XI.

_OTTO THE SHEPHERD._

ZYL drove home his load in safety, but he thought it prudent to stop at one of the Kafirs' huts. Here he left Genderen's chicks in charge, and sent up his glorious find of eggs to the farm-house. Then he took fast hold of Jack's hand, and led him round by the back of the farm-buildings until they reached the foot of the ladder leading to the wool-loft. Jack did not often now resist his good-natured but self-willed friend. He had taken a leaf from Genderen's tactics, so they got on together admirably. Zyl insisted upon undressing him and putting him to bed. Jack could guess the reason why. Zyl meant to take the whole of the blame and its consequences upon his own shoulders.

Jack looked round the sloping roof and white-washed wall of his loft, with a sort of home-feeling he had never experienced before at Jaarsveldt, when it suddenly struck him it was looking more untidy than usual. Yes, he was certain all the things his father had packed up so neatly under the slope of the roof had been pulled about. Who could have done it? The loft had not been cleaned, for the floor was littered all over. He was too hungry to sleep and too anxious to know what sort of reception Zyl had met with, to rest anywhere.

Then he heard a noise as of horses' feet, and jumping up in bed saw the "oom" himself, on his great black horse, with Zyl behind him, and Walt on his fastest hunter at his side, with all the dogs and four or five of the Hottentots, starting for the rocks—in search of the poor Black Antelope, he could not doubt. Jack's heart ached for her; and he lay down and covered his face, thinking what it must be to wander forlorn and homeless in these wilds.

In a little while the ugly Kafir brought him a calabash of ox-tail soup, and after that he sank into the sound sleep of healthy childhood. Nothing less than two awkward hands pulling at the collar of his shirt would have wakened him that night. But there they were. He felt the knuckles pressing on his throat, and almost thought it was a dream. He put up his own to push them away, and took hold of real hands—the rough, strong hands of a man clutching at his treasure. He was wide awake in an instant, fighting them off. Something was over his eyes. He struggled hard, and freed himself for a moment. He felt a man's hot breath upon his cheek, and screamed out with all his might as he recognized the face of the German shepherd.

Would anybody come to his help? Could he even make himself heard in the dead of night? He remembered Van Immerseel and his sons were away. Yes, their absence had given Otto his opportunity. Jack saw it all, and grew cold with fear as he felt himself powerless in Otto's grasp. Then came the thought,—

"God sees, and he is ever more ready to help than we to ask."

But thought itself soon became impossible, for Otto was cramming the corner of the pillow into his mouth to stifle his cries. Jack tried hard to throw himself on his face. Somehow he managed to get the precious letter under him, and not all Otto's blows or low-voiced menaces could make him stir from this position.

Vickel, who was roosting, as usual, at the foot of Jack's ladder, had lifted a sleepy head when Otto passed her; but as she was now familiar with every one about the farm, she let him go up the ladder un-molested.

Jack's scream aroused her vigilance, and two bright eyes were watching every movement; for Vickel was quite tall enough, when she drew herself to her full height, to peep in at the door of the loft, which Otto had left wide open to gain light enough for his search. She could not see Jack, who had rolled himself in the bed-clothes, until Otto lifted him by main force from the pillow to which he still clung. Then Vickel sprang upon the ladder with a cry of mingled love and rage, and struck the intruder so fierce a blow with her closed beak that it sent him headlong on the floor. Before he had time to recover his feet she seized him by the leg with beak and claw, and dragged him out of the loft.

"Call her off! Call her off! Or she'll kill me," roared Otto as she once more lifted her formidable talon, ready to gore his flesh from the bones.

When Jack, as white as ashes, and with scarcely voice enough to make himself heard, called, "Vic, Vic, Vic!" just as he had called her at feeding-time all her life. He snatched up some of the peas which were lying by his pop-gun and flung them towards her. With the beautiful docility of an ostrich, she turned and dropped her foe. The angry eyes grew eloquent with love, and the beak that was dealing death to Otto was stooped obediently to peck the peas in Jack's trembling hand. He leaned against her faithful breast, for the loft swam round, and he thought he must have fallen. But with the comprehension love alone can lend, Vickel spread her feathery shield above his head, and drawing him to her, brooded over him as a hen broods over her chicks.

