"I wish that wagon and its contents were at the bottom of the sea, and that I were safe in Eaton again," said Oscar to himself as he flew over the plain. "If I had gone through with my expedition and was on my way to the coast it would be bad enough; but as it is I don't wonder that Leon Parker had to take his bed. The doctors say that people have died of homesickness before now, and I believe it."

For a few minutes Oscar was certainly in a very bad way; but the fresh air and Little Gray's easy, rapid motion seemed to have a soothing effect on him, and after he had ridden a mile or more at a headlong gallop he turned about and went back to the wagon.

He knew that he must do something to keep up his spirits, and for want of something better he seated himself on the dissel-boom and talked to Paddy O'Brian.

It was the best thing he could have done. Paddy was as witty as any of his race, and after Oscar had enjoyed a few hearty laughs he climbed into the wagon and finished the reading of his letters. Then he set to work to answer them.

He was busy until long after midnight, writing by the light of a lantern that stood on the fore-chest, and he did not complete his task until three o'clock the next afternoon.

Then he took out of his trunk one of the extra suits of moleskin which he had not yet worn, and after making his toilet with a great deal of care, picked up his letters and climbed the hill to Harrismith to keep his appointment with Mr. Hutchinson.

That gentleman, who was acquainted with almost everybody in the country, gave him a letter to a friend who lived about a hundred and fifty miles distant, and before the dew was off the grass the next morning Oscar had left Harrismith a long way behind him.

Up to this time the young hunter had secured but a very few specimens, and they were mostly birds.

He had not taken a rifle out of its holster but once, and that was to shoot a baboon he saw frisking about in a rocky ravine through which the wagon passed, and whose skin was now stowed away in one of his chests.

He was getting into a game country, and almost every day he saw small herds of spring-bucks and wilde-beests feeding in plain view.

The temptation to stop and try a shot at them was strong, but he resisted it, for the reason that he thought it would be a waste of time.

He did not know how to hunt African game, and his object was to reach the home of Mr. Lawrence, a gentleman to whom he had been given letters of introduction, and whom he hoped to induce to act as his instructor.

Mr. Lawrence was a prosperous farmer as well as an enthusiastic sportsman. He had been in Africa long enough to know how to bag all the different kinds of game with which the country abounded, and he was engaged in his favorite recreation, riding to the hounds, when Oscar met him. It came about in this way:

When on the march the young hunter always rode quite half a mile in advance of the wagon, and one morning he had the good fortune to come within easy shooting distance of the largest herd of spring-bucks he had ever seen.

The little animals crossed the track not more than a hundred yards in advance of him, and Oscar had a fair view of them. They ran at the top of their speed, bounding along like so many rubber balls, and clearing from twelve to fifteen feet at a jump without the least apparent effort.

When they reached the wagon-track they sailed over it as easily as if they had been furnished with wings, and then trotted along with their noses close to the ground, as if they felt in a very sportive mood.

Being unarmed, Oscar could do nothing but sit in his saddle and look at them, reproaching himself the while for not bringing a rifle with him.

If he had had one of his double-barrels in his hands he could have secured a couple of specimens and some fresh steaks for dinner without the least difficulty.

When the afternoon march began he rode out with an Express rifle on his shoulder, but he waited in vain for another herd of spring-bucks to cross the track. There were plenty of them in sight, but they took care to keep out of range.

The dogs, as usual, went off hunting on their own hook, but instead of driving the game in his direction they drove it farther away, and finally disappeared among the hills.

"Such a chance as I had this morning doesn't happen more than once in a fellow's lifetime," thought Oscar regretfully. "However, I have learned something by it. I know now how to set up a spring-buck if I ever get one, and have been convinced that in this country a hunter had better keep a rifle by him all the time."

Oscar went off into a revery, which lasted nearly an hour, and from which he was finally aroused by the baying of a hound. He did not pay much attention to it at first, but when he found that there was more than one hound giving tongue, and that their music was growing louder every moment, he straightened up and began to look about him.

All at once a large, dark-brown animal appeared over the brow of a hill about a quarter of a mile to his right, and came toward him with the speed of the wind.

In an instant Oscar dropped to the ground, and looking over his horse's back, watched the movements of the game. He had scarcely taken up his position before a number of dogs came into view. They did not run in a compact body, as hounds usually do, but were spread out in a sort of skirmish order so as to cover each flank of their quarry. Oscar was quick to notice this, and he could not help congratulating himself on the intelligence displayed by his pack of mongrels.

"I had no idea they had so much sense," said he to himself. "The game, whatever it is, can't turn either way without running the risk of being caught. Its only chance is to keep straight ahead and outrun the dogs; but whether or not it can do that is a question. I never saw them move so swiftly before."

Oscar drew his head further down behind the saddle as he cocked both barrels of his rifle and waited with a beating heart for a chance to shoot.

Just then the game, discovering an enemy in front, swerved from its course, presenting a full broadside, and giving the excited young hunter the first fair view of a wilde-beest (the gnu of the naturalist) he had ever had.

This movement sealed its fate. As quick as thought Oscar sprang around the head of his horse, which stood motionless in his tracks, raised his rifle to his shoulder, and holding far enough in advance of the gnu to make allowance for distance and motion, pressed the trigger.

The first shot was a clean miss, but the second bullet told loudly, and when the smoke cleared away Oscar had the satisfaction of seeing the gnu lying on the ground all in a heap.

"There's something for Yarmouth!" he shouted. "That was the best shot I ever made."

Oscar at once ran forward to secure his prize and to prevent the dogs when they came up from spoiling its skin. He was greatly delighted, as well he might be, for he had secured a splendid specimen.

He straightened it out and looked at it, lost in admiration. It was a little more than four feet in height at the shoulders, and its mane and tail looked so much like those of a horse that, had it not been for its horns and hoofs, it might have been taken for rather a long-legged Shetland pony.

"It is a beautiful specimen," said Oscar aloud as he walked slowly around the animal, so that he could view it from all sides.

"It certainly is, but I should like to know what business you have shooting my game?" said a voice near him.

Oscar looked up in the greatest surprise and saw a horseman standing within twenty feet of him. Where he came from so suddenly was a mystery.

"That's my wilde-beest," continued the stranger. "I have been following him for more than an hour. Turn him over and you will see the mark of my bullet in his flank."

Oscar acted like a boy who had just been awakened out of a sound sleep. He rubbed his eyes to make sure that he was not dreaming, and then he saw that the dogs which had gathered about him, and whose speed and style of hunting he had so much admired, were not his own.

They were magnificent Scotch deer-hounds, and looked about as much like the members of his own pack as Oscar looked like the grinning little Hottentot who sat on his horse a short distance behind the man whose sudden and unexpected appearance had so startled and surprised him.