Part 38 (2/2)
”Lions,” suggested West.
”Oh no; they'd go about as softly as cats! More like a pack of hyaenas trying to get up their courage for a charge!”
”If we fired and stood on one side they'd rush out!” replied West.
”Yes,” said Ingleborough grimly; ”and the Boers would rush in to see what was the matter. That wouldn't do, for it's evident that they don't know we're here.”
”But we must do something, or they'll injure the horses! Why!” cried West excitedly; ”it must be that they've pulled the poor beasts down and are devouring them.”
”Without our little Basutos making a kick for life? Nonsense! They'd squeal and kick and rush out. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!”
To West's astonishment his companion burst into a prolonged fit of gentle laughter.
”Here, come along!” he said. ”Of all the larky beggars! Here, you two ruffians, stow that, or you'll smash up those saddles!”
Ingleborough dashed in, followed at once by West, and as they got in further from the cave's mouth they dimly saw their mounts spring up from having a good roll and wriggle upon the soft dry sand to rest their spines and get rid of the larvae of some worrying pernicious horse-fly.
The moment the two ponies were on all-fours they gave themselves a vigorous shake, and then whinnied softly and advanced to their riders with out-stretched necks, expectant of a piece of bread or some other delicacy with which they had been petted from time to time.
”Why, you larky little rascals!” cried Ingleborough, patting the two beasts affectionately; ”what do you mean by frightening us out of our seven senses? I mean frightening me, for you weren't scared a bit--eh, West?”
”Frightened? It was horrible! I can understand now why the Boers can't bear being attacked from behind!”
”Of course! I say, though, no wonder children are afraid of being in the dark.” He turned to the ponies, and said: ”Look here, my lads, I suppose you don't understand me, but if you could take my advice you'd lie down to have a good rest. It would do you both good, and if the firing did begin you'd escape being hit.”
To this one of the ponies whinnied softly, and then moved gently to its companion's side, head to tail, bared its big teeth as if to bite, and began to draw them along the lower part of the other's spine, beginning at the root of the tail and rasping away right up to the saddle, while the operatee stretched out its neck and set to work in the same way upon the operator, upon the give-and-take principle, both animals grunting softly and uttering low sounds that could only be compared to bleats or purrs.
”They say there's nothing so pleasant in life as scratching where you itch,” said West, laughing. ”My word! They do seem to enjoy it.”
”Poor beggars, yes!” replied Ingleborough. ”I believe there's no country in the world where animals are more tortured by flies than in Africa. The wretched insects plunge in that sharp instrument of theirs, pierce the skin, and leave an egg underneath; the warmth of the body hatches it into what we fis.h.i.+ng boys called a gentle, and that white maggot goes on eating and growing under the poor animal's coat, living on hot meat always till it is full-grown, when its skin dries up and turns reddish-brown, and it lies still for a bit, before changing into a fly, which escapes from the hole in the skin it has eaten and flits away to go and torture more animals.”
”And not only horses, but other animals!” said West quietly.
”Horses only? Oh no; the bullocks get them terribly, and the various kinds of antelopes as well. I've seen skins taken off blesboks and wildebeestes full of holes. And there you are, my lad; that's a lecture on natural history.”
”Given in the queerest place and at the strangest time a lecture was ever given anywhere,” said West.
”It is very horrible, though, for the animals to be tortured so!”
”Yes,” said Ingleborough thoughtfully; ”but the flies must enjoy themselves wonderfully. They must have what people in England call a high old time, and--eh? What's the matter?”
”Be ready!” whispered West. ”Someone coming; there's no mistake now!”
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
A REAL ALARM.
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