OSCAR IN AFRICA

BY

HARRY CASTLEMON

AUTHOR OF "GUNBOAT SERIES," "ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES," "WAR SERIES," ETC., ETC.

THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO., PHILADELPHIA, CHICAGO, TORONTO.

[Pg ii]

Copyright, 1882, by James Elverson.

Copyright, 1894, by Porter & Coates.

[Pg iii]

CONTENTS.

[Pg 1]

OSCAR IN AFRICA.

CHAPTER I. AN INQUISITIVE LANDLORD.

"Who is he, anyhow? Where does he hail from, and what is he doing here?"

The speaker leaned over the little bar in the hotel at Maritzburg, and looked first at the landlord who stood behind it and then at half a dozen roughly dressed companions who were congregated in front of it.

These men were cattle-dealers and speculators. They made it a business to furnish oxen, wagons, supplies, and servants to hunters and travellers who were bound up the country.

They claimed a monopoly in this line, and the stranger who ignored them and exercised[Pg 2] the right to purchase his outfit where he could do the best was sure to suffer at their hands in one way or another.

"He is from America," answered two or three of the men at once; and the tone in which the words were spoken betrayed both the pity and contempt they felt for one who was willing to acknowledge that he came from so benighted a region.

"Oh, he's a Yankee, is he?" exclaimed the first speaker. "I thought he didn't look and act like an Englishman. Isn't there a chance to make a few pounds out of him? He doesn't know the ropes, of course."

"If he doesn't know them all he knows a good many of them," replied the landlord. "He has had nothing to do with anybody about the hotel since he has been here, and has acted as independent as you please."

"What is his business?"

"That is the funny part of the story. I have heard, in a roundabout way—he has never said a word to me about himself or his affairs—that he is going into the interior on a sporting expedition."

[Pg 3]

"He is!" exclaimed the first speaker. "Why, he's nothing but a boy!"

"And a foolish one at that," chimed in another of the cattle-dealers. "I don't believe he ever fired a gun in his life."

"They say he has," replied the landlord. "The story goes that he has spent a winter alone in the Rocky Mountains—wherever they may be—and that he has killed bears and deer no end."

"I don't believe a word of it. Americans don't have money to spend in hunting, as our gentlemen sportsmen do."

"He's got plenty of it, and has paid his bills regular. I'll say that much for him," observed the landlord. "I am told that he is backed up by some college in America, and that he is employed to stock a museum there."

"Well, we don't want him here," said one of the cattle-dealers decidedly. "Nobody but our own countrymen have the right to hunt in Africa."

"I don't see how you are going to stop him."

[Pg 4]

"Oh, there are plenty of ways! We have stopped more than one hunter from going over the town hill, and we can stop this one."

"I wouldn't fool with him if I were you," said the landlord. "Judging by the way he acts, he has brought letters to somebody here in Maritzburg—although where he got them I don't know—and if he has you had better let him alone, or you'll get into trouble."

"Be careful about what you do," said one of the men who had not spoken before, and who answered to the name of Barlow. "He's smart, and better posted than any stranger I ever saw. I met him in Durban. He bought an outfit of me—oxen, wagon, and everything—all fair and square, and then backed out."

We have introduced this man by name, because he bears a somewhat important part in the history of Oscar's life in Africa. When we come to speak of him again we shall see that he did not confine himself strictly to the truth when he said that the boy had broken faith with him.

"I'd pay him for that if I were in your place," said the landlord.

[Pg 5]

He was in league with these cattle-dealers, who were swindlers without exception, and received a share in the profits of the business he was able to throw into their hands.

"Don't you worry," replied Barlow. "He hasn't left the colony yet."

"If I ran this hotel I would know something about him before he went away," said one of the men. "It may be that he is a convict, and that the story he tells about his doings in America is false."

"I have often thought of speaking to him about his object in coming here, and as he is going away to-day, perhaps I had better do it now," said the landlord.

Encouraged by the approving winks and nods of his friends, all of whom were burning with a desire to learn something authentic regarding the silent stranger, the landlord opened the door of the bar and walked through it toward the opposite side of the dingy little parlor, where the subject of these uncomplimentary remarks was standing in front of one of the windows, watching what was going on in the stable-yard.

