{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_36602/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_36602","id":"gutenberg_36602","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/36602","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Humour","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","South Africa -- Fiction","Storytelling -- Fiction"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by Nick Hodson of London, England\n\n\n\n\nTales from the Veld\nBy Ernest Glanville\nIllustrations by M. Nisbet\nPublished by Chatto & Windus, London.\nThis edition dated 1897.\nTales from the Veld, by Ernest Glanville.\n\n________________________________________________________________________\n\n________________________________________________________________________\nTALES FROM THE VELD, BY ERNEST GLANVILLE.\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\nThe tales here set forth are, subject to a generous allowance for Uncle\nAbe's gift of imagination, true to the animal life and the scenery of a\ndistrict in the Cape occupied by the British Settlers of 1820--a tract\nrich in incidents of border warfare, hallowed by the struggles of that\nearly band of colonists, saturated with the superstitions and folk lore\nof the Kaffirs, and thoroughly familiar to the author--who passed his\nboyhood there.\n\nE. Glanville.\n\nStreatham: September 1897.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER ONE.\n\nABE PIKE'S POISON BARK.\n\nAbe Pike--Old Abe Pike, or Uncle Abe as he was variously called--lived\nin a one-horse shanty in the division of Albany, Cape Colony.  I won't\nlocate his farm, for various reasons, beyond saying that there is a\nsolitary blue-gum on the south side of the house and the rudiments of a\ncowshed on the north.  Uncle Abe was not ambitious; he was slow, but he\nwas sure.  So he said.  One blue-gum satisfied him, and as for the\ncowshed he meant to complete it during the century.  I don't introduce\nhim as a tree planter, but as a narrator of most extraordinary yarns.\nHe called them facts--but of the truth of this the reader may judge.\n\nRiding over one warm afternoon, I found him leaning over a water-butt\nexamining the little lively and red worms therein, which would soon\nhatch out into livelier mosquitoes.\n\n\"Well, Uncle, how d'ye fare?\"\n\n\"Porly, lad, porly; pumpkins is scarce.\"\n\nUncle Abe took a very old pipe from his pocket, and showed the emptiness\nof it by placing a very gnarled little finger into the black bowl.\n\nI held out my pouch.\n\n\"I'll jest take a little dry to put on the top,\" he said, as he\ndeliberately filled the pipe.  \"We want a little `dry on the top' to\nstart us, but if there's nothin' deown below, why, it's a puff and out\nit goes.  Yo'll never get a crop from that bottom land o' yours until\nyou put some dry on the top in the shape of manure.  See!\"\n\nNow, of all the laziest, shiftless beings there was no one who could\nstart level with old Abe Pike, and this advice from him was rasping, but\nstill he had his points.\n\n\"I've heard say there's a powerful heap o' money in portents,\" he\nventured presently.\n\n\"It depends on how you interpret them.\"\n\n\"Well, that's so.  I've got a portent here in this very coat; that's\nsome small pumpkins, I tell you.  It'll kill any sort o' vermin, rats,\nskeeters, wild-cats, jackals, quicker'n winkin'.  See!  I found it out\nmyself come next Friday fortnight.\"\n\n\"You mean you interpreted the portent.\"\n\n\"Well, now, is that so?  I tole you I got it in my pocket, and ef I\ndidn't find it, how did it get there?  That's what I want to know.\"\n\n\"All right, Uncle, what is it?\"\n\n\"That's my portent.  I diskivered it, and I'm gwine to work it under my\nname--Abe Pike's Sure Killer.\"\n\n\"Is it a patent medicine you're talking of?\"\n\n\"Of course; that's what I said.  There it is,\" and out of his pocket he\nproduced a strip of bark.\n\n\"Sneeze-wood bark, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Looks like it, don't it?  But there's bark and there's bark.  This is\nAbe Pike's Bark, possessing properties which will alleviate the\nsufferings of the human race by putting a lightning end to the enemies\nof the human kind.  That's what I've studied out to put in the papers in\nbig letters.  There's money in it, now; ain't there?\"\n\n\"I don't see it, Uncle.\"\n\n\"Ah! the limitations of knowledge, my boy, is accountable for a pot of\nignorance.  You think that's plain ordinary bark, but that's where your\nlimitations run dry.  I'll jes' tell you how I diskivered this great and\nmarvellous killer of the centry.  Come Friday fortnight I sot out with\nthe axe to chop out a pole for the cowshed--t'other on' been eaten thro'\nby those plaguy ants.  Well, I knew of a tree way down in the kloof that\nhad been growin' for that shed o' mine ever since the seed dropped on\nthe 'xact spot where nature had provided a bed for it.  When you come to\nthink of it, everything has got its purpose all smoothed out from the\nstart, and that little seed spread itself out from the beginnin' to\nbuild up a pole for ole Abe Pike's cowshed.  I sot down on a fallen tree\nand thought that all out, while the trees round about made a whisperin'\nwith their leaves over the head o' that there sneeze 'ood that was\ndoomed so to speak, by reason o' my cows, and the necessity of keepin'\n'em out o' the rain in the winter.  Well, I sot there thinking all these\nthoughts until it was too dark, and I went away home 'thout having cut\nthe tree.  Next mornin' I took up my axe and went down into the kloof\nand took off my coat.  I gave two blows and stopped.\"\n\n\"Too much work?\"\n\n\"Jes' you wait.  I tole you there was a fallen tree; well, in that tree\nwas a snake.  The first blow of the axe woke him, and he popped his head\nout.  The second blow sent a chip that hit him square between the eyes.\nOut he came biling with rage, and hissin' like a kettle o' water, and I\njust had time to dodge behind the tree when he let out.  His fangs stuck\nright in the wood, and with a clip I cut his head off.  I stood away\nback looking at his writhing body and at his wicked head sticking there\nin the tree jes' where I had made the wedge.  As I looked in, there came\nto pass a remarkable circumstance.\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Yes; that tree began to lose colour.  It was a healthy tree, sound as a\nbell, with a heart o' iron and a crown o' green leaves; but as I stood\nthere in the space o' maybe one minit, or a minit and a half, it begun\nto turn pale and sickly.\"\n\n\"Turn pale!\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, that's what I said.  First the leaves shuddered and rustled,\nand grew moist; then they slowly turned yeller, curling up as if they'd\nbeen frost-bitten, only sadder.  It s'prised me, that did, for there was\nsomethin' in the way the leaves went that struck a shudder through me,\n'twas so human like in the manner o' it.  But that was nothing--the bark\nsuddenly cracked and peeled off--then the white trunk itself standin'\nthere, exposed in its nakedness began to swell--until it split with a\ngroan--ay, a groan, a moaning shivery gasp o' pain.  'Twas so like life,\nI turned and ran, thinkin' that dead snakes was after me--so that as I\nran the fear grew upon me till I came out inter the open.  After looking\naround keerfully I sat on a stone an' steadied my thinking machine.\nWhen I got the fear out o' me I went back and there was that tree dead\nas tho' it had been struck by lightnin' and bleached by the rain an'\nsun.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"That tree was pisened!  It died o' snakebite--its system chock full o'\npisen.  I cut it down and took it home, where I planted it under the\nshed.\"\n\n\"And your portent?\"\n\n\"I'm comin' to that, if you'll give me time.  That night I couldn't\nsleep for a procession of ants.  They came out of a hole in the floor,\ncrept over my bed--which you may know is on the floor for convenience--\nand marched out thro' the crack under the door.  All the ants in the\ncountry were there--red ants, black ants, working ants, soldier ants,\nand the soldier ants nipped me whenever I moved.  In the morning, when\nthey had passed away, I went outside, and in the shed there was\nthousands an' thousands o' dead ants, not to speak o' flies.\"\n\n\"All dead?\"\n\n\"They had been nipping that pisened pole, and those that didn't bite got\nthe news and moved off for other scenes.  I tell you, you may speak o'\ntelegraph wires, but lor' bless you, news travels faster among the\ncreatures.  Why I've knowed--\"\n\n\"Yes; but you've not told me about your discovery.\"\n\n\"Well, now, the limitations of your knowledge is great.  I've told you\nenough to put two and two together.  If not, I'll just make the plain\nplainer.  Seeing what the tree had done, I though o' the bark an' the\nleaves left there behind in the kloof, and went for 'em.  It was jus' as\nI thought.  They was deadly pisen, and when I laid some leaves about the\nhouse they killed all the flies, and a piece o' bark laid in a rat-hole\nbrought all the rats out corpses.\n\n\"Yes sir, that's ole Abe Pike's Vermin Destroyer, and if you're setting\npills for jackals, why, don't you forget to come to my shop.\"\n\n\"Are you opening a shop?\"\n\n\"That's what I said.  Abe Pike's vermin pisen poles, warrented to stand\nthe ravages o' time an' insects, and Pike's bark; no other genuine.  So\nlong!\"\n\n\"Well, so long!\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWO.\n\nUNCLE ABE'S BIG SHOOT.\n\nI had ridden out one day to the outpost, where a troop of young cattle\nwere running, when the horse rode into a covey of red-wing partridges, a\nbrace of which I accounted for by a right and left.  Picking up the\nbirds, and feeling rather proud of the shot, I continued on to Uncle\nPike's to crow over the matter.\n\nThe old man was seated outside the door `braiding' a thong of forslag or\nwhip-lash.\n\n\"Hitch the reins over the pole.  Ef the shed was ready I'd ask yer to\nstable the hoss, but there's a powerful heap o' work yet to finish it\noff nice an' shipshape--me being one o' those who like to see a job well\ndone.  None o' yer rough and ready sheds for me, with a hole in the roof\nafter the fust rain.  A plump brace o' birds--you got 'em up by the\nRound Kopje.\"\n\n\"Yes, Uncle; a right and left from the saddle.  Good shooting, eh!\"\n\n\"Fair to middling, sonny--fair to middling--but with a handful o' shot\nan' a light gun what can yer expect but to hit.  Now, ef you'd bagged\n'em with one ball outer an ole muzzle-loader, why I'd up an' admit it\nwas praisable.\"\n\n\"Why Uncle, where's the man who would knock over two birds with a ball?\nIt couldn't be done.\"\n\n\"Is that so?  Well, now yer s'prise me.\"\n\n\"You're not going to tell me you have seen that done!\"\n\n\"Something better.  That's small potatoes.\"\n\nHe rose up, went indoors, and returned with an ancient single\nmuzzle-loader, the stock bound round with snake skin.  \"Jes' yer handle\nthat wepin.\"\n\nI handled it, and returned it without a word.  It was ill-balanced, and\ncame up awkwardly to the shoulder.\n\n\"That wepin saved my life.\"\n\n\"In the war?\"\n\n\"In the big drought.  You remember the time.  The country was that dry,\nyou could hear the grass crackle like tinder when the wind moved, an'\nevery breath stirred up columns of sand which went cavorting over the\nveld round and round, their tops bending over to each other an' the\nbottoms stirring up everything movable, and the whole length of the\nfunells dotted about with snakes, an' lizards, an' bits of wood.  Why, I\nsee one o' em whip up a dead sheep, an' shed the wool off o' the carcase\nas it went twisting round an' round.\"\n\n\"And the gun?\"\n\n\"The gun was on the wall over my bed.  Don't you mind the gun.  Well, it\nwas that dry the pumpkins withered up where they lay on the hard\nground--an' one day there was nought in the larder, not so much as a\nsmell.  There was no breakfast for ole Abe Pike, nor dinner nor yet tea,\nan' the next morning 'twas the same story o' emptiness.  I took down the\nold gun from the wall an' cleaned her up.  There was one full charge o'\npowder in the horn, an' one bullet in the bag.  All that morning I\nconsidered whether 'twould be wiser to divide that charge inter three,\nor to pour the whole lot of it in't once.  