



Produced by Al Haines.




[Illustration: Cover art]




[Illustration: The rhinoceros, snorting loudly, was upon them.]




                            *The Gold Kloof*


                                   BY

                              H. A. BRYDEN



                         THOMAS NELSON AND SONS
               _London, Edinburgh, Dublin, and New York_
                                  1907




                              _CONTENTS._

      I. _School Days_
     II. _Bamborough Farm_
    III. _Up-country Life_
     IV. _The Gold Spoor_
      V. _The Trek Begins_
     VI. _The Shadowers and the Shadowed_
    VII. _Adventures in the Veldt_
   VIII. _The Elephant Country_
     IX. _In the Thirst-land_
      X. _Tom's Story.--The Baboon Boy_
     XI. _The Berg Damaras_
    XII. _The Lion Camp_
   XIII. _Guy is Missing_
    XIV. _Poeskop to the Rescue_
     XV. _The Kloof_
    XVI. _Gathering Gold_
   XVII. _The Shadowers' Attack_
  XVIII. _The Last of Karl Engelbrecht_
    XIX. _Homeward Bound_




                           *THE GOLD KLOOF.*



                              *Chapter I.*

                             *SCHOOL DAYS.*


It was a fine, hot July day on the banks of the Severn river at
Tewkesbury, that quaint, old-world, and somewhat decayed town, which
offers to the inspection of the visitor and the archaeologist some of
the most ancient and interesting buildings to be seen in any part of
broad England.  There was some stir on the banks of the river, for two
public schools, one of them situate in the west of England, the other
hailing from a Midland shire, were about to contest with one another in
their annual boat race.  From the Western school a considerable
contingent of lads had come over; these were discussing, with the
enthusiasm of schoolboys, the prospects of the races.  On the banks,
gathered near the winning-post, were also to be seen a number of other
spectators, some from the town itself, others from the neighbouring
country-side.

The fateful moment at length had come; the two boats were to be seen in
the distance, their oarsmen battling with one another with all the
desperate energy that youth and strength and an invincible determination
could put into their task.  As they drew nearer it was to be seen that
the Midland school was leading by nearly half a length.  A quarter of a
mile remained to be rowed.  Loud cries from the Western school resounded
along the banks.  Hope struggled against hope in every youthful breast;
yet it seemed that if the oarsmen of the Western school were to make
that final effort for which they were famous, it was now almost too
late.  But, no! the Western stroke is seen to be calling upon his crew;
their flashing blades dip quicker, and yet quicker; they are well
together, all apparently animated by the vigour and the reserve of force
displayed by their leader.  Foot by foot they diminish the lead of their
adversaries, who are striving desperately, yet ineffectually, to retain
their advantage.  A hundred yards from the winning-post the Western lads
are level; and as the post is passed they have defeated their
adversaries, after one of the finest races ever rowed between the two
schools, by a quarter of a length.

Amid the exultant and tremendous cheering that now greets the triumph of
the Western school, both crews paddle to the boat-house and disembark.
The boats are got out and housed, and all but the Western captain and
stroke, Guy Hardcastle, are inside the boathouse, bathing and changing
their clothes.  Guy Hardcastle, a strong, well-set-up lad of seventeen,
lingers on the platform in conversation with his house-master, Mr.
Brimley-Fair, who has come down to congratulate him on his victory.  He
is a good-looking lad, fresh complexioned, with fair brown hair, a firm
mouth, and a pair of steady, blue-gray eyes, which look the world
frankly in the face, with an aspect of candour, friendliness, and
self-reliance that most people find very attractive.

While master and boy are talking together for a brief minute or two, a
sudden cry comes from the river, followed by others.  They look that
way, and see instantly the reason of the outcry.  Some country people,
rowing across from the other side, are evidently not accustomed to
boating.  Two of them attempt to change places in mid-stream: they are
womenfolk; they become alarmed and shift in their places, the heavily
laden boat is upset, and half a dozen people are struggling in the
water.

Guy Hardcastle is nothing if not prompt.  His resolution is instantly
taken.  He is in his light rowing kit, well prepared for swimming.
Kicking off his shoes, he dives neatly into the water, and swims rapidly
upstream towards the group of struggling people sixty yards away.  Of
these, three are clinging to the boat; one man is swimming for the shore
with a child; the sixth, a girl of fourteen, has just sunk ten yards
beyond the boat down-stream.  Her danger is manifestly great and
imminent.  Boats are putting off from the bank, but they may be too
late.  Guy Hardcastle, surveying the disaster with cool eye as he swims
that way, has concentrated all his energies on this drowning and
terror-stricken girl.  He is within fifteen yards of where she sank; and
now, a few seconds later, just as the girl, now partly insensible, comes
to the surface again, he grasps her firmly, turns her over on her
back--a task of some difficulty--and, himself also swimming on his back,
tows her towards the bank.  It is not an easy task.  The girl is no
light weight, encumbered as she is with soddened clothing; the stream is
strong, and Guy himself is by no means so fresh as he might have been,
after that hard and exhausting race of a few minutes since. Still, with
invincible determination, the plucky lad struggles with his burden
towards the boat-house. Help comes unexpectedly.  His house-master, Mr.
Brimley-Fair, has foreseen his difficulties, and, jumping into a dingy,
has rowed out to his assistance.  Presently he is alongside.

