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Updated: August 7, 2024
They had been steadily tracing the spoor of poor Junkie, had lost and re-found it several times and, during their pursuit, had crossed the waggon-tracks of Skyd and his party, whom they followed up, in the faint hope that they might have heard or seen something to guide them in their search. In this they were disappointed.
"Oh! then, you mean to have your very select picnic on the hills?" said the laird. "Yes, but no one shall know to what part we are going, for, as I have said, we mean to have a day of it all to ourselves; only we will take Junkie to protect us, and carry our provisions." There were two of the gentlemen who declined the shooting expedition.
Junkie heeded not. When released he ran toward Jackman who was struggling skilfully with the fish. "Don't let him take you down the rapid," he shouted. "There's no good place for landin' him there. Hold on, an' bring 'im up if you can. Hi!" This last exclamation was caused by another rush of the fish.
It caused him to turn a complete somersault into the jungle, where he fell with a thud and a crash that could be heard far and near, and there he lay sprawling for a few moments, nothing but struggling legs, trunk, and tail being visible above the long grass!" "Hooray!" shouted Junkie, unable to restrain himself. "Just what my man Quin said," continued Jackman.
As they passed close to the camp without drawing rein, the Dutchmen gave them an enthusiastic cheer, but no reply was made, save by Junkie, who could not repress a cry of fierce delight. Down deeper into the hollow they went, and up the opposite slope, the thunder of their tread alone breaking the stillness. "Halt!" cried the leader in a deep loud voice.
In order to secure a slight feeling of pleasurable expectation while resting, he put on a bait-cast, dropped the worm into the deepest part of the pool, propped up his rod with several stones, and then lay down to watch. The turf happened to be soft and level. As a natural consequence the tired man fell sound asleep. "What's to be done noo, Junkie?" "I don't know, Tonal'."
The wild shrieks of laughter at the neighbouring Hottentot fire helped to increase Jerry's wakefulness, and when this at last lulled, the irritation was kept up by the squalling of Master Junkie, whose tent was about three feet distant from Jerry's pillow, and who kept up a vicious piping just in proportion to the earnestness of Mrs Scholtz's attempts to calm him.
Indeed, it is just possible that he disbelieved that fact, for he neglected it entirely, insomuch that when he had completed the operation to his own entire satisfaction, several stiff and independent locks pointed straight to the sky, and two or three to the horizon. "That's a pretty text on the wall, Junkie," observed Barret, while the youngster was busy with the comb. "Yes, it's pretty."
"I'm inclined that way myself," said Jackman, who had been pulling hard at one of the oars up to that time. "Has any one thought of bringing a bottle of water?" "Here's a bottle," cried MacRummle, laughing. "Ah, sure, an' there seems to be a bottle o' milk, or somethin' white under the th'ort," remarked Quin, who pulled the bow oar. "But that's Milly's bottle of milk," shouted Junkie.
Junkie Brook, with that vigour of character which had asserted itself on the squally day of his nativity, joined Frank Dobson and John Skyd in a hunting expedition beyond the Great Orange River; and when the Orange Free State was set up by the emigrant Dutchmen, he and his friends established there a branch of the flourishing house of Dobson, Skyd, and Company.
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