When dinner-time came an'\nthere was no dinner, I solumnly poured the whole bang of it inter the\nbarrel, an' listened to the music of the black grains as they rattled on\ntheir way down to their last dooty.  I cut a good thick wad from a\nbuck-hide and rammed it down, `Plunk, plenk, plank, plonk, ploonk,'\nuntil the rod jumped clean out o' the muzzle.  Then I polished up that\nlone bullet, wrapped him round in a piece o' oil rag, an' sent him down\ngently.  `Squish, squish, squash, squoosh.'  I put the cap on the\nnipple, an' sent him home with the pressure o' the hammer.  Then I took\na look over the country to 'cide on a plan o' campaign.  What I wanted\nwas a big ram with meat on him ter last for a month, if 'twas made inter\nbiltong.  There was one down by the hoek, but it warnt full grown.  He\nwas nearest, but there was one I'd seen over yonder off by the river,\nbeyond the kloof, an' I reckoned 'twas worth while going a couple o'\nmile extra to get him.\"\n\n\"You were sure of him?\"\n\n\"He was as good as dead when I shouldered the gun an' stepped off out on\nthat wilderness o' burnt land.  The wind came like a breath from a\nfurnace, an' the hair on my head split an' curled up under the heat.\nWhenever I came across a rock with a breadth of shade I sot there to\ncool off, panting like a fowl, an' also to cool off the gun for fear\n'twould explode.  By reason o' this resting the dark came down when I\nreached the ridge above the river, an' I jest camped where it found me,\nafter digging up some _insange_ root to chew.  The fast had been with me\nfor two days, an' the gnawing pain inside was terrible, so that I kept\nawake looking up at the stars an' listening to the plovers.\"\n\n\"It must have been lonesome!\"\n\n\"'Twas not the lonesomeness so much as the emptiness that troubled me.\nBefore the morning came, lighting up the valley, I was going down to the\nriver on the last hunt.  'Twas do or die that trip--an' it seemed to me\nI could see the gleam o' my bones away down there through the mist that\nhung over the sick river.  I made straight for the river, knowing there\nwas a comfort an' fellowship in the water which would draw game there,\nan' the big black ram, too, 'fore he marched off inter the thick o' the\nkloof for his sleep.  By-and-by, as I went down among the rocks an'\ntrees, I pitched head first--ker smash--in a sudden fit o' dizziness,\nbut the shock did me good.  It rattled up my brain--an' instead o' jest\nplunging ahead I went slow--slow an' soft as a cat on the trail--pushing\naside a branch here, shoving away a dry twig there, an' glaring around\nwith hungry eyes.  I spotted him!\"\n\n\"The ram?\"\n\n\"Ay, the ram.  The very buck I'd had in my mind when I loaded the old\ngun.  He stood away off the other side o' the river, moving his ears,\nbut still as a rock, and black as the bowl of this pipe, except where\nthe white showed along his side.  He seemed to be looking straight at\nme--an' I sank by inches to the ground with my legs all o' a shake.\nThen, on my falling, he stepped down to the water, and stood there\nadmiring hisself--his sharp horns an' fine legs--an' on my belly, all\nempty as 'twas, I crawled, an' crawled, an' crawled.  There was a bush\nthis side the river, an' I got it in line.  At last I reached it, the\nsweat pouring off me, an' slowly I rose up.  The water was dripping from\nhis muzzle as he threw his head up, an' he turned to spring back, when,\nhalf-kneeling, I fired, an' the next moment the old gun kicked me flat\nas a pancake.\"\n\n\"And you missed him?\"\n\n\"Never!  I got him.  I said I would, an' I did.  I got him, an' a 9\npound barbel.\"\n\n\"Uncle Abe!\"\n\n\"I say a 9 pound barbel, tho' he might a been 8 and a half pound, an' a\nbrace of pheasants.\"\n\n\"Uncle Abe!\"\n\n\"I zed so--an' a hare an', an',\" he went on quickly, \"a porkipine.\"\n\n\"Uncle Abe!\"\n\n\"Well--what are you Abeing me for?\"\n\n\"You got all those with one shot.  Never!\"\n\n\"I was there--you weren't.  'Tis easy accounted for.  When I pulled the\ntrigger the fish leapt from the water in the line, and the bullet passed\nthrough him inter the buck.  I tole you the gun kicked.  Well, it flew\nout o' my hands, an' hit the hare square on the nose.  To recover\nmyself, I threw up my hands, an' caught hold o' the two pheasants jest\nstartled outer the bush.\"\n\n\"And the porcupine?\"\n\n\"I sot down on the porkipine, an' if you'd like to 'xamine my pants\nyou'll find where his quills went in.  I was mighty sore, an' I could\nha' spared him well from the bag.  But 'twas a wonderful good shot.\nYou're not going?\"\n\n\"Yes, I am.  I'm afraid to stay with you.\"\n\n\"Well, so long!  I cut this yere forslag from the skin o' that same\nbuck.\"\n\n\"Let me see--it's nine years to the big drought.\"\n\n\"That's it.\"\n\n\"That skin has kept well.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes; 'twas a mighty tough skin.\"\n\n\"Not so tough as your yarn, Uncle.  So long!\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THREE.\n\nUNCLE ABE, THE BABOON, AND THE TIGER.\n\nAbe Pike was one of those men who would walk ten miles to set a trap\nwithout a murmur, while he thought himself badly used if he were called\nupon to hoe a row in the mealie field.  So when, for the third time\nwithin one week, a calf was killed by a tiger, and our attempts to\nshoot, poison, or trap the thief had failed, I rode over to Uncle Abe's\nto secure his aid.\n\n\"I can't do it,\" he said, when I had stated my business.\n\n\"Too busy?\"\n\n\"No; 'taint that, sonny, 'taint that--tho' there's a powerful heap o'\nwork to do on that shed.\"\n\n\"I'll put in a couple of days and help you finish it right off, as soon\nas the tiger is laid by the heels.\"\n\n\"Thank ye kindly; but I've got to finish that there shed offun my own\nbat.  It's a job that wants doin' keerfly.\"\n\n\"Well, Uncle, I'll plough up your old land by the hoek, and put in two\nmuids of corn.  How will that do?\"\n\n\"'Twont do, my lad; that land's full o' charlock.\"\n\n\"Then, Uncle, the day you show me the dead body of that tiger, the red\nheifer with the white patch on the hump is yours.\"\n\nHe heaved a sigh, and knocked the bowl of his pipe on his thumb, but he\ndid not accept the offer, though I knew he admired that heifer.\n\n\"Why, Uncle, what is the matter?  You're not ill?\"\n\n\"'Tain't that, either--not 'xactly--tho' there's such a thing as illness\no' the mind.\"\n\n\"I'm very sorry,\" as I unhitched the bridle and prepared to mount, \"for\nI'll have to go to Long Sam, and from the hairs I've seen I shouldn't be\nsurprised if this is a black tiger.\"\n\nThis was the last shot--Abe Pike had not yet trapped a black tiger, and\nLong Sam was his rival in bush lore.\n\n\"That settles it,\" he said, with a groan.\n\n\"Come along then,\" I said, with a smile at my success in breaking\nthrough his obstinacy.\n\nAbe rose up and laid his gnarled hand on the mane of the horse.  \"'Tis\nthe same one,\" he muttered, \"the same one, sure.\"\n\n\"Why, of course; you know the old horse, Black Dick.\"\n\n\"Black Nick,\" he said slowly, and, drawing his hand across his forehead;\n\"my boy, you'll never trap that animile; he's a witch tiger.\"\n\n\"A witch tiger?\"\n\n\"That's so: he's given a lodging to some ole Kaffir.  Abe Pike ain't\ngoing arter any black tigers, not he.\"\n\n\"What are you driving at now, you old buffer?\"\n\n\"Buffer, is it; well--well--buffer--oh, yes, of course; an' me that has\npassed through sich a three weeks as ud have scared many another into\nhis grave.\"\n\nI felt remorse at the thought that for three weeks I had not called on\nthe lonely old man, and concluded that he was paying me out for this\nneglect.\n\n\"I am very sorry,\" I said eagerly, \"I have not been over; but the truth\nis the work has been very heavy.  It must have been very lonely.\"\n\n\"I've had kempany.\"\n\n\"Oh, I see; and perhaps they've engaged your services?\"\n\n\"That's it.  On 'count o' 'em that's been callin' here I can't go\ncatching any black tigers.\"\n\n\"I should like to know who it is has set you against doing a service for\na neighbour?\"\n\n\"There's kempany an' kempany.  This yer kempany ud turn your hair\nwhite.\"\n\n\"Ah!\"  I said, sniffing a story.\n\n\"Yes, 'twould that.  There were some baboons away over by the big kloof.\nA family party--ole man, wives, middle-aged, an' pickaninnies.  They\ncame there for the Kaffir plum crop, an' were mighty lively, not to say\nnoisy, three weeks ago, when they began to drop.  I yeared 'em dropping\noff.\"\n\n\"Off the trees?\"\n\n\"No; offun this mortal spear.  As they dropped off in the dark, the\nothers howled an' whooped like mad.  It was a tiger that did the\ndroppin'.\"\n\n\"A tiger?\"\n\n\"You hold on to him.  At last the ole man were left alone, an' he had a\nmighty anxious time looking all around at onct, while he hunted for\ngrubs for fear the enemy 'ud spring on him.  He used to come over yonder\nin the lands for kempany.  I've sot here on the door-step an' he sot\nover there, glaring at me from his little grey eyes.  Arter a time we\ngot to know each other, an' I found out he went to sleep on the roof\nalongside the chimney.\"\n\n\"He was the company?\"\n\n\"One on 'em.  An' seein' him about reminded me o' the Kaffir plums, so\none mornin' I took up the can an' went away off to the big kloof where\nthe plums are red an' juicy.  Well--my boy--that ole man baboon, he up\nan' come along with me, an' when he found I were goin' to the kloof he\njabbered most like a human.  I could see he were excited--anybody could\na seen that--an' I sot down on a rock to argy the point with him.  He\nwouldn't argy, but he started back for the house.  Well, you know me,\nwhen Abe Pike sots out to do a thing he does it, an' arter I had smoked\ntwo pipes, I resoomed my way, jest as unconcarned as you are, for all\nthe plain meanin' o' the baboon that I should go away home.  When he saw\nthat I were sot on it he came along at a canter, with his hind-quarters\nslewed round an' the hair all standing up on his neck.  He looked ugly,\nbut 'xcept he lifted his eyebrows very quick, he said nothin', and went\nalong very quiet, with the same anxious look on his face I had noticed\nprev'ous.  As I went into the kloof he swung into the trees, an' kept\nalong overhead.  When we came to the thick o' the wood, he going along\nall the time scarcely moving a leaf, he made a soft noise, an' looking\nup I saw him bobbing his head up an' down to make you giddy.  I know by\nthat he saw somethin', an' I jes' slipped behind a tree to take stock.\nI yeerd a yawn, an' what d'ye think I see thro' the leaves stretched out\non a rock, not twenty foot away?\"\n\n\"A black fellow?\"\n\n\"Yes; a black feller, with four legs an' a tail, an' a red mouth all\nagape, wide enough to take in my head, hat an' all.\"\n\n\"A black tiger?\"\n\n\"Yes; an' me with only a tin can.  I jes' sank down inter my boots.  All\no' a sudden his jaws come to with a snap.  Then he riz his head and\nstired straight fer me, his eyes gitting flamier as he looked, an' his\ntail all on the jerk.  He moved his round head about, then shot out his\nneck an' growled in his stummik as he peered under the leaves.  Just\nthen that baboon let out a `baugh--baugh--bok-hem,' an' dropped down\nbeyond the tiger.  There were a roar, a leap, a scramble, an' Abe Pike\nwere shooting on his tracks for the open veld.  He didn't stop running\ntill he got home--he didn't--not me.\"\n\n\"And the baboon?  He wasn't killed, was he?\"\n\n\"You wait--jes' you wait.  Before you get the end o' the journey you've\ngot to pass the half-way house.  This is a solitary place--this\nmansion--and beyond the ole Gaika-Bolo I have no visitors--an' he only\nwhen he's doctorin' the Kaffirs down these parts.  So that night, when\nthere were a tap at the door, I were skeered a little from the shake I\ngot when I saw that black critter staring at me with them wicked eyes of\nhisn.  `Come in!'  I sed, an' the tap came agin, soft an' gentle, like\nas if a child or a woman were standin' there--timid--tho' it's many a\nyear since a female brushed the door-post with her dress--a many years,\nmy lad.\"\n\n\"Yes, Uncle; who was it?\"\n\n\"`Come in!'  I sed, laying hold o' a piece of wood.  `Jes' pull the\nstring,' I sed.  Believe me, the string were pulled--the upper half o'\nthe door swung open, an' he stepped in.\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"The old man baboon!  