"Here you are, Hardcastle," he cries; "catch hold of her side!"

Guy clutches with one hand at the boat's gunwale, and feels that he and
his burden are now pretty safe.

"Now, hang on while I row you in," says Mr. Brimley-Fair, "and we'll
soon have you all right."

Guy does as he is told, and in fifty strokes the boathouse is reached,
and girl and rescuer are safe.  A storm of cheering, greater even than
that which greeted the winning of the boat race, now testifies to the
gallantry of the boy's second feat and the relief of all that the girl
is safe.  Meanwhile, the remainder of the overturned crew have been
rescued by boats rowed from the bank.

Arrived at the boat-house, willing hands hung on to the dingy while Mr.
Brimley-Fair stepped out of her. Then, bringing her side gently to the
platform, they grasped Guy Hardcastle and his burden and lifted them
into safety.  The girl was pale and insensible, but she breathed; a
doctor was quickly in attendance; and after the usual restorative
methods had been applied for a quarter of an hour, the patient came
round, was carried to a neighbouring hotel, put to bed, and by the
evening was well enough to be taken home.

After the doctor had taken charge of the half-drowned girl, Mr.
Brimley-Fair turned his attention to Guy Hardcastle, still dripping from
his immersion.

"Now, my boy," he said, kindly patting him on the shoulder, "you have
done splendidly.  That was a plucky thing to do.  You remembered all
your life-saving lessons--which some of the boys seem to think a
bore--and deserve, and I hope will get, the Humane Society's Medal.
But, medal or no medal, you did your duty and a brave thing, and we are
all proud of you.  Now go and get your clothes off and a rub down. You
look tired and chilled, as well you may, after rowing that fine race and
saving a girl's life.  I've sent for some brandy, and you'll soon be all
right again."

"All right, sir," said the boy, cheerful though shivering.  "I shall be
quite fit as soon as I get into my clothes."

The brandy soon arrived, and the lad was given a small quantity in some
water.  Thoroughly dried and rubbed down, he was, not long after,
clothed and comfortable again, and quite equal to doing his duty by his
adversaries of the recent boat race, who with his own schoolmates were
loud in admiration of his latest feat.

The rival crews had some food together, under the chairmanship of Mr.
Brimley-Fair; and later on, the Midland crew having been seen off at the
station, the Western lads took train for their own school.

About ten days after these events, Guy Hardcastle received news that
altered the whole course of his life. The son of a mining engineer,
whose duties took him much away from England into distant parts of the
world, the lad had had the misfortune to lose his mother at a very early
age.  He lived during his vacations with an aunt, a sister of his
father's, a Miss Hardcastle, who lived at a quiet country house in the
county of Durham. Beyond two families of cousins living in the same
county, the lad had few other relatives in England.  He had, however, an
Uncle Charles, his mother's only brother, living in South Africa, who
came home occasionally to England, and to whom he was greatly attached.
In fact, next to his father, the lad looked upon his Uncle Charles as
his greatest friend.  Guy was now a month or two past seventeen.  He had
been four years at his present school, where he was an immense
favourite.  Captain of the rowing club, he had not time or opportunity
to devote himself, as he would have liked, to cricket, and was not
therefore in the eleven.  But he was in the twenty-two.  He was also a
distinguished member of the football team, and a good athlete.  At the
last sports he had won the mile in the record time for his school of
four minutes forty-nine seconds, and had, in addition, carried off the
half-mile, the quarter-mile, and the grand steeplechase.  Winning as
well the long jump and throwing the cricket ball, he was easily _victor
ludorum_ in the school sports.

Although not a brilliantly clever boy, he was possessed of quite average
brains.  He was, in addition, a steady and consistent worker, with the
result that he was now in the highest form in the school, on the modern
side, and a prefect.  A thoroughly good stamp of an English schoolboy,
excellent at work, keen at games, good tempered, reliable, and steady,
Guy Hardcastle was undoubtedly all round the most popular boy in the
school.  He owed not a little of his popularity to his character, which
was strong, simple, and always to be relied upon.  His schoolfellows
knew that he hated meanness and lying; that he was the foe of the bully
and the sneak