"Can't afford the luxury, little un," said Joe, clapping his brother on the shoulder. "Let's make our pile first."

"Then the goblin will live for ever," sighed the boy, "for we shall never make any piles.--Where is he?"

Joe shaded his eyes and looked right across the barren veldt, where the glare of the sun produced a hazy, shimmering effect.

"There he is!"

"Don't see anything."

"Yes, you can. Your eyes are sharper than mine. There, just to the left of that rock."

"What!--that one like a young kopje?"

"Yes, just to the left."

"What!--that speck? Oh! that can't be it."

"Yes, it is; and if you had the gla.s.s, you could tell directly."

"But it's so far, and oh dear, how hot it is!"

"It will be cooler riding."

"No, it won't," grumbled d.y.k.e; "there'll be hot horses under you, then."

"Yes, but cool air rushing by you. Come, old lad, don't sham idleness."

"It isn't sham," said d.y.k.e. "I don't think I used to be idle, but this hot sun has stewed all the spirit out of me."

Joe said nothing, but led the way round to the back of the long low house, to where a high thick hedge of thorns shut in a lean-to shed thatched with mealie leaves and stalks; these, the dry remains of a load of Indian corn, being laid on heavily, so as to form a good shelter for the horses, haltered to a rough manger beneath.

As d.y.k.e approached, he raised a metal whistle which hung from his neck by a leather thong, and blew loudly. A low whinny answered the call, and a big, raw-boned, powerful horse and a handsome, well-bred cob were unhaltered, to turn and stand patiently enough to be bridled and saddled, afterwards following out their masters like dogs.

And now as they pa.s.sed the end of the stable, all the languor and la.s.situde pa.s.sed away from d.y.k.e on the instant. For he now caught sight of their Kaffir servant lying fast asleep just beneath the eaves of the corrugated iron roof.

The sand hushed the horses' hoofs, and the Kaffir slept on, with the flies buzzing about his half-open mouth, as if they mistook the thick red lips for the petals of some huge flower.

"I'm not going to stand that," said the boy.

"What are you going to do?"

"You'll see," whispered d.y.k.e. "If I'm to be toiling after goblins, he's not going to sleep there like a black pig. Go on a little way and look back."

Joe Emson smiled in a heavy, good-humoured way, as he took the bridle his brother handed to him, and the smile developed into a silent laugh, as he saw the boy's energy over a bit of mischief.

For d.y.k.e actually ran back to the stable, brought out a bucket of water, stood counting the furrows of the iron roofing, and then carried the pail round to the other side and set it down.

His next movement was to fetch a roughly made step-ladder, count the furrows on his side, then place the ladder carefully, and at such a slope that it lay flat on the roof, so that, steadily preserving his balance, he walked up with the bucket of water from round to round till he could see across the ridge to where his brother stood with the horses a hundred yards away, watching over the big nag's mane, and grasping now what was to happen.

d.y.k.e knelt down now behind the ridge, to which the top of the ladder just reached, and had calculated his distance so well, that upon tilting the bucket a little, some water trickled down two of the furrows of an iron sheet, and began to drip from the eaves upon the Kaffir's nude chest.

There was no movement, so a little more water was poured, and this brought forth a pig-like grunt, as if of satisfaction.

More water--more grunts.

More water, and a shuffling movement.

More water, and an angry gasp; the Kaffir raised his head, looked up at the sky, the dripping eaves--looked round, and settled down to sleep.

All this was invisible to d.y.k.e, but he could tell by the sounds that his shower was having effect; and as soon as the man ceased to move, the boy sent down a third of the bucketful.

This produced a sharp e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, and the man sprang up into a sitting position, and looking angrily round, saw that Emson was standing far away with the horses, and that no one else was near. His next glance was at the cloudless sky, and the dripping eaves, to which a few bright drops still hung and ceased to fall.

Only a rare shower, the man seemed to think; and, muttering to himself, he shuffled a little into a dry spot to lie down yawning, when rush came the rest of the water, deluging him this time, and making him jump up and burst into a torrent of objurgations against the sky in his own tongue, shaking both his fists the while, till, _bang, clatter, crash_!

the bucket came rattling down, and he turned and ran out toward where Emson stood looking on.

d.y.k.e descended quickly, and making a circuit, he ran round, and then appeared slowly from the end of a fence fifty yards from the house, walking quietly across to join his brother.

As he drew near, the Kaffir was gesticulating and talking away in broken English, mingled with more words of his own tongue; and when d.y.k.e joined them and took the rein of his little cob, the man turned excitedly to him.

"What's the matter, Jack?"

The Kaffir looked at him suspiciously for a moment or two, but d.y.k.e mounted and returned the gaze in the most unruffled manner.

"Big rain--big wet rain--big water--big bucket--all wet, wet," cried the Kaffir.

"Make the mealies grow," said d.y.k.e coolly.

"Make mealie grow!" cried the man. Then a change came over him. The look of doubt and wonder became one of certainty, and his face expanded into a broad grin which displayed all his white teeth.

"Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!" he cried, pointing to a couple of wet patches on the leg of the boy's trousers; "you make rain--Ma.s.sa Dyky make rain.

Wet, wet. Ah-ah-ah-ah!"

"You come along and help drive the ostrich," said d.y.k.e, setting his cob to canter; and, followed by the Kaffir at a quick trot, which soon dried up his moisture, they went over the heated red sand toward where the speck in the distance had been pointed out as the object they sought.

CHAPTER THREE.

AN OSTRICH RACE.

"I say, Joe, you are right," said d.y.k.e now, with animation. "'Tisn't half so hot riding."

"Of course not. One begins to get moist, and the sun and air bring a feeling of coolness. It's only the making a start. Now then, shall I try to cut him off?"

"No, no!" cried d.y.k.e excitedly; "I'll do it. I'll make the brute run.

You follow up."

"Right!" said Emson; "that is, unless he tracks my way."