He pulled the string, the door swung open, an' he\nhopped in.\"\n\n\"Good gracious, Uncle!\"\n\n\"Yer s'prised.  Well, jes' think how it took me--an' on top o' what I\nsaw that day.  I jes' sot there an' looked, an' when he turned an' shut\nthat door, an' moved the wooden button to secure it, I were fairly\nparalysed.  `Ho-hoo,' he sed, an' blinked his eyes.  He jes' sed\n`ho-hoo' in a friendly way, an' planked hisself down before the fire,\nwith the black palms o' his hands to the coals, his head turned over his\nshoulder, an' his little grey eyes takin' stock o' everythin' in the\nroom.\"\n\n\"He must have escaped from captivity.\"\n\n\"That's the first thought that struck me when I steadied my brain pan.\nThinks I, he b'longed to some man, an' I looked at his waist for signs\nof the chain, but there were no sign.  I noticed he looked empty, an',\nremembering how he'd saved me by leading the tiger off another way, I\ngot out a mealie cob.  He snatched it quick, raised his eyebrows at me,\nthen begun to eat as ef he'd been hungry for a week.  There we sot--he\none side, eating, me t'other, smoking.  All o' a sudden he quit eating:\nthen he stood up on his hind legs an' looked outer the winder.  `Wot's\nup now?' sezs I to myself.  There he stood looking outer that window;\nthen he gave a jump into the rafters, crowding hisself under the slope.\nIt gave me a sort o' creepy crawl to see him do that, an' I took down\nthe ole gun.  Bymby I yeard a sniff under the crack of the door as if a\ndog were taking a smell.  Then there were a space o' stillness that was\nterrible trying.  I stood there looking at the door, 'xpecting to see it\nfly open, when I chanced to give a glance at the winder, and my blood\nfroze.\"\n\n\"What did you see?\"\n\n\"What did I see?  A pair o' green eyes fixed on me.  Then the gleam o'\nwhite teeth an' a sort o' dim outline o' a big round head.  I let out a\nyell, an' fired.  If you look you'll see where the winder's smashed.\"\n\n\"The tiger had tracked the baboon?\"\n\n\"Very like 'twas jes' that.\"\n\n\"And then?\"\n\n\"Then I jes' jumped inter the pantry an shut myself in till daybreak.\"\n\n\"Yes, Uncle Abe; and what happened then?\"\n\n\"I jes' opened the door gently, an' looked out.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Well!  The door were open.  I yeerd the cracking o' the fire an' the\nhumming o' the kettle.\"\n\n\"Someone had called?\"\n\n\"Perhaps so; perhaps not.  'Tany rate the fire were lit.  And when I\nlooked out the front door there were the old man baboon plucking the\nfeathers from the grey hen.\"\n\n\"Humph!\"\n\n\"Yes.  An' when he done plucking he popped the old fowl inter the pot.\"\n\n\"Ha!  I suppose the tiger was lying dead?\"\n\n\"Who--the tiger?  Not he.  The darned critter pulled the plug outer the\nwater barrel, then turned the barrel over an' let all the water out.\nArter that he pulled the roof offun my shed.\"\n\n\"I don't see the baboon around.\"\n\n\"He ain't around.  Arter breakfast he went.  When I come to think o' it,\nhe took the road to your place, an' it's my b'lief, sonny, he's on the\nspoor o' the same tiger.\"\n\n\"And you won't come over, then?\"\n\n\"I'm waitin' for that ole man baboon to come back.  If he comes back an'\nfinds me gone I reckon he'd be disappointed.  I tell yer I'd be mighty\nkeerful how you treat that tiger.\"\n\n\"Everything happened as you have related, Uncle Abe?\"\n\n\"That's so, sonny.\"\n\n\"How did the baboon light the fire?\"\n\n\"He jes' used the bellers, I 'xpect, used the beller, an' puffed the\nembers.  Tell me how yer get on.  Sorry I can't go; but I dasn't.  So\nlong!\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER FOUR.\n\nABE PIKE AND THE WHIP.\n\nI don't know what degree of truth there was in old Abe's account of his\nadventure with the black tiger, but I certainly learnt to my cost that\nwhether the brute had or had not given a domicile to a witch-doctor, it\nwas too cunning for any efforts on my part to get even with it for the\nheavy toll it levied on the young cattle.  I was driven once more to\nseek out his assistance, but I thought I would get him over to the\nhomestead on some other pretext, being firmly persuaded that once he was\nthere his hunting instincts would lead him on the tiger's spoor.  One\nafternoon, therefore, I drove over in the \"spider,\" and found him busily\nengaged waxing a stout fishing line for \"kabblejauw,\" a very large, but\ncoarse sea fish, which loved to venture up the Fish River with the tide.\n\n\"Holloa, sonny!\" he cried; \"climb out an' make yerself at home.  Got any\nbaccy?\"\n\nI stepped out, and handed him a cake of golden leaf, which he just\nsmelt, then turned over and over.\n\n\"Sugar stuff,\" he growled, with a queer look of disgust, wrinkling up\nhis nose.\n\n\"Good American leaf, Uncle.\"\n\n\"Well, well; what's the race comin' to?  Sugar--all sugar.  Sugar with\ntea, sugar with coffee, so that the spoon stands up; sugar with pumkins,\nsugar with grog, sugar with baccy, until the stummick which nature gives\nus revolts an' cries out for salt an' the bitterness o' wholesome\nplants.  Bitterness 'ardens, my boy--bitterness in food, bitterness in\nlife--an' sugar softens.  Jes' you hole on to that as you plough the\nfurrer thro' the ups an' downs o' your caryeer.\"  He cut a slice from\nthe cake and stowed it away in his cheek.  \"Well! ha' yer cotched that\ntiger yet?\"\n\n\"He's prowling around yet, Uncle.\"\n\n\"Soh!  An' you want ole Abe Pike to settle 'im, eh!--but 'taint no use.\"\n\n\"I want you to `ride' a load of wood to the house.  The `boys' have gone\noff to a beer dance, and I'm short-handed.  The wood is cut and shaped.\"\n\n\"But I'm goin' a fishin'.  Lemme see.  It's full moon next week.  Well\nI'll come along.\"\n\nHe coiled up his line, stowed it away in his skin bag, locked his door,\nand climbed in.  Next morning the old chap went off with the wagon for\nthe wood, and returned late at night.  He had a peculiar way of humming\nto himself whenever he was pleased, and I caught the sound as he came in\nthrough the kitchen to the dining-room, where the evening meal was on\nthe table.  With a nod to me, he sat down to a hearty meal, then,\nfilling his pipe, he leant back and laughed silently.\n\n\"Seen anything, Uncle?\"\n\n\"I don't know that I have seed anythin' outer the common, but I've\nlearnt somethin' that's given me a better understandin' o' the spread o'\nkindness overlaying things.\"\n\n\"What was that?\"\n\n\"You know where the wood were stacked?\"\n\nI knew the place very well, for that brute of a tiger had killed a foal\nthere only two days before, and I had directed Abe there in the hope\nthat he would drop across its tracks.\n\nThe old man, still chuckling, went out of the room and returned with a\nlong bamboo whip-stick, deprived, however, of the twenty-foot thong made\nfrom buffalo hide.\n\n\"What's become of the thong?\"  I cried.\n\n\"That's it.  It's on account of the missin' thong that I'm telling you\no' this remarkable cirkumst'nce.  There's a clump o' trees 'long side\nthe path 'way over yonder, where the wood were stacked, an' the thong\nflew off in the dusk o' the evening thereabouts.  You see there were a\nstick fas', and when I lammed into the oxen that ere thong flew off--\nwhizz!--whang!--into the dark o' the trees.  I lay the stick down an'\nsearched fer it up an' down, in an' out--the oxen standin' there\nknockin' their horns, an' the stars poppin' out.  Well, I guv it up, an'\npicked up the stick, an' the thong came through my fingers.\"\n\n\"You said the thong flew off.\"\n\n\"So it did; but there it were fast on the stick--long, smooth, round,\nan' taperin' off inter a fine lash, as thick about the middle as my\nlittle finger, an' as tough as steel.\"\n\n\"I know it.  You couldn't match that thong in the Colony.  But where is\nit?\"\n\n\"That's what I'm tellin' yer about.  The thong flew off--whizz!--\nwhang!--but when I picked the stick up, there it were.  I jes' stood\nthere ponderin' over the strangeness o' this, when a breath o' wind come\nup the valley with a sigh on it--one o' those quiverin', mysterious,\nsolumnelly sounds that makes you look over yer shoulder an' start at a\nshadder.  `Hambaka--trek,' I cried, an' whirling the whip around,\ntouched up the fore-leaders, then brought the forslag down on the achter\nox.  I told you them oxen had stuck fas'.  Well! at the touch o' the\nwhip they jes' laid their shoulders agin the yokes, an', with a low\ngroan, they yanked the wagon up that stiff bit--up an' up, without a\npause, to the level veld.  I tell you, sonny, I never seed oxen lay\nthemselves down like that span.\"\n\n\"Where does the kindness come in?\"\n\n\"Hole on.  The tortoise gets to the end o' his journey same as the hare,\nonly samer.  On the level I called to the oxen to whoa!--whoa!--whoa!--\nand, arter a time they whoa'd, tho' somehow 'twas ag'inst their will.\nThey were that active they could have trotted home--they could so.  I\nlay down that whip an' filled my pipe.\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Then I took the stick up, an' the thong were gone agin.\"\n\n\"What!\"\n\n\"Clean gone, sonny!  Clean gone!\"\n\n\"Did it fly off?\"\n\n\"No, sonny; it crawled off.\"\n\n\"Crawled off?\"\n\n\"That there thong were a whip-snake.  It jes' gripped on ter the bamboo\nwith its jaws to help me outer that stick fas', an' when we got to the\nlevel it unhitched.  It knew as well as I did the oxen didn't want any\nmore whip when the flat were reached, and it unhitched.\"\n\n\"Uncle Abe Pike!  Do you expect me to believe that?\"\n\n\"I have my hopes, my lad.  But when yer gets older you'll get more\nfaith.  Why, man, an' I yeared that snake move off.  It give a sort o'\nfriendly hiss as it slid away thro' the grass, an' it cracked its tail\nin sport like a whip.  The oxen yeared it, too, and they moved off\n'thout waitin' for my call.  I tell you there's a heap o' goodness among\nanimiles an' reptiles, tho' this is the fust time I 'xperienced the\nthoughtfulness o' a snake.  It jes' snapped its tail--ker--rack--as it\nmoved off.\"\n\nWhen the old man prepared himself for sleep I saw the lash off my whip\nprojecting from the mouth of his skin bag.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER FIVE.\n\nTHE SPOOK OF THE HARE.\n\nThe next day was hot and drowsy, and old man Pike simply lazed around,\nwith his smasher hat tilted over his eyes and his hands in his pockets.\nHe could not, however, be tempted to roam any distance from the house,\nand he showed not the slightest curiosity about that fiend of a black\ntiger, which in the night had killed a goat belonging to one of the\n\"boys.\"  The kill was made out of sheer lust of blood, for he had eaten\nnothing, the body being untouched, except for the festering marks about\nthe throat I had the carcase brought up for Abe's inspection, since he\nwould not walk down to the kraal, and he held an inquest upon it,\nsitting on an upturned \"vatje,\" or small water barrel.\n\n\"That goat,\" he drawled, \"were killed!\"\n\n\"There seems proof of it,\" I said mildly.\n\n\"Yes, killed by a ole tiger.\"\n\n\"Why old?\"\n\n\"Well, you see, this yer goat died o' a broken shoulder an' shock--\nmostly shock.  The tiger just patted the shoulder in his spring with the\nopen paw.  I see there are four scratches, an' the hook of the dew claw\nover here, a span away from the fore claws.  The middle an' end scratch\nis shaller.  Why?  Cas the claws a been worn down.  Now take these yer\nwounds in the throat.  These two deep holes here's where his fangs went\nin, but on the top side there's jest the marks o' his small teeth.  The\nupper fangs is missing or worn down.  Consekently, 'tis a ole tiger.\"\n\n\"And you will catch the old tiger?\"\n\n\"Not me!  Bein' ole, he's cunnin', an' bein' black, he's naturelly\nfierce; and bein' ole an' black he's more'n a match fer me.  See that\nbig blue fly?  I swear there warn't a blue fly around here ten minutes\nago, an' now there's a whole cloud o' 'em followin' the track, an'\nbuzzin' like a telegraph wire!  Little things is like big 'uns.  That\nthere fly is like the first aasvogel sailin' away from the limits o' the\nsky on the taint of a dead ox, an' behind him a whole string o'\nvultures, with their wings outstretched like the sails of a ship, an'\nther bald heads bent down to spot the dead heap of corruption miles away\nbelow.