[Pg 6]

Although one of the cattle-dealers had declared that he was nothing but a boy, he was large enough to be called a man. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and his tight-fitting jacket and trousers of moleskin, with top-boots, revealed the outlines of a figure that was built for strength and activity.

On his head he wore a light leathern helmet, with a peak before and behind. His dress, from head to foot, had been selected with due regard for the climate and rough life he expected to lead in the wilds of Africa. A casual observer would not only have discovered a good-natured face, but a bold and resolute one, and you could not look at it without telling yourself that its owner was a boy who would dare anything. It was our old friend Oscar Preston.

Since he left his native land, three months ago, he had learned to love it and the people in it as he had never loved them before; and perhaps, when we come to describe some of the incidents that happened during his long journey, we shall see why it was so.

He looked around when the landlord came[Pg 7] up and laid his hand familiarly on his shoulder, but did not say anything.

"Mr. Preston," said the landlord, "as you are about to leave my house, I should like to ask you a few questions, if you have no objections."

"Mr. Dibbits," replied Oscar, "how much do I owe you?"

"It isn't that, sir; I assure you it isn't that. You have paid your bills like a gentleman. But when a guest comes and goes in such a mysterious way——"

"There is nothing mysterious about me or my movements," interrupted Oscar. "You won't let a fellow mind his own business even if he wants to, will you? You must have heard—for it is all over town, and in everybody's mouth—that I came here to procure specimens of natural history for a museum in America. That much I am at liberty to tell anybody; but my private affairs I decline to talk about. If you want to learn anything more concerning me go to Mr. Donahue, Mr. Morgan, or Mr. McElroy; and, if you are intimate with them, perhaps they will satisfy your curiosity."

[Pg 8]

The landlord began to open his eyes when he heard this. Mr. Donahue was the magistrate, Mr. Morgan was the editor of the leading political paper in Durban, and Mr. McElroy was the delegate for the colony.

An Englishman has the greatest respect for big names, and a guest who could speak of these gentlemen as Oscar did was one that could not be treated with too much familiarity.

"I meant no offence, Mr. Preston," the landlord hastened to say; "but you will acknowledge——"

"Yes, I will have to acknowledge it, for everybody tells me so," replied Oscar. "Folks look sideways at me, and say, 'Are you not rather young for such business, Mr. Preston?' When I first met Mr. Donahue, and told him where I had been, and what I had done in the way of hunting in my own country, he looked the very picture of astonishment, and said my story was almost incredible. Perhaps he wouldn't have believed a word of it if I hadn't brought the proofs with me. I suppose I am young in years[Pg 9] for such work; but what I have done, and still hope to do, will bear no comparison with what another American boy has done—and he didn't brag about it, either. He left his home in New England when he was only seventeen years old, went to the La Plata River, in South America, and walked from there to Valparaiso—a distance of more than a thousand miles—in the face of all sorts of dangers and difficulties. I suppose you never heard of that before?"

No; Mr. Dibbits couldn't say he had.

"Of course you never heard of it, for he wasn't an English boy. If he had been the whole world would have heard of it. One of your own authors says of the book he wrote about that walk, as near as I can recall the words, 'Sir Francis Head went over this same ground on horseback, and gave us a good account of it; but the quiet walk of this American boy is worth infinitely more than the rough rides of the British baronet.' What do you think of that, Mr. Dibbits?"

"It's very extraordinary—very!" replied the landlord.

[Pg 10]

"I should say it was; but it is true, and it shows that American boys have some get-up about them, doesn't it?"

"It certainly does. I know that you will go through with your undertaking as he did with his, for I can see by your face that you are a brave lad."

"If you were an Irishman I should say that was blarney," thought Oscar. "You've got an axe to grind."

"You'll be needing cattle and salted horses," continued Mr. Dibbits, "and if I could be of any assistance now——"

"I thought there was something of that sort in the wind," said Oscar to himself; then aloud he answered, "I have everything I need, thank you; and even if I hadn't I should not think of dealing with any of those men who are now standing at your bar. I know one of them; I met him in Durban, and I know he is angry at me because I did not buy my outfit and hire my men of him. I know, too, that he and his fellows have a way of breaking up the hunting expeditions of men they do not like; but I didn't come here[Pg 11] to be broken up, and I won't be, either. If anybody interferes with me—— Mr. Dibbits, just look at that!"

