction of his spring, almost grazing John as he fell, and bounded off after the Bengali, with such enormous leaps that escape seemed impossible. John hastily reloaded and fired, but he was trembling from head to foot; a mist seemed to rise before his eyes; and his shot went very wide of the mark. By the time Ferrier reached his side the chase seemed over; they thought that nothing could save the unlucky Indian. But when almost within the brute's clutches, Said Mohammed with the desperation of terror made a sudden jump to the right towards the river, as if intending to fling himself into it. The lion swerved after him, presenting his flank to the anxious spectators. Quick as thought Ferrier raised his rifle and, just as the beast was midway in his final spring, brought him down with a bullet through the heart.

John heaved a deep sigh of relief.

"Good man!" he said. "But what on earth is the fellow up to?"

Next moment both he and Ferrier were shaking their sides with laughter, almost hysterical now that the tension was relaxed. The Bengali, too much overcome with terror to be aware of his safety, was scrambling up a thorn tree with an agility that would have done credit to a slimmer man. Up he went, frantically swinging himself from bough to bough. Half way up he lost his puggaree, snatched from his head by a long spike, and every stage of his ascent was marked by little bits of his white cotton dhoti left clinging to the branches. For some moments John was helpless with laughter, but at last he managed to shout to Said Mohammed to come down, for the beast was dead. The shout only made him climb the faster, nor did he stop until he was perched on the topmost branch, his white robe flapping in tatters about him. Nothing would induce him to budge until the lion's head had been cut off, to be carried back to the farm as a trophy. Then he descended, much more slowly than he had mounted, and with a piteous effort to regain his dignity that was too much for John and Ferrier, who turned their backs so that he should not see their amusement.

These excitements were considered enough for one day, and the party set off for home, the natives carrying the lion's head and shouting a song of triumph. John said nothing to Said Mohammed until he thought his composure was restored. Then he said--

"I owe you my life, khansaman. It was very plucky of you to draw the lion after you, and I shan't forget it.--Shut up!" he whispered to Ferrier, who emitted a sort of gurgle.

A gratified smile stole across the Bengali's face.

"I am quite bucked, sir," he said. "Your words are sweeter than honey. When your honoured parent returns to this vale of woe, my heart will be in my mouth when I say to him: 'Lo! here is your progeny, whom I, Said Mohammed, failed B.A. of Calcutta University, saved from the jaws of the lion. If I had not been on the spot he would have been absolutely up a gum-tree.'"

Ferrier guffawed.

"Why didn't you do as your uncle did in the Sunderbunds?" he asked presently, unable to resist the temptation of a sly dig at the failed B.A.

"The absence of one ingredient, sir, spoils the sauce. It was rotten nuisance, but I forgot _in toto_ the words of the charm."

CHAPTER THE TWELFTH--The Sack of the Farm

At breakfast on the day after the lion-hunt Ferrier, who was silent and seemed embarrassed, said suddenly--

"I say, old boy, d'you know I've been here nearly two months?"

"What! Getting tired of it?" said John, with a smile.

"Not a bit; only--well, to put it straight, I've been here so long that I ought to pay for my keep."

"Rot!"

"I mean it. It's all very well to be your guest for a week or two, and I'm jolly comfortable, but to hang on like this--no, really, I ought to pay something to help keep the pot boiling."

"Now look here, Charles Ferrier, you're a very good sort, but I'm hanged if I stand that. If there's any talk of pay, I ought to pay you for your services. Five weeks in charge while I was droving--name your figure. Rounding up strayed cattle; looking after the natives--how much that lot? You do far more in a day than any hired man, as I believe you call 'em in your part of the world."

"Well, I like it, and I've nothing else to do; in fact, I've a great mind to settle about here myself, and I would, like a shot, if it weren't for Hilda. I'm afraid it wouldn't do to bring her among the lions, as your khansaman said. But here I am, learning all about it on the cheap, and with no responsibility."

"Look here, we'll leave it at that. I'm very glad of your company, to say nothing of your help, and as by the look of it that misguided father of mine has been hooked, and the widow must be rolling in money, I don't suppose we shall see him back here. He'll settle down in Park Lane, and die before his time of overfeeding. You stay on as long as you like, and if you're getting experience, I'm getting your services, so we'll cry quits."

So it was left. The two young fellows shared in the management of the farm. They found their time pretty fully occupied, and a portion of a letter which John wrote to his father a week or two later may be quoted as showing how affairs at the farm were progressing.

