"Poor Joe!" sighed d.y.k.e, as he looked round despondently, and thought of his brother's words, which, broken and incoherent as they were, told of the disappointment and bitterness which had followed the long, weary trial of his experiment.

And now, with the poor fellow broken down and completely helpless, the miserable dead birds, the wretched look of those still living, and the general neglect, made d.y.k.e feel ready to turn away in despair.

But he set his teeth hard and went about with a fierce energy rearranging the birds in their pens, and generally working as if this were all a mere accident that only wanted putting straight, for everything to go on prosperously in the future.

It was hard work, feeling, as d.y.k.e did, that it was a hopeless task, and that a complete change--a thorough new beginning--must be made for there to be the slightest chance for success. But he kept on, the task becoming quite exciting when the great birds turned restive or showed fight, and a disposition to go everywhere but where they were wanted.

Then he fetched Jack, who came unwillingly, acting as if he believed some new scheme was about to be tried to send him off to the old trader's. But he worked better when he found that he was only to drag away the remains of one or two dead birds, and to fetch water and do a little more cleaning.

d.y.k.e divided his time between seeing that the work was done, and going to and fro to his brother's couch, now feeling hopeful as he fancied that he was sleeping more easily. At the second visit, too, his hopes grew more strong; but at the third they went down to zero, for to his horror the heat flush and violent chill returned with terrible delirium, and the boy began to blame himself for not doing something more about getting a doctor, for Emson seemed to be worse than he was at his return.

By degrees, though, it dawned upon him that this might not be a sign of going back, only a peculiarity of malarial fever, in some forms of which he knew that the sufferer had regular daily fits, which lasted for a certain time and then pa.s.sed away, leaving the patient exhausted, but better.

This might be one of these attacks, he felt, and he sat watching and trying to give relief; but in vain, for the delirium increased, and the symptoms looked as bad as they could be, for a man to live.

And now once more the utter helplessness of his position came upon d.y.k.e, and he sat there listening to his brother's wild words, trying to fit them together and grasp his meaning, but in vain. He bathed the burning head and applied the wet bandages, but they seemed to afford no relief whatever; and at last growing more despondent than ever, he felt that he could not bear it, and just at dusk he went outside the door to try to think, though really to get away for a few minutes from the terrible scene.

Then his conscience smote him for what he told himself was an act of cowardice, and he hurried back to the bedside, to find that, short as had been his absence, it had been long enough for a great change to take place.

In fact, the paroxysm had pa.s.sed, and the poor fellow's brow was covered with a fine perspiration, his breathing easier, and he was evidently sinking into a restful sleep.

d.y.k.e stood watching and holding his brother's hand till he could thoroughly believe that this was the case, and then tottered out once more into the comparatively cool evening air, to find Jack or his wife, and tell them to bring something for him and the dog to eat, for he had seen nothing of either of them for many hours.

He walked round to the back, but there was no fire smouldering, and no one in the narrow, yard-like place; so he went on to the shed in which the servants slept, and tapped at the rough door.

But there was no answer, and upon looking in, expecting to see Jack lying there asleep, neither he nor his wife was visible.

How was that? Gone to fetch in fuel from where it was piled-up in a stack? No: for there was plenty against the side of one of the sheds.

What then--water? Yes, that would be it. Jack and Tanta Sal had gone together to the kopje for company's sake to fetch three or four buckets from the cool fresh spring, of whose use he had been so lavish during the past day. They had gone evidently before it was quite dark; and, feeling hungry and exhausted now, he walked round to where the wagon stood, recalling that there was some dry cake left in the locker, and meaning to eat of this to relieve the painfully faint sensation.

He climbed up into the wagon, and lifted the lid of the chest, but there was no mealie cake there; Jack or Tant must have taken it out. So going back to the house where Emson was sleeping quietly, the boy dipped a pannikin into the bucket standing there, and drank thirstily before going outside again to watch for the Kaffir servants' return, feeling impatient now, and annoyed that they should have neglected him for so long.

But there was no sign of their approach. The night was coming on fast, and a faint star or two became visible, while the granite kopje rose up, softly rounded in the evening light, with a faint glow appearing from behind it, just as if the moon were beginning to rise there.

He waited and waited till it was perfectly plain that the man could not be coming from fetching water, and, startled at this, he shouted, and then hurriedly looked about in the various buildings, but only to find them empty.

Startled now, more than he cared to own to himself, d.y.k.e ran back to the Kaffir's lodge, and looked in again. There were no a.s.segais leaning against the wall, nothing visible there whatever, and half-stunned by the thought which had come upon him with terrible violence, the boy went slowly back to the house, and sat down by where Duke was watching the sleeping man.