While Oscar was speaking he chanced to turn his eyes toward the stable-yard and saw a sight that astonished and enraged him.

[Pg 12]

CHAPTER II. AFRICAN TREACHERY.

The stable-yard was inclosed on one side by the hotel, on another by the barn, and on the two opposite sides by upper sheds, which were built very high and roomy in order to accommodate the Cape wagons that now and then sought refuge there during bad weather.

There was a wagon under one of the sheds now, and an enormous affair it was, too. It was so large that one of the ordinary lumber wagons we see on the streets every day would have looked like a hand-cart beside it. It belonged to our friend Oscar, and was filled to overflowing with supplies of all kinds.

The trek-tow, or chain, by which the oxen were to draw the unwieldy vehicle, was made fast to the tongue (the natives called it a "dissel-boom"), and lay at full length on the[Pg 13] ground, the yokes being deposited at intervals beside it.

Oscar's driver and fore-loper had placed the chain and the yokes in these positions before going to the pound to bring up the cattle.

They had been gone half an hour, and their employer was expecting them back every moment.

Because Oscar's oxen were in the pound the reader must not suppose that they had been engaged in any mischief, for such was not the case.

The law of the colony required that they must be taken care of every night, when there were cultivated fields in the vicinity, and the price that was charged for putting them in the pound was much less than Oscar would have been obliged to pay if he had employed herdsmen enough to keep them within bounds; besides, they were safer there than they would have been anywhere else, for nobody could steal them.

When Oscar first took his stand in front of the window there was but one man in the stable-yard, and he was engaged in grooming[Pg 14] a small iron-gray horse which he had hitched in front of the barn door.

That horse was a part of Oscar's outfit. He was by no means a handsome or even a desirable-looking animal as he stood there with his head down, his eyes half closed, and a general air of worthlessness and indifference about him; but he was a "salted" horse—that is, he had had the distemper, been cured of it, and was warranted not to have it again—and, consequently, he was worth money.

He was one of the nags that Oscar, by the advice of his new-found friends, had selected to carry him on his long journey; and as he had heard a good many stories told regarding his speed, courage, steadiness, and other good qualities as a hunter, the boy had indulged in some rosy dreams about the runs he hoped to have when he reached the country in which the lordly eland, the stately giraffe, and the fleet-footed quagga and wilde-beest abounded.

While Oscar was conversing with the landlord he looked him full in the face, and when he directed his gaze toward the stable-yard again he saw a young man walk leisurely into[Pg 15] it through the arched gateway, and, after exchanging a few words with the hostler, turn his steps toward the wagon that stood under the shed.

He stopped beside the dissel-boom, and Oscar, who had been warned that eternal vigilance was the price he must pay for making his expedition successful, kept his eyes fixed upon him and watched every movement.

He saw the young man look all around, to make sure that there was no one but the hostler in sight, and then take some glittering object from his pocket and work it up and down over one of the links of the trek-tow.

"Just look at that, will you?" repeated Oscar, seizing Mr. Dibbits by the arm and turning him around so that he could look into the stable-yard. "Is that the kind of care you take of property belonging to your guests?"

"Why, whatever is the fellow doing?" exclaimed the landlord, who seemed to be very much astonished.

"I know, if you don't," replied Oscar in a tone of voice that had a good deal of meaning[Pg 16] in it. "Hold on, there!" he added as the landlord reached out his hand, as if he were about to raise the window. "Say not a word. I'll attend to him, and if I can get my hands on him I'll see what Mr. Donahue will have to say to him."

Oscar faced about, and giving his leather helmet a slap, to fix it firmly on his head, started on a full run for the door.

No sooner had he left the room than the landlord quickly but noiselessly threw up the sash, and, leaning as far out the window as he could without losing his balance, called out in a suppressed voice:

"Thomas! Thomas! Look out for yourself!"

And having attracted the young man's attention, he went through some sort of a pantomime that must have been perfectly understood, for Thomas took to his heels and was out of sight in a twinkling.

The next moment Oscar Preston darted around the corner of the hotel and entered the stable-yard. He looked everywhere for the young man, but he was not to be found.

He glanced up at the window and saw that[Pg 17] it was closed. He walked over to his wagon, and after a short search found the link on which Thomas had been at work with a saw made of a watch-spring.

