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It sounded like Groot Willem's gun, but how could the hunter be there? Congo could not hope it was he. Some minutes of profound silence succeeded the shot, which was then followed by three others, and once more all was still. A quarter of an hour passed, and hoof-strokes were heard on the hill above; a party of horsemen were riding along the crest of the ridge.
A party of the natives then approached them, and the three prisoners were set loose from the trees. Some scene, solemn and serious, was about to be enacted; but worn out with their misery, and weary of their long imprisonment, almost any change appeared a relief. The chief of the tribe was now seen mounted on Willem's horse, heading a procession of from ten to twelve men.
But before he could touch his trigger, Willem's roer delivered its loud report, and the thief fell forward on to the fire. Van Ormon's brother, not heeding the fate of his companion, made some show of resistance; but this was instantly ended by a blow from the butt of Groot Willem's gun, which he now held clenched in his hand.
"They are just as likely to have gone in one direction as another," answered Hendrik, "and suppose we look for them in the direction of Graaf Reinet." This remark but increased Willem's despair, for it showed an unwillingness on the part of his comrade to make any farther delay on account of their misfortune.
To Groot Willem and his companions there was something very inconsistent in the conduct of the Makololo. They fought like brave men when forced to face the foe but now that no enemy was near, they exhibited every sign of cowardice! At Willem's request, Congo asked the chief for an explanation of this unaccountable behaviour.
Their guards only shouted, when Congo attempted to put in a word; while those who were around the chief began to make preparations for carrying out the dread sentence of death. It was soon known to the captives, what mode of death was to be adopted for them. The gestures of the chief made it manifest, that he was about to make trial of his new weapon, Willem's roer.
The pace of the three had now been changed from a gallop to a trot, in which their feet were lifted but a few inches from the ground, and drawn forward in an awkward shambling manner, that proved them exhausted with their long run. Still, they ran on at a pace that kept Willem's horse at a sharp canter. In a short time he had got out of sight both of the main herd and his comrades.
Nothing could be seen of the camelopard, though its tracks were found leading out upon the plain. Willem's wishes were very difficult to meet. At first he was afraid the giraffe would be lost in a dense forest, where he would be unable to gallop after it on horseback.
"Ever since noon," was Willem's reply. "And how much longer would you have stayed, had we not found you?" "Until either this giraffe or I should have died," answered Willem. "I should not have abandoned it before." "But supposing you had died first, how would it have been then?" asked Arend. "No doubt," replied Willem, "something would very soon have taken me away.
Translations from Nivardus were the origin of the French versions of the Roman du Renard and of the Flemish poem of Reinaert, written by Willem in the thirteenth century, and which surpasses all other variations of the theme. The Reinaert is the first notable work of mediæval Flemish literature. Willem's predecessor, Hendrick van Veldeke, is merely a translator.
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