Every day something turned up to confirm his suspicions. He had seen the Hottentot sent off, while Willem, Arend, and Hendrik were eating their breakfast inside; and, soon after their departure, he had witnessed the arrival of two white men, who appeared to consider the place their home. Those men, he believed, had been there on the night when the giraffes were missed, and Congo suspected them to be the thieves. He saw them go off again in the direction they had come, equipped as for a hunting expedition, or for some distant journey. He would have followed them, but dared not, lest his doing so might be observed and excite the suspicion of the boer.
Believing that they would not go far that night, he made up his mind to track them on the following morning. Stealing away from the shed, where he slept, he took up their spoor as soon as the first light of day would allow of it, and, following this, he soon saw enough to assure him that his suspicions were correct.
A journey of ten miles brought him amongst some ranges of steep hills, separated from each other by deep, narrow gorges. On ascending to the top of one of these, he perceived a small column of smoke rising from a ravine below.
Throwing his hat upon the ground, and commanding the dog Spoor’em to keep a watch upon it, he stalked forward and soon obtained a view of what was causing the smoke. It was a fire kindled under the shadow of some cameel-doorn trees, as if for the bivouac of hunters.
Judging by two animals that stood tied to the trees, Congo knew that they who had kindled the fire were not hunters, but thieves. The animals in question were giraffes,—young ones,—the same that Congo had been driving before him for some hundreds of miles.
Contrary to his expectations, there appeared to be but one man in charge of them; and that, neither of the two he had seen the evening before at Van Ormon’s. The men he had been tracking must have visited the camp and gone off again. Their absence was but of little consequence. The giraffes were there, and that was all he wanted. He could now go back and guide the real owners to the spot, who would then be able to reclaim their property. Had the two men he had traced to the camp been seated by the fire, he would no doubt have succeeded in accomplishing his plans. But unfortunately they were not.
After noting the topography of the place, so that he might easily recognise it, he turned to depart.
Before proceeding twenty paces on his way, he was startled by the report of a gun. The sound was followed by a howl of pain, which he knew came from the hound Spoor’em. At the same instant, trotting out from some bushes on the brow of the hill, he saw two mounted men. One glance told him they were the men he had seen the evening before it the house of Van Ormon. They were those on whose track he had come. Crouching among the bushes, he endeavoured to avoid being seen; but in this he was unsuccessful.
A shout from one of the men told him that he was discovered, and soon after the hoof-strokes of the galloping horse told that they were rapidly approaching his hiding-place. Though swift of foot, there was no chance for him to escape; for all that, instinct led him to take to his heels. For some distance down hill, which was very steep, he was able to keep in advance of his mounted pursuers. But once on the level ground, the horsemen soon closed upon him, and the chase was brought to an abrupt termination by one of them striking him from behind with the butt of his gun, and rolling him flat upon his face.
Chapter Seventy.
Congo a Captive.
The horsemen pulled up with a shout of exultation.
“What did you stop for?” asked the one who had struck the blow. “Why didn’t you keep on running?” he added with a fiendish laugh, as he leaned over the prostrate body of the Kaffir.
“Yaas, why don’t yer go on to tell where der two cameels be, to der fools whom found um?” asked the other. “Why don’t yer do datch?”
The two men who were addressing the half-unconscious Congo were the same two Willem, Arend, and Hendrik had met the day before,—the men who had directed them to search to the south. One was the brother of Mynheer Van Ormon, the other was his brother-in-law. They were men who had for many years been living on the borders of the colony,—part of their time engaged in fighting Kaffirs and Griquas, and robbing them of their cattle, the other part in trading with the natives for ostrich-feathers and ivory. They had lately returned from an unsuccessful expedition to the north, the object of which had been to procure two young giraffes, in order to obtain the reward or price offered for them by the consul of the Netherlands. On seeing within the kraal of their kinsman Mynheer Van Ormon, the very animals they had sacrificed so much time in vainly searching for, they could not resist the opportunity of appropriating them. Their idea was, to conceal the animals for a few weeks among the hills, until those to whom they properly belonged, giving them up as lost, should return to their homes. The giraffes might then be taken to Cape Town, and disposed of, without the original owners ever knowing anything of the trick that had been played upon them.