\"\n\nI bade the Kaffir take away the dead goat which formed the principal\ndish at the feast that night and, getting my double-barrelled gun,\nwhistled up the dogs, and went off on the spoor of the tiger, leaving\nAbe listlessly whittling at a stick.\n\nThe scent was good, and the dogs went on it still-mouthed, except for an\noccasional growl, and they led me through the large ostrich camp, over a\nridge, across an open strip of veld, to a deep and dark kloof, where the\ntrees grew so thick that underneath it was twilight in the glare of\nmid-day.  The dogs went on, with bristling hair, into the heart of the\nkloof, when a singular thing happened.  The shrill, piercing cry of a\n\"dassie,\" or rock coney, arose from out the deep silence, and the dogs\nstopping, howled dismally, then suddenly turned and slipped away,\ndisappearing like shadows among the trees.  The noise I knew must have\naroused the tiger, but I pushed on cautiously, hoping to get a shot at\nhim as he slunk off.  I reached the krantz which rimmed in the kloof\nwithout sight of him, and, hunting around, found his lair, still warm in\na small cave.  Retracing my steps, I had almost reached the edge of the\ntrees, when in the way lay the body of one of the dogs, an old and\nfavourite buffalo dog of the mastiff breed, his throat torn, and the\nmark of claws on his shoulder and flank.\n\n\"It's lucky for you,\" said Abe when I reached home, \"that it were the\ndog he took.\"\n\n\"How do you know he got the dog?\"\n\n\"You went out with five, an' you come home with four, an' a look on your\nface 's if you'd seen a ghost.  I'm gwine back in the mornin'.\"\n\n\"You're no friend of mine, Abe Pike, if you don't help destroy that\nbrute!\"\n\n\"I seed the ole man baboon makin' tracks for my place this arternoon--\nan' mebbe that ther' tiger would be quittin' too.\"\n\n\"Hang you and your baboon!\"\n\n\"All serene, sonny--all serene.  I'd rayther be hanged than 'ave my\nwizened open'd out by a blood-sucking four-footed witch.  What happened\nin your hunt?\"  I told him curtly enough.  \"My gum!  You believe me:\nthat dassie cried out to warn the tiger.  He were put there to watch\nwhile his master slep'.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!  His cry was an accident.\"\n\n\"Soh!  Then tell me why the dogs scooted.  You don't know!  O' course\nyou don't know.  But I know.  I've had 'xperience o' the same thing.\nAnimiles have got a sense which is missin' from folk, or maybe lost for\nwant of use, I don't know which, tho' myself I think it's lost.  What we\ncall a presentment is the remains o' that missin' sense, an' animiles is\ngot the full sense.  Those dogs knew the meanin' o' that dassie's yell--\nthat's so.\"\n\n\"And what was your experience?\"\n\n\"It were all along o' a spring hare hopping along in the night--without\nenough solid body to put a shot in.  It were away back in the sixties,\nwhen I were younger nor I am now, an' a sailor chap, knockin' around\ndoin' odd jobs, happened across my house.  He were a good-hearted\ncritter, tho' terrible lazy, 'xcept it were shootin' spring hares at\nnight by lamp-light, which came 'xpensive by reason of his usin' up the\noil an' powder.  Well, one night the wind came off the seas, bringing up\na great stack of clouds, makin' it that dark you couldn't tell which\nwere solid yearth an' which were sky; but this sailor chap he would go\nout, an' I had to go along to hold the lamp, he not bein' keerful enough\nto carry it in the strap of his hat.  Well, soon's I got outer the door\nI knew there were somethin' wrong.  The black night were full o' the\nroar o' the surf breakin' six miles away, an' yet there were the same\nsort of shivery stillness you find in a great cave while the echoes are\ntossin' about the sound of a dying shout.  In the stillness behind the\nholler growl o' the sea I could tell there were somethin' watchful an'\nbad.  I wanted to turn back, but he yelled out he yeard the spring hare\ngruntin', an' I were obliged to foller him inter the black, with a\nsickly sort o' fan-shaped light streaming from the lamp.  `Hist!' says\nhe.  I histed, an' peering ahead seed a big bright eye glancing out o'\nthe dark, not mor'n twenty paces off--fer the lantern couldn't throw a\nreflection farther than that.  `Take him an inch below the eye,' says I,\nan' he let rip.  We went forrard to pick the hare up, but he warn't\nthere--not a hair o' him.  The grunt o' him come jest ahead agin--an'\nsteadyin' the lamp, we caught his eye full an' bright.  `I'll blow his\nhead off,' said the sailor chap, and taking a long aim, he banged off.\nThere warn't no dead spring hare.  No, sonny; but while we gazed around\nhis grunt come to us onct more.  I took the ole gun an' loaded her up.\n`You take the lantern,' says I, `an' lets stop this 'ere foolishness.'\nA step or two we took, an' sure enough that eye blazed out onct more.  I\njes' knelt down under his arms, an' taking full aim at the eye, was dead\nsure I had the long-tailed crittur, fer he sat still as a rock, an' as\nonsuspicious as a tree trunk.  An' I missed him.  His body warn't there,\nbut his grunt came jest as lively as ever.  The sailor chap were\nlaughing at me fer missin', but Abe Pike warn't doing no giggling.  He\nsmelt somethin' onnatural.\"\n\n\"You had been taking grog, perhaps, that evening?\"\n\n\"Not a sup nor a sip.  We stood there, he laughin' and me listenin' to\nthe moan in the air, an' lookin' roun' at the black wall o' night `Blow\nme!' says the sailor chap, `if the swab ain't come back,' an' with that\nhe took out his jack knife an' flung it at the flamin' eye, which had\nmoved back inter the light from the lantern.  That eye never winked, an'\nit made me shiver.  `Come on,' says the sailor, `I'll foller him to the\ndevil,' says he.  `Foller him,' says I, `but I'm goin' back;' and back I\nwent; and he, not havin' the lantern, had to come along too, which he\ndid cheekin' me the ole time.  Well, before we'd gone a hundred paces,\nther' were that eye ahead, an' he says, `Let us get nearer.'  We went\ncloser, when all on a sudden that eye went out like a burnt match.  Jes'\nthen I yeard a rustlin' noise behind, an' whipping roun', saw there were\na pair o' sparkles shining green.  He seed 'em too.  `Don't shoot,' says\nI, `it's a shadder.'  `Shadder be blowed,' says he, `yer a ole fool.'\nHe were gettin' ready to fire, when I gripped him by the arm, while the\nhair riz on my head, for I saw what was behind those green eyes.  `Let\nme go,' he says, hissin' through his teeth.  `If you fire,' I says\nspeakin' solumn, `yere a dead man.'  `You're silly,' he says, pulling\nhard.  `How can a little hare hurt me?'\n\n\"`That hare,' says I, `is a tiger.'\"\n\n\"Was it?\"\n\n\"You wait.  You know's well as I do a hare, by reason of his eyes bein'\nwide apart, only shows one eye to the light, an', moreover, he sits with\nhis head sideways.  Well, these two eyes, when I looked ag'in, were\nclose together, an' they gave a green light.  `A tiger,' says I, an'\nwith my hand on his arm we went back to the house.  As I shut the door I\nyeared that grunt ag'in--an' ag'in as we sat down listenin'.  Well, that\nsailor chap, he warn't satisfied.  He must open the door an' look out.\n`Come here,' he says, an' looking out over his shoulder there I seed\nthat hare sitting up, an' the light shining thro' his body, `'Tis a\nwhite hare,' he says.  `It's a sperrit,' says I.  `Sperrit or no\nsperrit,' he says, snatchin' the gun, `I lay him out!'  With that he\nstepped out into the darkness, an' the lantern went out.  Then it\nhappened.\"\n\n\"What happened?\"\n\n\"Something 'twixt the sailor lad and the tiger.  As I searched aroun'\nfer a match I yeard the gun, there were a roar and a shriek, an' when I\ngot the light started an' went out there were only his old hat an' the\ngun.  I'm not fooling with any o' yer tigers that's got sperrits\nwatchin' over 'em.  I'm going home in the mornin'.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER SIX.\n\nTHE BABOON AND THE TORTOISE.\n\nI have referred to Bolo, an old Kaffir medicine man, who, on his\nprofessional tour round the country, always remained a day or two with\nAbe Pike, in his way, a great doctor with a valuable fund of information\nabout the medicinal properties of plants and roots.  Bolo turned up in\nthe evening, fresh from a beer dance, and the manner of his coming was\nthat of a ravenous lion.  He charged down upon the house in the dusk,\nwith his necklet bones rattling, the horsehair mane flying, and the\nbellow of his deep voice setting the dogs off into a fury of barking, up\nhe came--leaping, bounding, hurling himself forward with in-creditable\nswiftness, whirling his knobbed kerrie, his eyes glaring and his\nfeatures twitching, the dogs snapping around him--right up to the door,\nas if he meant to burst in and brain everyone he met.  Then he stopped,\nsmiled in a wide vacuous way, took snuff, and squatted down, while the\ndogs as suddenly ceased their clamour and walked sheepishly away.\n\n\"Well, you clatterin' ole heathen,\" said Abe, seating himself on the\ndoor-step, and shaving slices of tobacco against the ball of his thumb;\n\"what mischief have you been up to?\"\n\n\"Yoh,\" said Bolo, resting his long arms on his knees; \"I have heard\ntales of the black tiger and the white man's fear.  But my medicine has\nsent the black evil away back again to the big kloof.\"\n\n\"To the kloof on my farm?\"\n\n\"Eweh!  Why not?  The white man is a great medicine man.  Has he not a\nfamiliar in the old baboon--who is the most cunning of familiars?\"\n\n\"That's so,\" said Abe gravely; \"the baboon is cunnin', but he don't know\neverything.  Did I ever tell you the yarn o' the baboon an' the\ntortoise?\"\n\n\"No.  Fire away, Uncle.\"  He hitched himself up against the door-post\nand related his story in Kaffir for Bolo's benefit, though I prefer to\nrender it in English.\n\n\"The ole skelpot, one day hunting aroun' nosed out a store o' yearth\nnuts.  He raked the yearth over an' flatten' it down, an' he jes' crawl\naroun' till the dry weather sot in, when he took'd up his quarters near\nthe hidden store.  One day he meet ole man baboon searching fer grubs.\n`Things is mighty dry,' says the baboon.  `Might be drier,' says the\nskelpot.  `Food is skerce,' says the baboon.  `Might be skercer,' says\nthe skelpot.  `Ho! ho!' says the baboon, mighty sharp, `you don't seem\nto be troubled in your shell.  There's a shine on your shell, ole man\nskelpot,' he says.  `Shell shine when the stummick don't pine,' says the\nskelpot.\"\n\n\"Er-umh!\" grunted Bolo.\n\n\"`Shell shine when the stummick don't pine,' said the skelpot.  `Baugh,'\nsays the baboon, `p'raps you got some food, skelpot,' says the baboon.\n`I'm gwine to sleep,' says the skelpot, an' he drew his head into his\nhouse, so the baboon couldn't ask him any more questions.\"\n\n\"Er-umh!\" said Bolo, politely signifying his sustained interest.\n\n\"The ole man baboon he make sure the skelpot's got some store o' food,\nso he hid hisself in a tree an' kep' watch.  There ain't no hurry about\na skelpot, an' this yer skelpot he kep' on sleepin' all through the day,\nan' the baboon got that hungry he were obliged ter gnaw the bark from\nthe tree.  But he jes' kep' on watchin', an' in the dusk he seed the\nskelpot pop out his head.\"\n\n\"Er-umh!\" said Bolo.\n\n\"Then the baboon climbed down softly, an' when the skelpot move off, he\nfollow'd.  Arter a time the skelpot begin to scrape up the yearth, an'\nthe baboon look over his shoulder.  He can't see nothing, but he smelt\nthe yearth nuts, an' he makes a grab.  `So! so!' he says chuckling, `you\ngot a fine pantry these dry times.  Now you'll have to go shares, or\nI'll give the news out.'  Well, the skelpot he sees he were fairly\ncaught, an' so he take ole man baboon inter partnership, an' the baboon\nshow him where he's 'ole is, though it were empty now.\"\n\n\"Er-umh!\" grunted Bolo.\n\n\"Well, the baboon got a bigger stummick than the skelpot, an it were not\nlong afore he took two nuts to one; then he began ter take some away to\nhis private 'ole in a Kaffir plum tree; then he break the agreement by\ntaking three meals a day to the skelpot's one.\"\n\n\"Er-umh!\" said Bolo.\n\n\"Well, about this time the skelpot smell'd out the baboon.\"\n\n\"Eh-umh!\" said Bolo.\n\n\"So he made a plan.  