"Haggard, H Rider- Hunter Quatermain's Story" - читать интересную книгу автора (Haggard H. Rider)

wood. Half wild with grief and anxiety, followed by Hans and Mashune,
I ran at full speed down the slope of the koppie, and across the space
of plain below to the spring of water, where my camp had been. I was
soon there, only to find that my worst suspicions were confirmed.

"The waggon and all its contents, including my spare guns and
ammunition, had been destroyed by a grass fire.

"Now before I started, I had left orders with the driver to burn off
the grass round the camp, in order to guard against accidents of this
nature, and here was the reward of my folly: a very proper
illustration of the necessity, especially where natives are concerned,
of doing a thing one's self if one wants it done at all. Evidently the
lazy rascals had not burnt round the waggon; most probably, indeed,
they had themselves carelessly fired the tall and resinous tambouki
grass near by; the wind had driven the flames on to the waggon tent,
and there was quickly an end of the matter. As for the driver and
leader, I know not what became of them: probably fearing my anger,
they bolted, taking the oxen with them. I have never seen them from
that hour to this.

"I sat down on the black veldt by the spring, and gazed at the charred
axles and disselboom of my waggon, and I can assure you, ladies and
gentlemen, I felt inclined to weep. As for Mashune and Hans they
cursed away vigorously, one in Zulu and the other in Dutch. Ours was a
pretty position. We were nearly 300 miles away from Bamangwato, the
capital of Khama's country, which was the nearest spot where we could
get any help, and our ammunition, spare guns, clothing, food, and
everything else, were all totally destroyed. I had just what I stood
in, which was a flannel shirt, a pair of 'veldt-schoons,' or shoes of
raw hide, my eight-bore rifle, and a few cartridges. Hans and Mashune
had also each a Martini rifle and some cartridges, not many. And it
was with this equipment that we had to undertake a journey of 300
miles through a desolate and almost uninhabited region. I can assure
you that I have rarely been in a worse position, and I have been in
some queer ones. However, these things are the natural incidents of a
hunter's life, and the only thing to do was to make the best of them.

"Accordingly, after passing a comfortless night by the remains of my
waggon, we started next morning on our long journey towards
civilization. Now if I were to set to work to tell you all the
troubles and incidents of that dreadful journey I should keep you
listening here till midnight; so I will, with your permission, pass on
to the particular adventure of which the pair of buffalo horns
opposite are the melancholy memento.

"We had been travelling for about a month, living and getting along as
best we could, when one evening we camped some forty miles from
Bamangwato. By this time we were indeed in a melancholy plight,
footsore, half starved, and utterly worn out; and, in addition, I was