CHAPTER XL 



A WONDERFUL PERFORMANCE. 



TJ F you have ever enjoyed the thrilling sensation of sitting on a locomotive engine, 

 and thundering across the country, at the rate of a mile a minute, you can 

 T^ understand the emotions of Dick Brownell, when seated astride the front of 

 the ostrich, that was careering across the plain at such a tremendous rate. I do not 

 mean to say that its speed equaled that of the engine, for no animal lives that can 

 hold its own with the iron horse, but it seemed as great, for the smoothness of the 

 wonderful machine far surpasses that of any living creature's gait. 



The wind swept by the face of the lad in a gale, and he dared not release his 

 grasp, through fear of losing his hold, and going to the earth with a violence that 

 would have broken his neck. 



The only thing possible to do was to hold on until the ostrich exhausted himself, 

 then to take a flying leap, and, in case of an attack by the bird, to defend himself 

 with his revolver. 



Dick had hardly reached this decision, when he saw a man standing at one side 

 of the opening of the valley through which his winged steed was carrying him. 



A second glance showed that it was Pongo, the Bushman, who must have come 

 from camp to observe what the horsemen were doing. He seemed to be transfixed 

 with wonder at the sight of a lad riding a terrified ostrich. 



Dick uttered a shout, and saw Pongo trot briskly down the slope, as though he 

 intended to head off the bird, but that could not have been his purpose, for his gait 

 was not rapid, and he was too far off. The native did not speak, but, when a hun- 

 dred yards separated him from the lad, he stopped suddenly and faced partly away 

 from him. As he took this singular position, Dick observed a sudden sweep of his 

 right arm, as though he had struck a violent blow at some object behind him. A 

 second or two later, came an indescribable whizz and zip-like sound, and he knew 

 that something extroardinary had taken place. With an amazement beyond 

 description, he saw the next instant that the ostrich was as completely decapitated 

 as if his neck had been held beneath the descending blade of a guillotine 1 



A glimpse of an odd-shaped implement whirling end over end at one side of the 

 line of flight, the head itself having vanished under the feet of its owner, told the 

 story. 



The Bushman had hurled his boomerang, with such marvelous precision that it 

 clipped off the head of the ostrich as smoothly as the sword of a Crusader ever clove, 

 at a bingle blow, the neck of a Saracen. 



Now, it is not to be supposed that even so stupid a creature as the African 

 ostrich can make out very well without its head, even though that head contains 



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