He roll hisself in the mud, an' crawl up near the\nstore, where he draw his head in.  Bymby ole man baboon come up, an\narter takin' some nuts, he sot down on ole skelpot to make his feast.\n`Poor ole skelpot,' says the baboon, `three meals to his one, an' a heap\no' nuts in my store 'ole by the ole ant-hill.'  `Too-loo-loo!' says the\nskelpot.  `What's that noise?' said the baboon.  `Too-loo-loo!' says the\nskelpot.  `Hist!' says the baboon, knockin' his stummick.\n`Too-loo-loo!' says the skelpot; then drawin' in his breath he let it\nout ag'in, `Hiss! puff!' like a great big snake.  O' coorse the baboon's\ndead scared o' snakes, an' droppin' the nuts he jest scooted fer the\nwoods.\"\n\n\"Er-umph!\" said Bolo.\n\n\"He jest up an' scooted fer the woods, an' the skelpot arter eatin' the\nnuts, he went back to the 'ole, scooped the yearth away, an' crawled in.\nThe baboon were very scared, but when the hunger come back he went for\nsome more nuts.  No sooner did he pop his hand in than the skelpot grab\nhim by the little finger and hold on.\"\n\n\"Eh! eh!\" said Bolo.\n\n\"Grabbed him by ther little finger.  The baboon nearly jumped outer his\nskin.  `Who's got hold o' me?' he yelled, but the skelpot he can't talk,\nfer his mouth's full.  `Let me go!' howled the baboon, an' he pull and\nhe pull, and bymby he draw the skelpot's head outer the 'ole.  Well, the\nskelpot he's got a head like a puff-adder when yer don't see his shell,\nan' when the baboon see'd that yellow head glued onter his finger, he\njest went green, and turned over in a fit.  Bymby the baboon shivers,\nthen he sot up.  `Hiss! poof!' says the skelpot, an' the baboon lit out\nwith a shriek, never to come back to that part ag'in.  `Hiss! poof!'\nsays the skelpot, an' the baboon lit out fer the nex' country.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER SEVEN.\n\nTHE JACKAL AND THE WREN.\n\n\"Now, Bolo! let us hear something from you.\"\n\nThe old Kaffir took a pinch of snuff, and began about the jackal and the\nnetikee, the smallest of all South African birds, and a member of the\nwren family.\n\n\"The jackal one day was boasting.  Said he, `When we go on the hunt all\nthe animals are still.  We--the lion and I--we rule the forest.  When we\ngrowl the trees shiver, when we roar the earth shakes, when we strike\nthe biggest goes down before us.  Even the elephant turns out of our\npath.'  So he shook his tail and loped off to tell the lion that a fat\neland was drinking at the vlei.  Then up stood the lion, and crawled on\nhis stomach to the shelter of a rock, while the jackal went round\nbeyond.  `Look out, eland,' said the jackal; `here comes the lion.'  So\nthe eland ran, and he ran straight for the lion, who rose through the\nair and broke the eland's neck.  The lion ate, and the jackal sat on his\ntail, licking his chops and whimpering.  But the lion ate, and ate--\nfirst the hind legs, then the stomach, and the jackal ran up to take a\nbite.  `Wait,' grunted the lion, and the jackal sat on his tail and\nhowled.  Bymby the lion went off to the vlei to drink, and the jackal\nsnap at the carcase, but before he gets a mouthful down swoop the ring\ncrows and the aasvogels.  `Away,' said the jackal, `away--this food is\nmine and the lion's.'\n\n\"`Tell the lion we are obliged to him for giving us a meal,' said the\nchief aasvogel, and with his big wing he hit the jackal, ker-bluff--long\nside the head, and the black crow dig him in the back.  So the jackal\nrun away, and jump, and howl.\"\n\n\"`Why don't you roar?' said the netikee.\n\n\"The jackal looked up, and there he sees the netikee on a thorn tree.\n\n\"`Growl,' says the netikee; `growl, and the tree will shake me off,' and\nhe laughed.\n\n\"`What are you laughing at?'\n\n\"`At you.'\n\n\"`Why,' said the jackal, looking back over his shoulder at the bag of\nbones that the birds had cleaned.\n\n\"`'Cos you're afraid of the birds, though the elephant gets out of your\nway and you can strike down the biggest,' and the netikee laughs again.\n\n\"`Who's afraid?' said the jackal.\n\n\"`You are.'\n\n\"`What! me!'\n\n\"`Yes, you!  I make my nest from your fur.'\n\n\"The jackal he bite, and snap, and howl, and then he say he'd only\nwished he had a chance of a fight with the birds.\n\n\"`What's that spot I see in the sky?' said the netikee, looking up.\n\n\"The jackal look up and see the eagle swooping down, and he bolt into\nthe earth.  Bymby he poke his head out.  `Is he gone?' he said.  `You\nsee, me and the eagle had a dispute over a lamb which I took away from\nhim, and I thought he would feel uncomfortable if he saw me.  What did\nhe say?'\n\n\"`The eagle said he willing to fight if the lion leads the animals; but\nhe's not going to demean himself against any jackal trash.'\n\n\"The jackal grinned.  `Well,' said he, `the lion won't fight, he's just\nbeen feeding, and the eagle needn't trouble about it.  You get all the\npartridges, the pheasants, ducks, knorhaan, guinea fowl--the more the\nmerrier, and I'll bring the red cats, the muishonden, the wild dogs, the\ntiger-cat, and we'll meet here to-morrow.'\n\n\"The netikee flip his tail about, and say, `Yes, he's willing to have a\nbattle,' and the jackal with a grin he run off to call all his friends\nto a big feast off the birds.  The netikee just bunch up his feathers,\ntuck his head under his wing, and go to sleep.  Next morning before\nsunrise he fly to the bush, and he hear the jackal making a plan.\n\n\"`You keep your eye on my tail,' said the jackal.  `Watch my tail,' said\nthe jackal, `I will hold it up straight like a banner, and you must\nfollow it into the thick of the fight.'\n\n\"The netikee flew away off to a honey-tree, and he had a word with the\nbees: then he fly back to the thorn bush with a clump of bees with him.\n\n\"Bymby here comes the jackal with his bushy tail held up straight like a\nbanner, and behind him come a green-eyed, silent, swift, cruel pack of\nwild-cats, red cats, grey cats, and wild dogs.\n\n\"`There they come,' said the nekitee; `see the jackal, with his tail up.\nStick his tail, creep into his hair, and make him yell.'  So the\nnetikee left his perch and flew to meet the animals all by himself, for\nthey could not see the bees; but the bees they swarmed into the big\nbushy tail, and the next minute there was the jackal scooting off across\nthe veld with his tail between his legs.  Next thing you know the\nanimals is all scuttling home.\n\n\"That's why the netikee is so perky.\"\n\n\"Jes' like little men,\" says Abe Pike.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER EIGHT.\n\nABE PIKE AND THE HONEY-BIRD.\n\nIn the night we heard the loud barking of a baboon, and next morning\nUncle Abe, accompanied by the witch-doctor, Bolo, started back for his\nsolitary homestead, saying that he had received a call from his\nfamiliar.  This I regarded as an excuse, and judged that the two old men\nwere bent, like boys, on some fishing excursion.  Strangely enough,\nhowever, the black tiger disappeared at the same time, leaving the live\nstock free from his ravages--though human thieves as mischievous were\nafoot, and during the week paid a visit in the night to the cattle\nkraal, \"lifting\" a fine cow with a young heifer calf.\n\nThe spoor led away towards the dense bush of the Fish River to the east,\nand setting a knowing old dog upon the scent, I followed on horseback.\nThe thief I judged had probably five hours' start, and allowing for the\nfeeble strength of the calf, I reckoned he was from six to ten miles\nahead, when, if surprised by day-light at any distance from the cover of\nthe bush, he would probably turn into a kloof.  At intervals of about a\nmile I came on spots which, from the numerous hoof marks, indicated that\nthe thief had stopped to let the calf rest and take milk, then, after\nthe third such resting, he went right ahead at a sharp pace directly\ntowards the big kloof on Abe Pike's farm.  If the beasts had been driven\nin there I made sure of recovering them, but I presently noticed that\nthe spoor led away along a ridge to the left, skirting the kloof, and\ndescending to a wide wooded valley which ran into the bush.  I followed\nwithout much hope into the valley, to find the spoor obliterated by the\ntracks of a troop of cattle which had been on the move since sunrise.\nAfter questioning the native herd without success, I turned back towards\nPike's house, reaching it just as he came out from his breakfast.  He\ntook a long glance at me and my horse.\n\n\"Soh,\" he said, \"been spooring a stock thief, eh?  You've got to get up\nearly to catch that sort--earlier than bedtime.  I seed you go over the\nbrow of that rand yonder with a dog nosing on in front, and I said to\nmyself, `Abe Pike, there's the young baas with the hope springing up in\nhim that he's got the glory of catching a cattle thief.'  The young has\ngot all the hope and the old all the experience, and I'd swaap a whole\nlot of experience for a glimmer of hope.\"\n\nAll this time he had been attending to the horse, rubbing its back and\nlegs with a wisp of straw.\n\n\"Who said I had been after a cattle thief?\n\n\"What are words, sonny; words is nothing--nothing but a slower way of\nsaying a thing you have already made plain enough by your actions.  Says\nI, `Abe Pike, the young baas has lost a beast, maybe a cow and calf, and\nbymby he'll be looking as black as thunder and as hungry as a mule.'\"\n\n\"Uncle Abe, you know something about this robbery.  It is true I have\nlost a cow and calf.  Have you seen them?\"\n\n\"What! me?  Where is they?  You know well if Abe Pike had seen them\nthey'd a been right here waiting for you.  No, lad; but I saw you\nfollering straight on the spoor, and if there'd been several beasts some\non 'em would have broke from the track, making the spooring bend and\ntwist.  So I reckoned there were only one beast, maybe a cow and calf.\nThere's a dough cookie under the coals and some good honey, with a\ncouple of fresh aigs and a roast mealie, not to say a cup of as good\ncoffee as you can get.  Help yourself, lad; help yourself.\"\n\nI sat down to this simple fare--after raking the \"cookie\" from the\nfire-place, whence it came baking hot with wood cinders embedded in its\nsteaming crust; while Abe leant against the door-post, pulling\nreflectively at his pipe.\n\n\"What has become of Bolo?\"  I asked.\n\n\"He quitted last night.  No, he ain't gone off with your cow.  He was\nskeered.\"\n\nI nodded an inquiry, being engaged with the mealie cob, the eating of\nwhich occupies the mouth too fully for speech.\n\n\"Old Bolo were skeered.  Try some of that honey--it's real good.  None\nof your euphorbia juice in it to burn your mouth out, but just ripe\nsweetness from the hill flowers and sugar bushes.\"\n\nThe old man held his pipe away, and his lips were drawn in as I placed a\npiece of gleaming yellow comb on my plate.\n\n\"Yes,\" he chuckled, \"old Bolo were skeered, and he lit out for home.\nYou see, him and me were sitting away yonder, under the tree in the\nshade, talking about things, when up comes a honey-bird.\n`Chet-chet-chet-chee!' he said, sitting up there in the branches, with\nhis head on one side and then the other as he fussed about with his\nnews.  `Chet-chet-chet-chee!' he said--which is his way of saying as how\nhe'd found a honey-tree and wanted someone to go shares with him.\n\n\"`Shall we foller him!' says I.\n\n\"Bolo he grunted.  For a heathen he's spry, but it was his lazy time,\nand for another thing he was in the middle of a long-winded story, which\nhe was bound to finish, being a born talker, and very strong ag'inst\nbeing interrupted.\n\n\"`Chet-chet-chet-chee!' said the honey-bird, jumping from one branch to\nanother all in a quiver of impatience.\n\n\"`Come on,' says I, `let's see what sort of a nest he's got.'\n\n\"`That bird is a mischief bird,' said Bolo; `he will lead us to a snake\nor a tiger.  Eweh! to the black tiger.'\n\n\"`How?' says I.\n\n\"`Why,' says he, `if he were a good bird he would sit away over there on\nthat thorn bush and wait till we have finished our talk.  This bird is\ntoo anxious.'\n\n\"Just then that bird flew away, off to the thorn tree, and there he sat\ndumb.\n\n\"`By Jimminy,' says I, `that's funny.'\n\n\"Bolo he took a pinch of snuff, and he drove on with his story, with his\n`congella wetu,' and his `ke-ke-lo-ko-ke,' jes' 's if nothing had\nhappened, while I sat with my eyes fixed on that there bird.