right direction. After another hour of cantering and walking, he struck a wagon track, and knew that he could now find his way to the homestead. Very shortly he heard the reports of two guns, then a third. He guessed that these were fired by his uncle or cousin, now no doubt in search of him. Cantering that way, he soon caught sight of three mounted men, and in five minutes was shaking hands with his relatives. They had with them a native servant, and were riding out to look for him.
"My word, Guy," said his uncle heartily, "I am glad to have come across you so soon. This is a dickens of a country to get lost in-the veldt is so waterless, except during the rains; and I was getting seriously anxious about you. We wandered about firing shots yesterday afternoon, and then made for home to bring out more water, and hunt you up to-day, in case you had completely lost yourself. Didn't you hear our shots yesterday?"
"Yes," answered Guy, "I heard two just before sundown last evening; but they were far away to the east, and I couldn't make anything of them, though I wandered that way after dark. Then I camped, made a fire, and slept, and here I am."
"Excellent, my boy," said his uncle; "but you must be terribly dry. Here, April," turning to the native; "unfasten that water-bottle and give Baas Guy a drink. Drink up, lad; it's cold tea, and will do you good."
Guy drank and drank, and presently returned the bottle.
"Never tasted anything so good in my life," he said, wiping his lips. "It's nectar. I begin to understand what thirst really is. In England we can have no idea of it, in a country where you can't go a mile without coming on water of some kind or other."
"You're quite right," added Mr. Blakeney. "They don't half appreciate the blessings of life at home. You want to rough it out here a bit to understand what English comfort and English luxury really mean. Why, we had a man staying with us a year back, looking at stock, who got lost in the veldt out here for three days, two of which he passed without a drop of water. Ultimately we tracked him to a native kraal on the Molopo, thirty miles away. In this kind of country-in fact all through Bechuanaland, on the Kalahari side-you've got to watch it, or you may easily get lost, and perhaps die of thirst and starvation. Now, let's be off home for breakfast. We have an hour and a half's ride still before us."
Meanwhile, Tom Blakeney had been examining his cousin's hunting trophy. "By Jove, Guy," he exclaimed, "you've got a first-rate head! That's a real good old bull hartebeest; you seldom see finer horns."
"Yes, Tom," rejoined his cousin, "I thought it was a good head; and if I had had to go without water another twenty-four hours, I should have brought it back with me. It's my first hunting trophy, and I shall always be proud of it."
"You'll do, Guy!" exclaimed his uncle, as they rode homewards. "I like to see a fellow keen; and I'm sure you will shoot many a head of big game before you've finished. Some day we'll go into the real hunting veldt, where you can prove your mettle against more formidable beasts."
A week or two later, Tom and Guy were shooting redwing partridges and koorhaan in a pretty piece of country some miles from the homestead. They had quitted the banks of a periodical stream, where they had bagged half a dozen brace of redwings and a steinbuck, and were now in search of black and white koorhaan and Coqui partridges on a wide piece of grassy plain which ran up to a distant line of kopjes. Juno, the pointer, stood; and Tom, slipping quietly from his saddle, walked cautiously forward, his gun at the ready. Still the staunch dog stood, pointing stiffly at something in front of her. Tom advanced yet farther, and then, without a cry and very noiselessly, there rose from the long grass a single bird, with long greenish legs and a big head. It was an easy shot, and Tom fired and brought it down.
"A dikkop," he cried, as he ran forward and picked up the bird. Guy came up and inspected the game, which was of a species he had not yet seen in Bechuanaland.
"Why, it's the same as our Norfolk plover, or thick-knee," he said. "Father shot one years ago in Suffolk, and had it stuffed. I can tell it by its big staring eyes."
"Yes, it's nearly the same bird," rejoined his cousin. "I believe there's some little difference in the species, here we call it by the Dutch name dikkop, or thickhead. They're rattling good eating, and we'll stick it in the bag."
Smoothing the bird's feathers, and placing it in the wallet slung behind his saddle, they went on.
In another half hour, during which time they got no shot, Juno, the pointer, became curiously restless. She seemed to neglect the sport in front of her, and turned perpetually to sniff the breeze which blew from their left flank. Suddenly, after quartering the ground in that direction, she stopped and barked furiously.
"What's the old girl up to?" ejaculated Tom. "I'll go and see."
As he turned his horse that way, the pointer, hitherto standing with hackles up, manifestly in a state of intense anger, suddenly turned and fled, her tail between her legs. Guy Hardcastle, curious to know what had so alarmed the dog, walked his nag that way. The two cousins rode on together for thirty yards, and then, with a curious hissing sound, there rose, ten paces in front of them, the head and neck of an enormous serpent. The reptile reared itself so suddenly, and its aspect was so menacing, that Guy's pony shied violently and swerved off, nearly unseating its rider as it did so.
"Look out, Guy!" cried his cousin. "It's a python. Canter away a bit and slip in louper cartridges [buck shot], and then we'll have a go at the brute. He's been following us." They cantered away forty or fifty yards, changing their cartridges as they did so, and then returned to the charge.
Meanwhile the python, which had undoubtedly been stalking them, had thought better of it, and, seeing more formidable quarry than it had bargained for, was slipping away. The lads galloped to the spot where they had last seen it; and Tom, pointing to a movement in the long grass in front of them, exclaimed excitedly, "There it goes; come on!"
Guy, who was not used to snakes, didn't half like the idea of stalking such a monster; but as his cousin galloped on, he touched his pony with the spur and rode after him. Nearer and nearer they drew towards the rustling grass. Suddenly the movement ceased, and the huge, evil-looking head rose before them. The serpent was undeniably angry, and a big python in a rage is a formidable opponent.
"Shoot," whispered Tom in a steady voice.
Guy needed not incitement. Already his gun was up; they fired together, and as the double report rattled out, the great serpent, stricken in the head and neck, fell writhing into the pale grass. One of the two shots had luckily broken its backbone a foot or so below the head; but the huge serpent was by no means disabled, and now, half impotent though it was, it struggled furiously to reach its adversaries. Beating and flapping the earth in its agony and rage, it writhed itself towards the two horsemen, who now separated and gave it another shot apiece. Then, recharging their guns, they returned, and finished the wounded monster with a couple more charges.
Having ascertained that the snake was really dead, they dismounted and approached it; then, stretching out the reptile to its full length, Tom took a tape measure from his pocket and ran over its dimensions.
"Eighteen feet," he remarked, rising from his task. "The biggest python killed in these parts!"
"Have you many of these brutes about the place?" asked Guy, turning over the monster with his foot, and comparing the greenish white of its underparts with the brilliant markings of its upper colouring.
"No, not many," answered Tom. "They're shy, secretive beggars, and one very seldom, indeed, comes across them. I've not heard of one for two or three years."
"Thank goodness for that," rejoined Guy. "I must say, if I thought there were many of these creatures in the neighbourhood, I should come bird-shooting precious seldom, especially on foot. Surely they are dangerous? They're not
