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Updated: June 25, 2025
No doubt he could hardly fail to make a dead shot at so close a range, with such an awful weapon, loaded, as it usually is, with handfuls of slugs, buckshot, and gravel; but it was none the less plucky for all that. The old flint-lock might have missed fire, or he mightn't have killed the brute outright, and in either case he knew well enough it would have been all up with Jerry Goldboy."
The ball nevertheless slightly grazed the animal's side. With a shriek of intense agony, such as only a brute of the porcine tribe can utter, the reit-vark swerved aside and ran straight, though unintentionally, at Jerry Goldboy. Self-control not being Jerry's forte, he uttered a great cry, presented the blunderbuss with both hands, shut his eyes, and fired.
"Well, well," said Jerry Goldboy to Junkie, who with Scholtz had taken refuge under the very imperfect shelter of a bush, "it's 'orrible 'ard work this campaigning; specially in bad weather, with the point of one's nose a'most cut off." Jerry referred to a wound which an assagai aimed at his heart had that day inflicted on his nose.
Gradually the fires burned low, and gave out such flickering uncertain light, when an occasional flame leaped up ever and anon, that to unaccustomed eyes it might have seemed as though snakes were crawling everywhere, and Jerry Goldboy, had he been awake, would have beheld a complete menagerie in imagination. But Jerry was now in blessed oblivion.
Remembering some of the breakneck gorges of the Zuurberg, Jerry Goldboy said that he didn't believe it possible for any route to be worse than that over which they had already passed, to which Sandy Black replied with a "humph!" and an opinion that "the field-cornet o' the distric' was likely to know what he was speakin' aboot."
This young man of six feet two, with no money and less brain, is not a brother only a chum named Frank Dobson. Come, fill up and drink, else you'll catch a cold, or a South African fever, if there is such a thing. Whom shall I pledge?" "My name is Jerry Goldboy," said the Englishman; "your health, gentlemen." "'Am Sandy Black," said the Scot; "here's t'ee."
A burst of noisy laughter just behind them caused the lost ones to turn abruptly, when they observed four tall young men of gentlemanly aspect sitting in a small military tent, and much amused apparently at their moist condition. "Why, where did you two fellows come from?" asked one of the youths, issuing from the tent. "From England and Scotland," replied Jerry Goldboy promptly.
Bertha now Bertha Considine who leaned on Charlie's arm, spoke not with her lips, but she lifted her bright blue eyes, and with these orbs of light declared her thorough belief in the wisdom of what ever Charlie might say or do. "They say it's all settled!" cried Jerry Goldboy, hastily entering Kenneth McTavish's stable. "What's all settled?" demanded Sandy Black.
The first hunting party sent out was not a select one, the people generally being too eager about examining and determining their immediate locations to care about sport. It consisted of young Rivers and Jerry Goldboy.
Among those who formed this party were Charlie Considine, Hans Marais, Sandy Black and his satellite Jerry Goldboy, Andrew Rivers, Diederik and Christian Muller, and the tall black-bearded hunter Lucas Van Dyk, besides Slinger, Dikkop, and other Hottentots and Bushmen.
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