Off to the Wilds | Page 2

fast as he put it in, he had to look out for something else, which he found in the shape of some coarse dry grass. With this he half filled the boot, and then, with a good deal of difficulty, managed to wriggle in his toes, after which he drew the boot above his ankle, rose up with a smile of gratified pride upon his countenance, and began to strut up and down before his companion.
There was something very laughable in the scene, for it did not seem to occur to the Zulu boy that he required anything else to add to his costume. He had on one English boot, the same as the white men wore, and that seemed to him sufficient, as he stuck his arms akimbo, then folded them as he walked with head erect, and ended by standing on one leg and holding out the booted foot before his admiring companion. This was too much for the other boy, whose eyes glittered as he made a snatch at the boot, dragged it off, and was about to leap up and run away; but his victim was too quick, for, lithe and active as a serpent, he dashed upon the would-be robber, and a fierce struggle ensued for the possession of the boot.
John Rogers, otherwise Jack, a frank English lad of about sixteen, sprang forward to separate the combatants, but Dinny, his father's servant, who had been groom and gardener at home, restrained him.
"No, no, Masther Jack," he cried, "let the young haythens fight it out. It'll make them behave betther by-an'-by."
"I won't; I don't like to see them fight," cried Jack, slipping himself free, and seemingly joining in the fray.
"Don't, Masther Jack," cried Dinny; "they'll come off black on your hands. Masther Dick, sir, tell him to lave them alone."
The lad appealed to, a pale delicate-looking youth, clenched his fists and sprang forward to help his brother. But he stopped directly and began to laugh, as, after a short scuffle, Jack Rogers separated the combatants, and stood between them with the boot in dispute.
For a moment it seemed as if the two Zulu lads were about to make a combined attack, but there was something about the English lad which restrained them, and they stood chattering away in their native tongue, protesting against his interference, and each laying claim to the boot.
"Speak English," cried Jack. "And now you two have got to shake hands like Englishmen, and make friends."
"Want a boot! want a boot! want a boot!" the Zulu lads kept repeating.
"Well, you do as I tell you, and you shall each have a pair of boots."
"Two boot? Two boot?" cried the boy who had lost his treasure.
"Yes; two boots," said Jack. "You've got an old pair, haven't you, Dick?"
"Yes; they can have my old ones," was the reply. "Go and get them, Dinny."
"And my old lace-ups too," said Jack.
"Ugh!" ejaculated Dinny, spitting on the ground in token of disgust. "Ye'll both repint being such friends with cannibal savages like them, young gentlemen. They'll turn round on ye some day, and rend and ate ye both."
"Not they, Dinny," laughed Jack. "They'd prefer Irishmen, so we should be safe if you were there."
"Ah, ye may laugh," said Dinny, "but they're a dangerous lot, them savages, and I wouldn't trust 'em the length of my fut."
Dinny went towards the back door of Mr Rogers' roomy, verandah-surrounded cottage farm, high up in the slopes of the Drakensberg, and looking a perfect bower with its flowers, creepers, and fruit-trees, many being old English friends; and Jack proceeded to make peace between the two Zulu boys.
"Now look here, Sepopo, you've got to shake hands with your brother," he cried.
"No!" cried the Zulu boy who had been lying down when he snatched the boot, and he threw himself in a monkey-like attitude on all fours.
"Now you, Bechele, you've got to make friends and shake hands," continued Jack, paying no heed to Sepopo's defiant attitude.
"No!" cried the last-addressed, emphatically. "'Tole a boot! 'Tole a boot!" And he too plumped himself down upon all fours and stared at the ground.
"I say yes!" cried Jack; when, as if moved by the same influence, the two Zulu boys leaped up, ran a few yards, and picked up each his "kiri," a short stick with a knob at the end nearly as big as the fist, ran back to where the English lads were standing, and with flashing eyes began to beat the sand with their clubs.
"Come along, Dick!" cried Jack. "They shan't fight. You take Sepopo, I'll take Bechele. No; don't! It will make you hot, and you're not strong. I'll give it them both."
Jack, who was very strong and active for his age, made a dash at the young Zulus just as they began threatening