Unfortunately for Congo, they had that morning been in search of something for food, and had returned just in time to see him playing spy upon their camp.
“This is the villain who pretended to quarrel with his master and leave him,” said the man who had knocked the Kaffir down. “I told Van Ormon to send him off with the others, but he was sure the fellow did not wish to assist them, and could not if he would. By his folly our game has been nearly lost. We’ve just been in time; but what are we to do with the black brute, now that we’ve caught him?”
“Kill him!” replied the other, who was the brother of Van Ormon. “He mus never got to de white mens. Dey would come and rob us all.”
“Very likely. Some people are bad enough to do anything; but I have half killed this fellow already,—you may do your share, and finish him, if you like.”
“No Shames; as you pegins this little job, it is besh you finish it yourself.”
Bad as were the two ruffians into whose hands Congo had fallen, neither of them liked to give him the coup de grace, and, undecided what else to do with him, they tied his hands behind his back.
He was then assisted to his feet, and, reeling like a drunken man, was led towards their camp.
Congo soon began to recover from the effects of the blow, and became sensible of the danger he was in. By their talk, he could tell that they intended putting him out of the way. From their savage looks and gestures he could see there was but little hope of his life being spared. His captors would not dare to let him escape. He had learned too much to be allowed to live. No assistance could be expected from his master and companions. They were waiting for him far-away.
“Is this the game you have brought back?” exclaimed the man sitting over the camp-fire, as the others came up dragging their captive after them.
“Yes, and as you are the cook, you must dress it for our dinners,” replied he who answered to the name of “Shames.”
“Well, why don’t you tell me what this means?” interrogated the first.
“Only this: we have caught a spy. We have been tracked by him to this place. But there’s no great harm done yet. We’re in luck, and nothing can go wrong with us. Our catching this fellow is a proof of it.”
A long consultation was now carried on between the ruffians, in which they all agreed in the necessity of putting the prisoner to death.
It would never do to let him live. He would in the end bring them into trouble, even if kept a prisoner for years. His tongue must be silenced forever. There was but one way of silencing it. That was, never to allow him to leave the place alive.
There was a point upon which his captors were a little in doubt. Had the Kaffir undertaken the task of tracking them upon his own responsibility, or with the knowledge and at the instigation of his masters? In the former case only, would they be safe in destroying him. In the latter, the act might be attended with danger. To make sure of this, one of the three men—Van Ormon’s brother it was—proposed going back to the house, there, if possible, to ascertain how the case stood. To this the other two readily consented; and, mounting his horse, he rode off for the kraal of his kinsman.
As soon as he was gone, the others tied Congo to a tree, and then seating themselves under the shade of the cameel-doorn, they proceeded to amuse themselves with a game of cards.
Four hours passed,—hours that to the Kaffir seemed days. He was in a state of indescribable agony. The thongs of hide that bound his wrists to the branches were cutting into the flesh, and besides, there was before his mind the positive certainty that he had not much longer to live.
The fear of death, however, scarce gave him so much mental pain as his anxiety to know something of the fate of his companions, and his wish that Groot Willem should recover the giraffes. He now regretted that he had not revealed his suspicions at the last interview with his young master. This might have saved the hunters from their loss and himself from the fate that now threatened him. It was too late. He had acted for the best, but acted wrongly.
In the afternoon Van Ormon’s brother came riding back to the camp.
“Well! what news?” asked James, as he came within speaking distance.
“It ish all right. Dey don’t know nothing of what’s up. Mine bruder have constant watch over their camp. They be in von quandary, and will soon go home.”
“Is Van Ormon sure that they hadn’t any communication with this Kaffir?” asked James.
“Yesh! they had. One of them came to the house, and saw this fella yesterday. But for all that, blackee never said von leetle word to him. They were well watch while they wash togedder.”
“Then perhaps it is not all right, as you say. They may have the same suspicion that led him here. Why the deuce don’t they go off home? I don’t like their hanging about so long.”