\n\n\"Well, the longest river reaches the sea some time, and at last Bolo\nfinished that yarn, and what it was about I couldn't tell you, sonny.\n`Now,' says I, `let us investigate this matter,' and hang me ef at that\nprecise moment of the ending of that yarn, the bird didn't come back,\nall agog with his news.\n\n\"Bolo he shook his head.  `That bird is no bird,' he says, `it's a\nfamiliar.'\n\n\"`Whose familiar?' says I.\n\n\"`It belongs to that dog of a Fingo,' naming a rival medicine man, `or\nelse 'tis a slave of the black tiger sent to lead us into a trap.'\n\n\"`Well,' says I, `honey is sweet, though it gives a man a bad _pense_,\nas the Royal motter says, and I'm for follering him.'  So up I got, and\nthat bird he jes' flew off, lighting here an' lighting there, so as I\ncould keep up, and after a mile he sot still as death on a thorn bush.\n\n\"`Is this the place?' says I.\n\n\"The honey-bird kep' quiet, but he jes' turn his eye on me all of a\nsparkle.\n\n\"Well, I jes' sniffed aroun' and squinted aroun', and in a brace of\nshakes I spotted the honey nest in a hollow ant-hill.  Well, I scooted\nback to the house for a bucket, and after smokin' the bees, got out\nfifty pound weight of the finest sealed honey, not forgetting to set a\npiece of comb with young bees in it for the bird.\n\n\"Well, Bolo was pretty sick when he saw me come in with that bucket\nfull, and he was standing there saying he knew all along that bird was a\ngood bird, but he didn't want to find the honey seeing as it was on my\nfarm, and he'd be sure to find it first, whereby he could claim half,\nwhich was against hospitality.  Right there, sonny, that there bird come\nand perched on the roof.  `Chet-chet-chee!' says he, as excited as if he\nhadn't had a meal for a month.  I see it was the same bird, for there\nwas a stickiness about his head.\n\n\"`Oh, aie;' says Bolo, then he shouted from his chest.  `My little\nfriend in the grey suit, lead on!'\n\n\"Well, the bird flew off, and Bolo, he went after, whistling and calling\nit good names.  I jest pottered about by the house into the afternoon,\nlooking out every now and ag'in to see if Bolo were coming back, when of\na sudden I see him tearing acrost the veld.  He shot by me into the\nhouse, and hang me if he didn't bang the door in my face, and at the\nsame time that honey-bird lighted on the roof.  You never see sich a\nsight as that bird.  He opened his mouth, spread his wings, rolled about\nand laughed fit to bust himself.  Bymby he flew away with a final\nscreech, and Bolo opened the door, his natrally black face being green,\nhis lips curled back from his teeth, and his eyes rolling.  I up with a\nbeaker of water and threw it in his face to cool him off--and he came\nround.\n\n\"`Did you find the honey-tree?' says I.\n\n\"`Honey-tree!' says he, and his eyes began to roll ag'in, as though he\nwere trying to look inside his head.  `There were no honey-tree.  It was\na bad bird I knew it, I told you, and you would not believe the words of\nthe wise man.  I am going--where are my kerries?'\n\n\"`What happened?'\n\n\"`This.  Listen.  I followed the evil thing.  It led me across the veld\nand a thorn caught me by the leg.  It was a warning, but I did not heed,\nI went on across the ridge to the kloof, and into the kloof to a hollow\ntree.  I heard the owl cry, the night-bird calling in the day, giving\nanother warning, but I was deaf.  I smelt honey, and there were no bees\nflying in the hole; but the smell of honey was strong.  Into the hole I\nwas about to thrust my arm when I saw on the bark long scratches.  I\nlooked up through the plume on my head, so, without turning my face, and\nup above on a branch I saw a black form stretching out and yellow eyes\nfixed on me; at the same time out of the hollow of the tree there came a\nlow laugh, strange, fearful, not of man, and with a spring backwards and\na bound sideways, I was off like the deer, with the roar of the black\ntiger in my ears.'\n\n\"So said Bolo, and without further words he took his kerries and his\nbag, and he went away over the hill to the north, running.  Yes, lad, he\nquit at a gallop.\"\n\n\"And what do you think of this story, Uncle Abe?\"\n\n\"I've done a lot of thinking about it.  I thunked that there wooden\nshetter for the window as a protection.\"\n\n\"Surely you don't believe that Bolo was led deliberately by the\nhoney-bird to the tiger?\"\n\n\"Maybe I do.  Maybe the bird led him to a sure enough bee-tree.  Maybe\nBolo happened on the black critter.  Maybe he were skeered at a shadder.\nI dunno; but I tell you I see the bird laf fit to bust, and there's\nmore in the ways of these animiles than we can catch hold of--a jolly\nsight more.\"\n\n\"Well, then, bring your gun along and we'll put the dog on the tiger's\nspoor.\"\n\n\"Not this child!  No, no, sonny!  You leave me to get the blind side of\nthat tiger; but I've got my own plan, and it's not tracking him I am\nwhen he's on the watch.  Not me.\"\n\n\"What plan, Uncle?\"\n\n\"There's a powerful thinking machine in a honey-bird,\" said the old man\nslowly, so dismissing his plan from the talk; \"and when you come to\nthink of it, the first bird that led a man to a nest must ha' been a\ngreat diskiverer--a greater diskiverer in his way than was that Columbus\nchap who smashed the egg.  That bird must a reckoned the whole thing\nout, an' if he could a reckoned way back in the years, why, it stands to\nreason his children, after all the experience they've larnt, must reckon\na lot more.  One day one of these birds called me, and I picked up a\nbucket and a chopper, and followed after him at a run, for he was in a\nmighty hurry, being, as I thought, hungry.  It warn't that, sonny.  He\nwas jes' mean, and he knew it, for the bee-tree he were leading me to\nbelonged to another bird.  I found that out when that bird come along.\nThe two of them had a argument--the new one expostulatin', the other one\njes' ansering in a don't-care way.  The second one he flew off--yelling\nthreats, and the other one, after bunching himself up, suddenly lit out\nag'in with me after him.  I found the tree, took out the honey, and gave\nthe bird a piece of comb.  Then, as I was sittin' down with the pipe, up\ncame a hull lot of birds, with a black-headed, white-throated fiscal--\nthe chap with a hooked beak who sticks the grasshoppers on thorns out of\nsheer devilment.  Well, sonny, believe me, those birds they jes' up and\ntried that honey-bird, the other chap giving evidence.  The jury, which\nwere composed of a yellow oriole, a blue spreuw, and a mouse-bird, they\nfound my bird guilty, and a old white ringed crow, who was the jedge,\npronounced sentence of death.  My bird didn't say nothing.  He jes' sot\nthere with a piece of honey in his mouth, and a set, gloomy look in his\neye.  After the verdict that fiscal he swooped down, fixed his claws in\nthe prisoner's breast, and yanked his head off his neck with a twist.\nIt was summery justice on that bird for taking possession of the other\nbird's honey-tree.  Yes, the fiscal he just yanked the prisoner's head\noff, and the body fell to the ground.  Then the jedge he buried the\nbird.\"\n\n\"How was that?\"\n\n\"He jes' ate it.  He jes' flopped down, give a caw, and swallowed the\ncorpse.  I went home then, thinking as how they might try me for aiding\nand abetting a crime.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER NINE.\n\nUNCLE ABE AND THE WILD DOGS.\n\nThere can be no denying that we were reaping a plentiful crop of\nmisfortunes, to which farmers in South Africa are especially exposed.\nThe cattle thieves had mysteriously come and swiftly gone, taking with\nthem a few head of stock into the dense cover of the Fish River Bush,\nthence to slip them at favourable opportunities into Kaffraria.  Then,\none morning the news was brought in that a pack of wild dogs, issuing\nfrom the Kowie Bush on the west, had sallied out on a rush over the\nintervening belt of well-stocked cattle country into the Fish River\nValley, and there were few farms on the route that had not suffered.  At\none place a heifer had been pulled down and eaten; at another, a cow had\nbeen attacked and so mauled that death from a rifle-ball was a happy\nrelease; and on my place the pack had stampeded a mob of young cattle,\nran down and killed a steer, besides leaving their marks on many others.\nIn one night they had covered fifteen miles from one wooded fastness to\nthe other, killing as they went, and when in the morning the angry\nfarmers fingered their guns the brutes were resting secure in the\ndistant woods.  The wild dogs hunt in packs when after game, and\naccording to a well arranged plan.  Thus, one part of the pack will head\nthe quarry in a certain direction where other members are lying in wait,\nbut when on a wild rush across the veld they keep together, and on\ncoming across cattle or sheep they bite or kill out of sheer lust of\nblood, seldom stopping to eat.  Their jaws are enormously powerful, and\nwith a snap and a wrench they tear away mouthfuls of flesh--so that if a\npack gets among a flock of sheep they do a vast deal of mischief, and\nthough they cannot pull down an ox, they will cause the death of a cow\nby tearing at her udder and belly.  Fortunately their raids into the\ncomparatively open veld are not frequent, and they prefer to keep in the\nshelter of wide stretches of bush until game becoming scarce they shift\nquarters, when they may sometimes be caught in an isolated kloof and\nshot or poisoned.\n\nUncle Abe had something to say when I met him next at the monthly\nmeeting of our Farmers' Association--an organisation of six paying\nmembers and fifteen members who never had enough cash to pay, but who\nregularly attended on the chance of getting a square meal from any one\nof the five whose turn it was to give up his largest room to the\nmeeting.  Uncle Abe did most of the orating, and it frequently happened\nindeed that the formal business would be forgotten, while Abe from his\nusual seat on the door-step held forth on the peculiar gifts of\n\"animiles.\"  His idea was that all branches of animal life acted under a\nstringent code of laws and regulations.\n\n\"Take these yer wild dogs,\" he said, pointing the stem of his\nwell-chewed pipe at the President, who sat at the end of the dining-room\ntable waiting patiently for a nervous young farmer to read his painfully\nprepared paper on the vexed question of \"Inoculation as a Cure for\nLung-sickness.\"\n\n\"Take these yer wild dogs.  Haven't they got a leader?  They have.  Of\ncourse they have, and wha' jer think they've got a leader for if it\nisn't to follow him or her--for more often than not the leader's a she;\nand wha' jer think they foller him or her if it ain't because they've\ngot rules and regulations which are be-known to that leader?\"\n\n\"Don't they follow the leader because he happens to be the strongest in\nthe pack?\" asked the nervous member anxiously, bent on shirking his\ntask.\n\n\"We ain't going to follow your lead this afternoon on that score,\" said\nAbe caustically.  \"No sir, they follow the leader not because he is the\nstrongest, but for the reason that he knows the rules and regilations.\"\n\n\"Have you seen a printed copy, Abe?\" asked one member shyly.\n\n\"No, sir.  It's only human beings that ain't got sense enough to know\nwhat they are setting out to do unless they put everything in print.  A\nhuman being wants to know everything, and he don't know nothing; but a\nanimile he calkalates to know what's necessary for him, and when he\nlearns his lesson he don't want any noospaper to tell him about it--you\njes' put that in your pipe.  Now take your case--\"\n\n\"Have some baccy, Uncle,\" said the interrupting member eagerly.\n\n\"Don't mind if I do.  Lemme see.  I were jes' going to tell ye a yarn\nabout some wild dogs, but I see the President's waiting for our young\nfriend to 'lighten us about 'noculation, which is good on his part,\nconsiderin' there's some here as were curing lung-sick cattle before he\nwere born.\"\n\n\"My paper can wait,\" said the young farmer, hastily stuffing his notes\ninto his pocket.  \"Let us have your story.\"\n\n\"Drive ahead, ole man.\"\n\n\"Well, if it's the wish of the meeting, I'm at your service.  If I\nremember, 'twere away back in the sixties, when game were pretty thick\nin these parts, and a pack took up lodgings in the big kloof over\nyonder.  