The marks of the teeth were there, but he had not done the chain any damage, because he had been interrupted before he had fairly settled down to business.

"It's lucky that I am posted," thought Oscar as he walked around the wagon to make sure that everything in and about it was just as he had left it. "If that fellow had been left undisturbed for five or ten minutes he would have sawed that link half in two. Then he would have filled up the cut with mud, and just about the time we were going up the town hill, and the oxen were beginning to lay out their strength, that link would have given way and I should have had to come back for a new start, and perhaps to have the same trick played upon me a second time. That's the way these cattle-dealers have served more than one traveller, trader, and sportsman, but they will have to try something else on me."

[Pg 18]

Having satisfied himself that his wagon had not been tampered with, Oscar walked toward the hostler, who did not look up from his work.

As an accompaniment to his manipulations, he kept up a constant hissing through his teeth, producing a sound which much resembled that which is made by drawing a brush quickly across a curry comb.

Why he did it Oscar could not understand. Perhaps it was for the same reason that an Irish laborer follows every blow of his pick with a sonorous "wish-h-h!"—viz., to make his work easier.

When Oscar came up he stopped his hissing long enough to say:

"Hit's a wery fine 'oss you 'ave'ere, sir, an' I shall be glad to drink your 'ealth and his'n, if you so please."

"I will give you half a crown if you will tell me the name of the man who was fooling with my trek-tow just now," answered Oscar.

The hostler resumed his hissing again at once. He evidently wanted to consider the matter before he ventured a reply.

[Pg 19]

"I'd be glad to earn the 'arf crown, sir," said he at length, "but I can't do it. I aint seen nobody."

"I know better!" exclaimed Oscar. "He stopped and talked with you when he first came into the stable-yard."

"Oh, that man? I don't know 'im, sir. I never see 'im afore to-day."

Oscar said no more. He walked through the gateway, and, looking in the direction of the pound, saw his oxen coming up the street.

"I'll soon be far away from this den of swindlers," said he to himself; "but whether or not I shall be any better off than I am now remains to be seen. Mr. McElroy says that the Dutch farmers are friendly to nobody but Scotchmen, and how they will treat an American I don't know, for I am the first one who has ever been here."

"Did you catch him, sir?" inquired the landlord when Oscar came back and took his stand in front of the window again.

"Of course not!" replied the boy in a tone of disgust. "I knew I couldn't catch him,[Pg 20] for he has too many watchful friends about this hotel. He was warned before I reached the stable-yard. By the way, Mr. Dibbits, I am expecting a few gentlemen to dine with me this evening, and I want your pleasantest parlor and the best dinner you can serve up."

"Very well, sir," answered the landlord. "You shall have both."

Oscar turned toward the window again, and just then a horseman galloped up to the porch and dismounted.

Giving his steed into the charge of one of the stable-boys who hurried out to receive him, the man clattered up the steps and threw open the door.

If there is any faith to be put in appearances, he was pretty mad about something. His face was flushed, his shaggy eyebrows were drawn down in a fierce scowl, and even his bushy side-whiskers seemed to bristle with rage.

"Ah, colonel, I am surprised as well as delighted to see you back here," said the landlord, rubbing his hands and bowing[Pg 21] obsequiously. "Is there any way in which I can serve you?"

The angry man paid no sort of attention to the greeting.

He came over to Oscar's end of the parlor and stamped up and down the floor, thrashing his boots with his riding-whip.

The boy took one look at him, and turned and gazed out of the window again. He was fairly convulsed with laughter.

"Aha, my fine fellow," said he to himself; "you are the high-toned lord who would not hunt with strangers, especially American boys! I know what is the matter with you, and if your arrogance has met with another rebuke I am very glad of it."

After a few turns across the room the colonel seemed to have worked off a little of his rage, for he stopped and looked out at one of the other windows.

Just then Oscar's oxen came into the stable-yard, and a fine-looking lot they were—large, powerful animals, as black as jet and as sleek as moles.

"Whose stock is that?" demanded the[Pg 22] colonel in much the same tone he would have used if he had been ordering one of his hounds out of his way.

"It is mine, sir," replied Oscar politely.

The colonel started at the sound of his voice and stared hard at the boy, who smiled and touched his cap to him.

[Pg 23]

CHAPTER III. A DISGUSTED SPORTSMAN.