They followed the tracks up the valley for half a mile, and then came on plain evidences of the Boer camp.
"Here's a pretty how-d'ye-do!" said Mr. Blakeney seriously. "What on earth are these villains doing in this part of the world, Poeskop? We must follow them up."
The Bushman took up the spoor, and they followed the Boer wagon tracks without any difficulty. By afternoon they had cleared the forest region, and were now halted in a small grove of giraffe-acacia trees by a pan of water, about twelve miles distant from the mountain range in which Engelbrecht and his party had ensconced themselves.
"Baas," said Poeskop, "you and Baas Tom must wait here. Karl Engelbrecht has trekked for the berg yonder. He cannot be far in; his oxen could not have travelled much beyond the _poort_ [pass] which you see there"--he pointed to a dark ravine giving entrance to the hills--"in the time. So soon as evening comes, I will ride on, tie up my horse near the poort yonder, and creep about till I find what has been done, and where Baas Guy is. What say you? Is not that the best plan?"
"Yes, Poeskop," said Mr. Blakeney, "I think that is the best thing that can be done. You will have an hour or two's good moon to-night; and if you can't creep about and find out things, I don't know who can."
"Baas, I will find out all right," he said eagerly. "I like Baas Guy--he is my baas; and I will, somehow or other, bring him away with me if I can. At all events, I will reach him. We Bushmen, you know, can creep like the snake on his stomach. I shall becreep Baas Guy to-night. You will see. Poeskop knows. You stay here. I will come back by morning. If I can bring Baas Guy, well and good. If not, we try some other plan."
"Very well," said Mr. Blakeney, "we will wait here. Do the best you can, but don't run Baas Guy into danger. Get him away if you think you have a fair chance. Now, how many cartridges have you, if these fellows come out and we have to use our rifles?"
"I have seventeen," interrupted Tom, hastily running his fingers over his bandolier.
"And I have fourteen myself," added his father.
Poeskop fingered his greasy old bandolier.
"Why, you're as niggardly as a Boer with your cartridges," said Mr. Blakeney, with a laugh. "I've often told you that you don't carry enough for emergencies. Here, when we're in a tight place and may want every bullet we've got, you're short."