I was mor'n ordinarily busy building my shed, and hadn't much\ntime to give any heed to them, though I yeard em often giving tongue as\nthey went after buck, and saw one of 'em sneaking along right up to the\nold tree afore my door in the mealie garden.  The brute were on the\nspoor of a big black ram, which had taken that track from the big kloof\nto a smaller shelter for a constitutional.  I yapped at him, and after\nlooking at me with his big ears cocked and the round muzzle of his dirty\nhead held up, the yellow critter turned and went nosing back.  Two days\nafter I seed three of 'em stealing up across the veld, and blow me if\nthey didn't come right up to the mealie patch.  One of 'em lay down at\nthe bottom, the other come up to the top corner, and the third, a big\nchap with a round belly, he stood back of the tree squinting round the\ntrunk.  Thinks I, what's up? and lighting the pipe, I jes' plumped down\nbehind a bush, with the ole gun over my knee.  The air was still, with\nthe drone of the sea, coming like the hum of a big bluebottle, and\nbymby, through the stillness I yeard the sudden excited yapping of the\npack, followed after a spell by a loud bark, I looked at the three dogs,\nand they was all looking across the veld with the water running from\ntheir mouths.  Casting my eye acrost the veld, there I seed a black spot\nin the distance.  It was the ram, sure enough, who had been put up in\nthe kloof and were now making for his second hiding-place.  He were\ntaking it easy, though the wind was coming straight to him from the pack\nbehind.  He came right on, with his head up, then he slowed down to a\nwalk, and looked back over his shoulder.  Away back there were something\nmoving, a dark in-and-out patch, the pack on the spoor, and I seed the\nram shake his head and stamp with his hoof.  Then he gave a short bark,\nsort of defiant, and on he trotted again; but this time he turned away\nto the left, as if he'd got a sudden fancy for the scattered bush clumps\nabout a mile over the ridge that way.  Well, sir, he hadn't covered\nmore'n fifty yards when a yeller dog rose up and yapped at him.  The\nram, he stood still, with his head up, looking at this oudacious\ncritter, when the pack behind gave tongue altogether, and the sound of\nit made him skeered, for he wheeled round and came at a smart pace right\nfor the big tree and the mealie garden.  I turned my head, biting\nthrough my pipe, I was that excited, and I seed those two corner dogs\ncreeping nearer to the big one, who was standing back of the tree, with\nhis teeth showing and his tail twitching.  Then I yeard the steps of the\nram, and there he were sailing along over the bushes, and the ant-hills,\nhis eyes full and bright with the light o' courage in 'em--for you know,\ngentlemen, that the bush-buck carries a stout and gallant heart in his\ngreat chest.\"\n\n\"Ay, ay, Uncle; so he does.\"\n\n\"There he came, his sharp hoofs pricking into the ground, his legs\nslender and shapely, his great haunches gathering up as he cleared\neverything in his way, and the points of his short, strong horns\ncatching the sparkle of the sun.  Right for the tree he went, then on a\nsudden he stopped and looked full ahead, his ears turned backward, but\nhis gaze fixed on a pair of gleaming eyes that glared at him.  As he\nstood there, as big as a year-old calf, with his side to me, I could ha'\ndriven a ball through his heart; but I didn't as much as go beyon'\nclosin' my grasp on the rifle.  I wouldn't a shot him--no, not in them\ncirkumstances.  There were a duel of staring between those two for a\nfull half-minute, and in that time those other two yellow critturs were\nslinking through the long grass bordering the mealies.  Nex' thing\nthey'd a been on him from each side, with that other cur comin' up from\nbehind, not to speak of the pack hurrying up and of the big chap behind\nthe tree, when I gave a shout: `Look out!' say I, jes' as if he were a\nhuman.  `Look out!' says I, and the chap that was nearest me he rose up\nouter the grass and jumped for the ram.  You never seed sich a thing.\nFor all the ram had got his eyes on the big chap, he slewed his head\nround quicker'n lightning, his horns went down, and the next thing that\nyeller critter was lying on his back yelping, with a hole in his neck.\n\n\"The ram shook his head, and a tiny red mark went winding down the\nfurrows of his horn nearest me.  Eh! you should a seen him and I jes'\nheld my breath, while my legs shook so I was obliged to stand up.  Back\nof him came the pack--silent now, and the speediest of 'em slipping\nalong like shadders, while two of the critters stood each side of the\nram watching him, and the big one standing clear of the tree, staring at\nthe great blazing eyes with his mean little yeller peepers.  Suddenly\nthe big chap gave a few orders, sharp and snapping, and four leaders\nfrom the pack shot out, two going one side and two the other.  They were\nsurrounding the ram, and he knew it.  He made a bound forward, and the\nsame minute the two dogs nearest him sprang open-mouthed, one of 'em\ntaking a clear mouthful outer the haunch.  The ram swerved, and the big\nchap waiting for him went for his belly, but the ram bounded into the\nair, and when he came down he wheeled round with his back to the tree.\nThe dogs they jes' drew off and sat in a ring staring at him, one and\nanother opening his big jaws and bringing the white teeth together with\na snap, but the sight of that circle didn't shake the nerve of the buck,\nfor he shook his head at 'em and stamped his hoofs.  One of the young\ncritters growing impatient ran in, but got a stroke from the pointed\nhoof for his pains.  Well, I were that 'xcited I moved towards the tree,\nthe pack jes' giving me one look, then closed in a step or two.  Three\ntimes the circle were drawn closer, and the sight of those staring eyes\nfrom outer those ugly round heads fairly made me shudder.  I up with the\ngun and let 'em have a charge of slugs.  In the confusion the ram went\noff full slick this time, and the dogs, with a whimper, scattered after\nhim; but 'twas no use, he give 'em leg bail, and believe me them\ncritters come sneakin' back and s'rounded me.  They did that.\"\n\n\"Did they think you were good to eat?\"\n\n\"'Pears so, for they sat on their tails regarding me with loving looks.\nI shoo'd to them, but they didn't shoo a inch.  I went for 'em with the\ngun clubbed, but while those in front give way, those ahind came\nperilously near my legs.  I heerd the snap of their steel jaws, but when\nI turned there they were sitting down with their heads on one side.\nEach time I tried that it were the same; and when I give up, there they\nsat in a ring round me.  Then I jes' swung up into the tree and snapped\nmy fingers at em.\n\n\"If I were to tell you what them ere wild dogs did, you 'ud up and say\nthe old man were a liar.\"\n\n\"You hurt our feelings, Uncle.\"\n\n\"Well, that big leader he up and made a speech--not a oration like our\ngifted young friend here can make, but a few yaps and growls.  After he\nhad finished they give him a cheer, and fell to scooping a big trench\nround the tree.  Then they gnawed the roots through.  Then they boosted\nthe tree down.  Yes, gentlemen, them wild dogs which you would call\nunthinking critters, deliberately dug up that big tree with their teeth,\nso's to get hold o' me.\"\n\n\"Hum!  Did they eat you, Uncle?\"\n\n\"They boosted the tree down; but while they stood away off, I lit on my\nfeet and were inside the house 'fore you could say Jack Robinson.  Yes,\nthat's so.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TEN.\n\nTHE BLACK MAMBA.\n\nWe were talking about snakes at the little roadside _winkle_--a\ncomposite shop, where you could buy moist black sugar, tinned butter,\nimported; tinned milk, also imported; cotton, prints, boots, \"square\nface,\" tobacco, dates, nails, gunpowder, cans, ribbons, tallow candles,\nand the \"Family Herald.\"  We always did talk about snakes when other\ntopics failed, and no one had been fishing for some time, and the big\npumpkin season had passed.\n\n\"Man,\" said Lanky John, the ostrich farmer, \"I killed a snake, a\n_ringhals_, yesterday morning back of the kraal, and in the evening when\nI went by there was a live _ringhals_ coiled round the dead one.\"\n\n\"There's a lot of love among snakes,\" said Abe Pike, who had swapped a\nbush-buck hide for a pound of coffee and a roll of tobacco.  \"They don't\ntalk much, but they think a lot, and you can't plumb the feelings of\nsilent folk; they're that deep.\"\n\n\"Ever been in love, Uncle?\" asked Lanky John, popping a big lump of\nblack sugar into his mouth.\n\n\"I guess it won't take more'n a foot measure to get to the bottom of\nyour feelings, tho' you are long enough to be a telegraft pole,\" snorted\nUncle Abe.\n\n\"Snakes haven't got any brain,\" said Lanky John, after an awkward pause.\n\n\"No more has a whip-stick,\" said the old man, with a contemptuous glance\nat Lanky's long, thin limbs.\n\n\"That's true,\" replied John, with a wink at us; \"though I've heard of a\nsnake that glued on to a whip-stick all for love of you, Uncle.\"\n\n\"Snakes,\" said Abe, \"knows when to speak and when to keep shut, which is\nmore than some folk can do.  If you come unexpected on a snake in a\npath, and he sees your foot coming down on him, he lets you know he's\nabout, and that foot of yours is jest fixed in the air.  Well, suppose\nthat snake is not in the path, but jest stretched out 'longside, he\ndon't call out.  For why?  'Cos he knows it's safer for him and for you\nthat he should keep quiet.  I tell you there's not a man here who hasn't\ntime and again passed in the dark within a few inches of a snake.\"\n\nA listener, who was seated in a dark corner, moved out into the\nsunshine.\n\n\"Did I ever tell you that yarn about the black mamba?\"\n\n\"You never did, old man, so shove along.\"\n\n\"You may thank your stars there's no mambas down in this country, for of\nall critturs that crawl, or fly, or walk, there's not one for nateral\ncussedness and steady hate to come up to a black mamba.  Why! thunder!\nif there was a mamba in these parts, and he'd a grudge against me, I'd\nmove off a hundred miles to where my sister 'Liza lives.\"\n\n\"A hundred miles!  That's a good step.\"\n\n\"Maybe it wouldn't be fur enough neither.  You wait!  Ten years ago I\nwas riding goods to the Diamond Fields, and after one trip I was\nstarting back with the empty wagon, there being no produce to load up\nwith, when a chap came up and offered three guineas for his passage.\nWell, a man's wagon is his home, and you don't want to give a fellow the\nrun of your tent for a month without knowing something about him.  So I\njes' looked him all over--saw that his boots were worn out, and that he\nkep' looking over his shoulder, when he climbed into the wagon and drew\nthe blanket over him--though the sun was fierce enough to light your\npipe.  He gave me sich a look when he went in that I had not the heart\nto drag him out, and off I trekked.  He didn't join me at the fire that\nnight, and when I climbed in, thinking he was asleep, he was shiverin'\nas though he had the ague.  Well, I gave him a glass of Cango and went\nto sleep.  At sunrise I trekked again, and bymby I see him draw the\ncanvas aside and look back over the veld, which was as flat as the palm\nof my hand.  Thinks I, he's expecting the police, but I let him be, and\nat dinner he came out, looking as skeered as a monkey with a candle.\nFirst he took a walk round the wagon, then he shaded his eyes as he\nglanced over the veld, then he took a bite and a look, then a sip and a\nlook.\n\n\"`What are you looking for?' says I.\n\n\"He let the beaker fall out of his hands and turned white.\n\n\"`Have you seen it?' he whispered, with a sort of choke.\n\n\"`Seen what?'  I said.\n\n\"`I don't feel well,' he answered, with a twitch for a smile, and\nclimbed back into the wagon.\n\n\"I tell you his looks made me feel queer, and I slept that night under\nthe wagon.  Well, I made a long skoff the next day, crossed the Modder\nRiver, and no sooner'd we get across than the river came down with a\nrush, brimming full with a boiling yeller flood right up to the lip of\nthe steep banks.  That coon spent the whole day on the bank watching the\nother side, and fixing his eyes on every tree and branch that went\nsailing down.