Jack peeped between the soft gray plumes of her sheltering wings, for he heard Otto groan, and now he saw him, a dark heap at the foot of the ladder. He had been stunned by his fall; but he soon began to move and mutter threats of vengeance on Jack and his ostrich.

"It was your own fault, Mr. Otto," said Jack firmly. "What did you come here for to pull me out of bed in the middle of the night? Vickel would have killed you if I had not stopped her. You know that as well as I do."

The German got up stiffly. "You made me cross," he grumbled. "You snored like a pig, and you would not answer me. I came to fetch that bank-note. It is not safe for a child like you to carry so much money about with you. Come, hand it down, or you'll be robbed and murdered some of these days with all those coloured fellows about. If I have given you a fright, it was to show you your danger."

"Oh indeed, Mr. Otto," retorted Jack with a laugh. "I have no need to be afraid of anybody. You see what good care my ostrich takes of me. You had better talk about this to my father. I daresay he will be home in the morning."

Jack's words were brave and bold, for he looked upon Otto as a beaten enemy. The German said no more, for Vickel made an angry dart at his uncovered head, and in his terror at the thought of a second attack, he turned and fled away as fast as his hurt leg would permit.

Jack lay cuddled by his darling Vic until the strange coldness had passed over, and his manful little heart had ceased to beat so wildly. The glorious brightness of the moonlight had given place to a chill creeping mist. It was the dreariest hour of all the night, but it was bringing back the day. After a while the mist began to lift, and the morning sun arose in all its splendour. Then Jack knelt down by Vickel's side, and clasping his hands together, poured out the fulness of his heart in prayer. The joy of his thanksgiving for his hair's-breadth escape, and the earnest cry for help and guidance, scarcely found utterance in words, for blinding, choking tears came at last to his relief.

The broken words, the gasping sobs, touched the heart of the Kafir groom, who had risen at daybreak expecting his master's return. As soon as the humming, droning song of the black dairymaid announced her presence among the milk-pails, he went across and told her "that poor lamb without a mother" was very sore at heart—wailing over the fate of the Black Antelope, he doubted not, for the white lamb from the fold was much loved by the dark hind from the upper veldt, as they both knew.

Then the dairymaid came and listened, and picked up a man's hat at the foot of the ladder. Gorya the groom took it and hid it in the back of his stable with a grin. He knew the owner of the hat at a glance, and muttered to himself, "What's he been up to here?"

Much pleased with Jack's sympathy for their fellow-countrywoman (for they both knew well how earnestly he had pleaded for her on the night of her offence), the two Kafirs would have gone to him at once but for Vickel's menacing glances, for she had settled herself in the doorway, and refused to stir for any one.

When Jack found the farm-servants were about, his spirits returned, and he began to think over his night's adventure. How was he to explain what had happened to the Immerseels? In truth, he dare not say a single word to any one of them, for he could not make them understand, and then they would send for Otto to tell them what he was saying.

"Yes," thought Jack, "Mr. Otto sees this just as clearly as I do, and so he thinks he can do as he likes, as much wrong as he likes, and carry all before him with a high hand; but he cannot deceive me. He is a bad man. He came to steal this bank-note; I'm sure he did."

Jack's reflections were cut short by the sound of horses' feet, and looking out of the door of his loft, he saw the "oom" ride in, with Zyl behind him. He watched the party dismount, but the Black Antelope was not with them. To make quite sure that he was not mistaken, Jack ran down his ladder and seized his friend by both hands, looking earnestly in his face. Zyl knew well enough what he wanted to ask, and replied to him and to Genderen, who was signalling the same inquiry from the window of her slaap-kamé, with a shake of his head, repeating the pathetic Dutch word "verloren" (lost).

Genderen burst into tears. She did not appear at the early breakfast prepared for the search-party.

Jack went indoors with his friend, and breakfasted on mutton-chops, listening attentively to the conversation, and gathering its sense more from tone and gesture than from actual words.