"Alone! alone!" muttered d.y.k.e with a groan; "they have gone and left us.

Joe, Joe, old man, can't you speak to me? We are forsaken. Speak to me, for I cannot even think now. What shall I do?"

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

d.y.k.e SETS HIS TEETH.

No answer came from the couch where Emson lay exhausted by his last periodical paroxysm of fever. The dog whined softly, and in his way unintentionally comforted his master by comforting himself. That is to say, eager for human company, he crept closer, so that he could nestle his head against him, and be in touch.

That touch was pleasant, and it made d.y.k.e pa.s.s his arm round the dog's neck and draw him nearer, Duke responding with a whine of satisfaction, followed by a sound strongly resembling a grunt, as he settled himself down, just as the answer came to the lad's question, "What shall I do!"

It was Nature who answered in her grand, wise way, and it was as if she said:

"There is only one thing you can do, my poor, heartsore, weary one: sleep. Rest, and gain strength for the fight to come."

And in the silence and gathering darkness a calm, sweet insensibility to all his troubles stole over d.y.k.e; he sank lower and lower till his head rested against the skins, and the coa.r.s.e, sack-like pillow, formed of rough, unsaleable ostrich-feathers; and it was not until twelve hours after that he moved, or felt that there was a world in which he occupied a place, with stern work cut out for him to achieve.

It was the touch of something cold upon his cheek that roused the sleeper, and that something cold was the dog's nose.

d.y.k.e did not start; he merely opened his eyes quietly, and looked up at those gazing at him, and, thoroughly comforted and rested, he smiled in the dog's face.

"Get out, you old rascal," he said. "You know you've no business to do that."

Duke uttered a satisfied bark, and then began to caper about the room to show his delight at the solemn silence of the place being broken; but stopped directly, and made for the door in alarm, so sudden was the spring his master made to his feet--so wild and angry the cry the boy uttered as he bent over the bed.

For full consciousness had returned like a flash, and as he cried, "I've been asleep! I've been asleep!" he gazed down at his brother, horrified at the thought of what might have happened, and full of self-reproach for what he felt to have been his cruel neglect.

But Emson was just as he had seen him last--even his hands were exactly as they had lain in the darkness the previous night--and when d.y.k.e placed his hand upon the poor fellow's head, it felt fairly cool and moist.

d.y.k.e's spirits rose a little at this, but his self-reproach was as great as ever.

"Oh!" he muttered angrily, "and I pretend to care for him, and promise him that I will not leave him, and go right off to sleep like that.

Why, he might have died, and I never have moved.--Here, Duke!"

The dog sprang to him with a bound, raised himself, and placed his paws upon his master's breast, threw back his head, opened his wide jaws, lolled out his tongue, and panted as if after a long run.

"Here, look at me, old chap, and see what a lazy, thoughtless brute I am."

But Duke only shook his head from side to side, and uttered a low whine, followed by a bark.

"There: down! Oh, how could I sleep like that?"

But by degrees it was forced upon him that Emson had evidently pa.s.sed a perfectly calm night, and looked certainly better, and he knew that it was utterly impossible to live without rest.

He awoke, too, now to the fact that he was ravenously hungry, while the way in which the dog smelt about the place, snuffing at the tin in which his master's last mess of bread and milk had been served, and then ran whining to lap at the water at the bottom of a bucket, spoke plainly enough of the fact that he was suffering from the same complaint.

At the same time, d.y.k.e was trying to get a firm grasp of his position, and felt half annoyed with himself at the calm way in which he treated it. For after that long, calm, restful sleep, things did not look half so bad; the depression of spirit had pa.s.sed away, his thoughts were disposed to run cheerfully, and his tendency of feeling was toward making the best of things.

"Well," he found himself saying, as he ran over his last night's discovery, "they're only savages! What could one expect? Let them go.

And as to its being lonely, why old Robinson Crusoe was a hundred times worse off; somebody is sure to come along one of those days. I don't care: old Joe's better--I'm sure he's better--and if Doctor d.y.k.e don't pull him through, he's a Dutchman, and well christened Van."

He had one good long look in his patient's face, felt his pulse, and then his heart beatings; and at last, as if addressing some one who had spoken depreciatingly of his condition:

"Why, he is better, I'm sure.--Here, Duke: hungry? Come along, old man."

The dog shot out of the door, giving one deep-toned bark, and d.y.k.e hurried to the wagon, opened a sack of meal, poured some into the bottom of a bucket, carried it back to the house, with the dog sniffing about him, his mouth watering. Then adding some water to the meal, he beat it into a stiff paste, and placed about half on a plate, giving the bucket with the rest to the dog, which attacked it ravenously, and not hesitating about eating a few bits of the cold, sticky stuff himself.