Oscar's Narrow Escape.

OSCAR IN AFRICA

BY

HARRY CASTLEMON

AUTHOR OF "GUNBOAT SERIES," "ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES," "WAR SERIES," ETC., ETC.

THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO., PHILADELPHIA, CHICAGO, TORONTO.

Copyright, 1882, by James Elverson.

Copyright, 1894, by Porter & Coates.

CONTENTS.

OSCAR IN AFRICA.

CHAPTER I. AN INQUISITIVE LANDLORD.

"Who is he, anyhow? Where does he hail from, and what is he doing here?"

The speaker leaned over the little bar in the hotel at Maritzburg, and looked first at the landlord who stood behind it and then at half a dozen roughly dressed companions who were congregated in front of it.

These men were cattle-dealers and speculators. They made it a business to furnish oxen, wagons, supplies, and servants to hunters and travellers who were bound up the country.

They claimed a monopoly in this line, and the stranger who ignored them and exercised the right to purchase his outfit where he could do the best was sure to suffer at their hands in one way or another.

"He is from America," answered two or three of the men at once; and the tone in which the words were spoken betrayed both the pity and contempt they felt for one who was willing to acknowledge that he came from so benighted a region.

"Oh, he's a Yankee, is he?" exclaimed the first speaker. "I thought he didn't look and act like an Englishman. Isn't there a chance to make a few pounds out of him? He doesn't know the ropes, of course."

"If he doesn't know them all he knows a good many of them," replied the landlord. "He has had nothing to do with anybody about the hotel since he has been here, and has acted as independent as you please."

"What is his business?"

"That is the funny part of the story. I have heard, in a roundabout way—he has never said a word to me about himself or his affairs—that he is going into the interior on a sporting expedition."

"He is!" exclaimed the first speaker. "Why, he's nothing but a boy!"

"And a foolish one at that," chimed in another of the cattle-dealers. "I don't believe he ever fired a gun in his life."

"They say he has," replied the landlord. "The story goes that he has spent a winter alone in the Rocky Mountains—wherever they may be—and that he has killed bears and deer no end."

"I don't believe a word of it. Americans don't have money to spend in hunting, as our gentlemen sportsmen do."

"He's got plenty of it, and has paid his bills regular. I'll say that much for him," observed the landlord. "I am told that he is backed up by some college in America, and that he is employed to stock a museum there."

"Well, we don't want him here," said one of the cattle-dealers decidedly. "Nobody but our own countrymen have the right to hunt in Africa."

"I don't see how you are going to stop him."

"Oh, there are plenty of ways! We have stopped more than one hunter from going over the town hill, and we can stop this one."

"I wouldn't fool with him if I were you," said the landlord. "Judging by the way he acts, he has brought letters to somebody here in Maritzburg—although where he got them I don't know—and if he has you had better let him alone, or you'll get into trouble."

"Be careful about what you do," said one of the men who had not spoken before, and who answered to the name of Barlow. "He's smart, and better posted than any stranger I ever saw. I met him in Durban. He bought an outfit of me—oxen, wagon, and everything—all fair and square, and then backed out."