A SOUTH AFRICAN ADVENTURE

Dominion, Volume 28, Issue 104, 26 January 1935, Page 23

A SOUTH AFRICAN ADVENTURE

Don was lost; there was no doubt about that. Whichever way he looked under the pitiless glare of the African sun the vast plains stretched away to the horizon, broken only by little isolated hills that were fatally similar to one another. He bitterly reproached himself for having wandered so far from his father’s farm, alone, and on foot, and sank wearily on to a boulder. Sundenly he sprang up, for from the other side of the hill there came a faint cry. “Hulloa there! Hulloa!” Don yelled lustily, and again there came the other cry, but fainter than before. His weariness forgotten, Don raced over the uneven slopes of the hill towards the sound, and soon came across a huddled figure that lay below a ledge of rock. “What’s the matter? Are you hurt?” he questioned anxiously, and then: “Do you speak English?” for the figure on the ground was that of a dusky-skinned native boy, who rolled his dark eyes in pain and seemed unable to speak. A few yards away the young kaffir’s horse was grazing unconcernedly. Evidently he had been thrown while riding up the hill and had fallen from the ledge twenty feet above. His left leg was doubled under him. As Don bent over him he struggled to raise himself, but murmuring “Mamba’s Kraal” sank back unconscious. Don wondered how he could obtain help. The native boy, who could have told him in which direction habitation lay, showed no sign of returning consciousness, and without guidance Don might wander miles in the wrong direction, and the injured boy must be attended to quickly. ‘ Wherever s ‘Mamba's Kraal’?” Don asked himself, and at the words the horse whinnied. Don was struck with a new idea. What if the horse would take him to its master’s home? Mamba’s Kraal must be the native boy’s dwelling place, and possibly the boy was Mamba’s son, for he wore ornaments that were costly and few natives possessed horses. Making the unconscious boy as comfortable as he could with bis own coaC Don approached the horse, and in a moment was on its back. Mamba s Kraal, he urged the animal, which immediately tossed its head and started off at a brisk trot, while Don took particular notice of a clump of bushes growing oddly at the top of the hillock so that he would know where to return for the boy. It seemed a long time that Don was riding, so he gave a sigh of relief when, behind a clump of tall trees, he saw the beehive huts of a native kraal. But a fresh difficulty arose. “If I ride straight in they’ll recognise the horse and think I’ve stolen it,” said Don to himself. “I’d better send the horse on to warn them and follow on foot,” he decided, ana so that was what he did. Amid the excited chatter and wondering stares of the dusky villagers he strode into the central marketplace, to see the chief men clustered around the riderless horse and eagerly discussing it. At the sight of the white boy they turned. “Mamba’s Kraal?’ Don queried, and their renewed chatter told him he was right. How could he make them understand? Don had not been long enough in Africa, having only just come from school in England, to learn any of the native languages, so he started explaining with many gestures. He noticed a native pushing his way towards him, and was relieved to hear him say: Me speak English, and then t 8 realise that he was the chief. . , . Chief Mamba hardly waited for- Don to finish his hurried story. Son Khama I” he cried. “We go find him—quick.” Mounted once more on the horse that had so unerringly led him towards help, Don galloped over t,he veldt beside the anxious chief. At last. “That’s the hill!” cried Don, as they rode round it. “There he is!” They had nearly reached the still unconscious boy when Don cried cutin alarm, and was off his horse like a flash. Snatching the huntingknife from his belt he was racing towards the boy, and before the chief could realise it was on the ground beside the still form of Khama, cutting and slashing at something that lashed Its slnistersoils in the dust. The snake was killed in a moment, and over Khama s still form Chief Mamba shot a look of gratitude at the boy who had saved his son from the snake’s deadly bite. Probing with skilled hands Mamba was reassured that Khama’s injuries were not grave, and as they lifted him on to an improvised litter his eyes opened for a moment to recognise his father, and he closed them again with a sigh of content. . When the other natives had arrived they carried the boy slowly back.to the village, while Mamba set off with Don to show him his way back to the farm. Don’s father was full of gratitude to Mamba for bringing back his son, but Mamba was even more grateful to Don for coming for assistance for his son and saving him from the deadly snake as well.