The rains have stopped, and I've got all the planting done. I'm trying some radish and rhubarb this season; also carrots, which Mr. Gillespie told me are good for the cattle. By the way, that bull we called Moses because he's fierce, is off his feed; I don't know what's wrong with him, and you might send me Barton's book on common ailments. I don't suppose you'll find a copy in Geneva, or wherever you are now, but if you're not too busy to send a card in London, I dare say I'll get it when Moses is dead.

"That'll touch him up, Charley; he'll think Moses would be all right if he were here."

I bought a few fat-tailed sheep from old Sobersides (the chief of the neighbouring village) the other day. He got them, he says, from a party of Rendili who were driven south of the Waso Nyiro by the drought in their own country. I don't suppose it's true, for Coja tells me the Rendili live a big long way beyond the mountain, and we've seen nothing of them.

Sobersides tells us, too, that a gang of Swahilis have established themselves somewhere north of Kenya, and are raiding the surrounding tribes. As they've got guns, I bet they're that sweep Juma and his crew. That's all we've heard of them since we licked them.

Ferrier is still here; says he's in loco parentis, and won't leave me till you return to your duties. I wonder if you tell the widow's children that you're in loco parentis?

The lions have been quiet lately, since Said Mohammed saved my life; but as the mistris had next to nothing to do and were getting too fat, I have set them to build a stronger boma, of stout poles fastened together with transverse logs. That ought to keep the beasts out; at any rate it will give the place more the look of a respectable stockyard.

I wish you'd ship a few merinos for cross-breeding. Our half-breeds aren't much good for wool. The May lambs were born with long coarse hair, though they grew a poor sort of wool at three months. Wasama doesn't like the woolled sheep; he says they're not like the sheep of his country, and persists in believing that the first woolled beasts were the offspring of lions and hyenas. What ignorance! as old Martha used to say.

Out shooting the other day we saw a herd of zebras, and Ferrier has got a mad idea of catching some of the foals and taming them. We may try it if we come across them again, so don't be surprised if you see us riding to meet you on striped chargers. You, I expect, will be wearing striped trousers, light gloves, and a new silk topper.

The failed B.A. is a perpetual joy. His latest. Ferrier found a hair in his soup the other night. "Accept humble apologies, sir," says Said Mohammed, as he took it away. "In such circs. I can best cheer you up by reminding you of a verse of the little but divine Alexander Pope: 'And beauty draws us with a single hair.'" That may appeal to you, dad.

I hope your leg is all right, and you're enjoying yourself. _I've_ got to work for my living.

One day the younger Masai, who had taken a flock of sheep out to graze at the extreme west of the estate, came rushing in breathless and reported with intense excitement that the sheep had been driven off by some men who had pounced suddenly out of the bush. One was a Swahili, the rest negroes. They had carried him along with them for some distance and then let him go.

"How many were they?" asked John.

"Eight," replied the boy. "One had a gun."

"Which way did they go?"

The boy pointed to the west.

"We can tackle eight, Charley. Coja, saddle up the two best donkeys and bring us our rifles. This is something new, Charley. I wonder if it's our friend Juma again?"

"Rum thing, their letting the boy go, don't you think?" said Ferrier. "They must know we'll be after them, especially if the Swahili is Juma; it's not the first time you've chased him."

"He reckons on getting away, or on our not finding the trail, I suppose. We'll take Bill with us."

But when, riding their donkeys hard, they came to the little hut in the wood, they found that the Wanderobbo was not there.

"He's gone for honey, I suppose," said John. "Never mind; we oughtn't to find it difficult to track sheep."

They set off at full speed, and easily picked up the trail at the place where the marauders had rushed from their hiding-place in the bush. They followed it without difficulty so long as it led across grass country, but lost it for a time soon after they entered the bush, because there were evident signs that a herd of animals larger that sheep had recently forced a way. However, they recovered it again after ten minutes' search, and found from that point that it led in almost a straight line--so straight that John was puzzled.

"I can't make out why they haven't tried to blind their trail and lead us astray," he said. "They must be very cocksure, or else they're trying to ambuscade us. We'd better keep a sharp look-out."

They rode more slowly now, yet at a brisk pace, narrowly examining every specially thick bush as they approached it, and avoiding any clump of woodland that might give cover to the marauders.