“I tell you, Shames, it ish all right. We have only to get rid of the spy. He must never see the fools who own him, again. What ish we to do with him?”
“Send a bullet through his body,” said the man who had been left in charge of the giraffes.
“Yes; he must be killed in that way or some other, certainly,” said James; “but which of us is to do it? It’s a pity we did not shoot him down while he was running. Then was the time. I don’t like the thing, now that I’ve cooled down.”
Bad as the ruffians were, none of them liked to commit a murder in cold blood. They had determined that Congo must die, yet none of them wished to act as the executioner.
After a good deal of discussion and some wrangling, a bright idea flashed across the brain of Van Ormon’s brother. He proposed that their prisoner should be taken to a pool that was some distance down the gorge; that he be tied to a tree by the side of the pool, and left there for the night.
“I see de spoor of lion dare every mornin’,” said he, grinning horribly as he spoke. “I’ll bet mine life we find no more of dis black fella ash a few red spots.”
This plan was agreeable to all; and at sundown the Kaffir was released from his fastenings, conducted down the narrow valley, and firmly spliced to a sapling that stood close to the edge of the pool.
To provide against any chance of his being heard and released by a stray traveller, a stick was stuck crosswise in his mouth, the bight of a string made fast over each end of it, and then securely knotted at the back of his head.
After taking a survey of his fastenings, to see that there was no danger of their coming undone, his cruel captors made him a mocking salute; and, bidding him “good bye,” strode off towards their camp.
Chapter Seventy One.
A Fight by Firelight.
Anxiously did Groot Willem wait for the next morning and the promised visit from Congo.
But the morning came and passed without any Congo, Willem became impatient, and could not content himself any longer in the camp.
“This will not do,” he exclaimed, as he saw that the sun was again going down in the sky. “We must not remain here. Perhaps Congo cannot come. Of course he cannot, or he would have been here before now. We must look for him, but it will not do for all of us to go together. Hendrik, will you come with me?”
Hendrik readily responded to the invitation. The two mounted their horses and rode off towards the residence of Van Ormon.
From the behaviour of Congo when Willem had last seen him, the latter was quite certain that his visits at the kraal were not desired. The Kaffir probably supposed that they might interfere with his plans, by bringing suspicion upon himself.
This, however, did not prevent Willem from going to see him once more.
Congo had broken his promise; and that was a proof that something must be wrong.
On their new visit to Mynheer Van Ormon, this gentleman did not take the slightest trouble to show them civility.
“Dat plack villen you call Congo,” said he, “goed away last night. We thought he vash mit you. When you fints him again take him to der tuyfel, if you likes, and keep him dare.”
“Do you think he has gone away from this place?” asked Willem of Hendrik, as they rode out from Van Ormon’s enclosures.
“Yes,” answered Hendrik; “I see no reason to doubt it.”
“But why did he not come to me, as he promised?”
“There’s some good reason for his not having done so.”
“I wish I knew in what direction he has gone.”
“That difficulty may soon be removed,” said Hendrik. “I fancy I can tell it to a point of the compass. It will be found a little to east of north.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it was in that quarter we encountered the two men on the day after the giraffes were missing. Moreover, we know they are not south, for that is the way those false guides wanted us to take.”
Too excited to return to camp without doing something, Willem proposed that they should ride out on the plain towards the north-east, and see whether anything could be learned about Congo. To this Hendrik agreed; and, after going southward about a mile from Van Ormon’s house, they turned, rode circuitously around it, and then struck off for the north-east.
They had no great hope of finding the object of their search, but it was necessary for them to do something; and, as Hendrik’s surmise was not without some probability, they kept on.
After making about five miles across the plain, they came within sight of some hills that began to loom up on the horizon to the north-east. They were still, to all appearance, about four miles distant.
“Just the place where our property might be concealed,” suggested Hendrik. “No one would hide giraffes on a plain. If we do not find them yonder, and this very night, we deserve to lose them.”
The sun was just setting as they reached the crest of the first range of hills. Looking back over the road they had just travelled, a horseman was seen coming across the plain, a mile distant from the spot where they had halted.