Yes, the search had been fruitless. Zyl was sent off to bed, grumbling and weary. Feeling himself safe indoors, with the "oom" nodding in his huge arm-chair just opposite, Jack coiled himself up on Sannie's sheep-skin, and was soon asleep. He was wakened by the sound of Tante Milligen's voice, and a very solemn voice it was. He looked up and saw her standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen, with all her maids gathered round her, listening open-mouthed whilst she narrated something which had happened to herself in the night.

Jack caught the words "Das ein nacht" (this very night), and was up in a moment. Had Tante Milligen sent Mr. Otto after all? Jack had become very skilful at pantomime by this time, so he ran up to her and asked, by looking very earnestly in her face and taking hold of her hand, if she wanted him? Tante Milligen shook her head.

"Das ein nacht," repeated Jack.

She held up her hands and turned to her eager, interested auditors, who echoed back their mistress's exclamation, each in her own peculiar fashion.

The truth was Tante Milligen had heard a noise in the night—a noise like thunder, she averred. It was just as if a heavy weight had been thrown down suddenly over her head. Like most of the females among the Dutch Boers, Tante Milligen, although a brave woman, was fearfully superstitious. A noise outside the house would not have frightened her half so much, even if it had proved to be another Kafir scare. But this mysterious noise inside the house, what could it mean?

When Jack came up to her with the traces of the night's excitement still visible in his pale cheeks and circled eyes, she only thought he had heard it too, and of course any child must be frightened. She was pleased that it confirmed her own experience, for one of those shameless Hottentots had positively suggested that she must have been dreaming.

"Slaap wohl?" she asked Jack, who shook his head most decidedly. Having had that question put to him every morning during his illness, he knew what it meant, and did his best to make her understand he had not slept at all.

Overcome with compassion, Tante Milligen sat down on the nearest chair, and took the little English boy on her lap, giving him a motherly hug and calling her maids one by one to notice the blackness of the circles under his eyes. This was indeed treating him like a baby; but Jack was not so aggravated by it as he had been when Walt laid him down on Sannie's sheep-skin, because it convinced him Tante Milligen would have interfered if she had had the least idea that Otto had been trying to frighten him.

Then Genderen came to fetch him. Tante Milligen said he would be better out of doors; besides she wished to keep the house quiet until her sons should awaken. Jack took Sannie's hand and wandered about with her, keeping very near the farm-gate, for fear of meeting Otto. Genderen was seated on the steop, shelling pepper, ready for one of the maids to pound. Jack would willingly have helped her, but he was looking for Vickel.

His giant fairy was far too stately a creature to be overlooked, yet she seemed to have vanished. He thought of the day when he lost her before; but Genderen's fluffy charges were all safe with their respective mothers. Everything was as usual, only his own ostrich was nowhere to be seen. Could anybody have hurt his Vickel? Jack's blood was boiling at the thought. He rushed back to Genderen, and showing her a dirty feather his bird had dropped, repeated her own mournful word, "verloren" (lost).

But Genderen smiled reassuringly, and pointed in the direction of their own ostrich camp.

At that moment the shepherd came out of the granary, and apparently thinking the farm-yard was deserted, began to pull about the loose straw at the bottom of the stack where Jack had taken his siesta on that unlucky day when he fell ill with the fever. The children saw him through the open gate, and the Kafir groom watched him behind the stable door. His movements were awkward, for he was stiff and sore, and his hat was pulled over his eyes—his Sunday hat!

The girls began to laugh at the incongruity of his appearance. At the sound of their merriment, Otto left his search, and limping up to them, turned to Jack with a scowl, saying,—"The 'oom' has ordered that vicious bird of yours to be shut up as long as it is here. The cow-keeper has been telling him how it flew at Sannie."

"Zyl can tell him more about that than the cow-keeper, and perhaps I could tell him more about last night than you did, Mr. Otto," retorted Jack.

"See if I don't take your English impudence out of you some of these days," growled Otto.

Jack's blood was up, and his prudence was nowhere, so he answered hotly, "Then you will just rouse the British bull-dog. Don't you know he would die rather than let you or any man touch a rag that was in his care."

"Oh, oh!" sneered the German. "And where is the brute to be found?"

"Here," returned Jack proudly, laying his hand on his own heart. "I don't imagine English boys were made of poorer stuff than a dog in his kennel; do you?"