\n\n\"`It's a grand flood,' he said, rubbing his hands together; `'twould\nsweep a whale away like a piece of straw.'\n\n\"`Yes, and a policeman too, eh?' said I, looking at him hard.\n\n\"He noticed the meaning in my words, and a human smile broke over his\nface, chasing away the worried look that seemed carved into it.\n`Policeman,' he said.  `I've no cause to fear a policeman, or any man.\nGood God!' he cried, catching me by the arm, `what's that?'\n\n\"`Where?' said I, fit to jump out of my skin for the terror in his face.\n\n\"He stood there with his eyes glaring at the water, and a shaking finger\npointing into the very heart of the yeller flood.  There stood out the\nroot of a tree, and clinging to the root the coils of a snake, with his\ngleaming head moving like a branch.  Jest a moment it showed, then the\nwater swirled over it again.\n\n\"`Let go of my arm,' I said, for his fingers were biting into me, and\nthe look of him made me afeard, so that I talked gruffly.\n\n\"`Did you see it?' he said, and then he jest collapsed like a bundle of\nclothes.  I had a good mind to leave him there, but, instead, I histed\nhim on to my shoulders, and poured enough Cango into him to make him\nforget his name.  He wasn't fit to stand until a couple of days after,\nand then wha' jer think he did?  Cut up his clothes into shreds and\nlaughed fit to kill himself when I found him at it.  Of course, I\nthought he was clean daft, but he weren't, and for the first time, with\nmy old corduroys on him, he sat by the camp fire, sipping his coffee,\nand talking--talking mainly about snakes and bloodhounds, and things\nthat made my backbone whang like a broken fiddle-string.  He frightened\nhimself, too, so that when he saw the long _achter-oss_ sjambok\nquivering on the ground where the driver had thrown it, his jaw got\nrigid, and moved up and down without any words coming from his mouth.\nThen, with a sort of sob, he snatched up the axe, and I'm blowed if he\ndidn't cut that sjambok into a thousand bits.  It was a good sjambok,\ntoo, made of rhinoceros hide, as thick as your wrist at the butt and\ngoing off to a point, and when I told the idiot what he'd done, he jes'\nwent off into another unnateral fit of wild laughter, after which he\npaid me a guinea and went to bed.  Putting this, that, and the other\ntogether, with the Cango brandy, I guessed my man had got snakes in his\nhead, and I kept the demijohn under lock.  That calmed him down, and he\nwas all right until we came to the Orange River, where we had to camp\nwhile the water went down.  About fifty wagons were there waiting to\ncross, and there was quite a stir with all the fellows moving about\nvisiting.  When we had outspanned, I joined a group to hear about the\nstate of the roads, the condition of the veld for grazing, and all them\nthings that transport riders talk about, when one chap asked if I had\nheard the news.  `What news?' says I.  `About that snake,' says he; `he\nwas seen at the Riet River drift last week.'  `Yes,' says another, `and\ntwo days before he was at Aliwal North.'  `I heard from the mail coach\ndriver,' says a third, `that the snake overtook his coach, stopped the\nhorses, and took a steady look at all the passengers, after which he\nwent across the veld, leaving 'em all frozen with terror.  It was twenty\nfeet long, and its eyes were like black diamonds.'\n\n\"Of course, I wasn't swallering that, but when I told my traveller the\nsweat gathered in big drops on his forehead, and the old hunted look\ncame into his face.  `You don't believe this silly yarn?' says I,\nplacing my hand on his shoulder.  `Believe it, man!' he said.  `Good\nheavens! that snake is after me.'  `After you,' says I.  `Yes,' says he,\nmaking an effort to swallow something.  `It has chased me up and down\nover a thousand miles for two months.'  `Nonsense!'  I said; `you're\nnervous and fanciful.'  `Listen,' he said.  `Two months ago I was\nhunting in the Zulu country, and one day, ten miles away from my camp, I\nshot a mamba.  I took the body back with me to skin it; but when the two\nblacks I had with me saw it, they cried out to me to take it away, or\nthe mamba's mate would come in the night.  I left them sleeping by the\nfire, and the next morning they were still sleeping--ay, they were\nsleeping the last sleep, for the mamba had been in the night.'\n\n\"As I looked at them, with the blood in me like water, I heard a heavy\nbreathing, and saw my horse on the ground, his eyes glazed and his\nnostrils fighting for breath, while, resting on his body, was the awful\nhead of a mamba, his eyes fixed on mine, and his forked tongue darting\nin and out.  I fired at him with the rifle barrel, but clean missed in\nmy flurry; then I ran until my courage came back.  I found that I had\nleft the powder behind, and slowly turned back.  I had not gone a\nhundred paces when I met him on my track, slipping like a black streak\nthrough the grass, and I thought of nothing then but escape.  After a\ntime I met a party of Zulus, but when I asked for their assistance, they\nfled with loud cries of alarm, and at a Zulu kraal, where I stopped to\nask for thick milk, they drove me out when they learnt why it was I\nfled.  That night as I slept that snake coiled by my side.\n\n\"`What!'\n\n\"`Yes; he could have struck me then, but he preferred to have full\nvengeance.  I woke at the flicker of his tongue on my cheek, thinking it\nwas a fly--a fly! good Lord! and my hand fell upon his cold, sinewy\nfolds, and his head was resting on my shoulder.  Ever since he has been\nafter me, with a deadly hate that is slowly driving me mad.  Sometimes\nhe disappears, but I never escape from the glint of his unwinking eyes,\nand one day he will strike, unless--unless--'\n\n\"`Well?' said I, looking at his drawn face.\n\n\"`Unless,' he said, `I forestall him.'\n\n\"`No my lad,' said I, `for that would be a sin, and when you are\nstronger this dream of yours will go.'\n\n\"He looked so fallen in, so weak, all of a sudden, that I took him for a\nwalk to the river, and the rush of the waters seemed to comfort him.  He\nsat on a big boulder looking across, and the whiteness presently went\nfrom his cheeks.\n\n\"`I've got an idea,' he said, `if I could reach the other side I'd be\nall right again.'\n\n\"We sat there in a sort of a dream for an hour or two, when I happened\nto look round, and right there on the flat of the ground was stretched\nout the biggest and the ugliest snake I ever saw, black as night, with a\ngreat vicious diamond-shaped head, and a pair of eyes that glowed all\ncolours.  He looked as if he'd travelled; his scales, instead of being\nglossy, were dull with scratches here and there, and his skin had a sort\nof bagginess as if he hadn't eaten for weeks.  As soon as he saw me turn\nhe raised his head about five feet from the ground, and from his eyes\nthere shot a look that jest kept me fixed like a stone.  Then that poor\nyoung feller on the stone began to speak again, in a soft way, of the\nriver and its journey to the sea.\n\n\"`I wish,' he said, `I could look on the sea again.'  Then I heard him\nmove, and I knew he was looking into the eyes of his enemy, for that\nsnake began to sway his head to and fro, to and fro, while his tail went\ntwisting in and out, sending his body nearer and nearer.  Suddenly there\nwas a shriek, and a splash, and the snake went by me--streamed over the\nrock into the water, and when I leapt to my feet with a yell that\nstartled the whole camp, I saw an arm thrust above the yeller flood, and\nabove the arm the bend of that black snake, his head turned down looking\ninto the water, and a coil of his body round the elbow.  Ole Abe Pike\nhas swound away once, and that was the time.  Yes; there was his black\nbody gleaming with the water on it, and his head turned towards the face\nof the enemy--that poor young chap he had follered over three countries\nfor one thousand miles--one thousand English miles.\"\n\n\"That a true story, Uncle Abe?\"\n\n\"Ain't I told it?  That's why I gave up transport riding.  I darsn't go\nnear that Orange River again.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER ELEVEN.\n\nHOW THE MELONS DISAPPEARED.\n\nI think I have said that Uncle Abe knew everything there was to be known\nabout farming, but he was content with his knowledge and never put it to\npractical use, unless it was in the growing of water-melons.  His melons\nwere the biggest and the sweetest, with the reddest hearts and the\nsmoothest rinds in the district.  His patch was on the sunny side of the\nslope, and when the big glistening globes were coming to fruition, the\nold chap would sit on the worn sod bank above them and watch them\n\"drinking in the sunshine,\" as he said.  I went over one morning to\ncollect six melons, previously selected, in exchange for a sack of meal,\nand found him seated on a bank, the picture of misery.\n\n\"What's the matter, Uncle?\"\n\n\"A go-hoppin' ghost's been around here eating my melons.\"\n\n\"A what?\"\n\n\"A spook, and he's walked off with the very six melons you set your mark\nagainst.\"\n\nI dismounted, and walked into the melon patch, the old man silently\npointing out to me, with the stem of his pipe, the severed stems of my\nmelons.\n\n\"They're gone--you see.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I answered dryly, \"and the man who gathered them used a very\nclean-cutting knife.\"\n\n\"What man?\"\n\n\"Come, Uncle, you have parted with my melons to someone else, and I\nconsider you have behaved shabbily.\"\n\n\"That's it--go on.  It isn't enough that my hair should turn white in\nthe loneliness of the dark at the dog-hopping terror that came out of\nthe deep pool down below there, 'midst a fearful groaning in the air and\na splashing in the water, but you must turn on me.\"\n\n\"What became of those melons, you old shuffler?\"\n\n\"I ain't had a smoke for six days, and, on top of that, each morning I\nwoke up with an empty pipe to find a melon missing.\"\n\nI handed him my pouch, and waited for explanations.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, ramming the tobacco down with his little finger; \"six\ndays ago when I came over here to watch them melons mopping in the\nsunshine I saw at once one was gone--and gone, too, without so much as\nleaving any sign but a straight cut through the stem to show how it\nwent, not a footprint, nor a bruised leaf, nor anything.  Yes, that was\nthe smallest of the six; and next morning another was gone, the next\nbiggest, and there was no mark on the ground.  I tell you that want of\nsign made me queer, and when that night I yeard a splashing down there\nin the pool--and there's no sound, mind you, that comes so mysterious as\nthe sudden splash of water out of the night--I wondered if the Kaffir's\ndevil was climbing out of the pool, or if the little brown man, the\nTikoloshe, was up to his mischief.  There was that splash, loud and\nsudden, as if the big tail of a monstrous snake had come down smack on\nthe water; then there was a humming all around me in the air.  Have you\ngot a match?\"\n\nHe struck the match on his corduroys, lifting his knee to stretch the\nbreeches taut, and his hollow cheeks nearly met inside as he puffed,\nthen he held the glow of the expiring match before me.\n\n\"There was a humming in the air all around me, and my skin tingled all\nover jes'sif the wind were whipping the sand against my wet body when\ncoming from a sea bathe, and in the centre of that melon patch I seed a\nspark of fire like that dying match, jes' one dull spark of fire without\nany ray from it.  That was all.  Next morning the third melon was gone--\nclean gone.\"\n\n\"Yes; and you ate it.\"\n\n\"I grow melons--I don't eat 'em.  The next day I set a spring-gun with\nthe string from the fourth melon to the trigger, and in the middle of\nthe night I woke up with a start to the report of the gun and to a long\nterrible wail, that seemed to come out of the depth of the sky and from\nthe heart of the earth.  It just went soughing and sighing and wailing\nthrough the house, and round it and over it, so that your eyes would\nfollow it up and down and round, as though there was some living person\nthere screeching.  I tell you an ole rooster that was perched on the\nfoot of my bedstead fell down in a dead faint, so that I had to pour a\nteaspoonful of brandy down his throat.\"\n\n\"The melon must have given you indigestion.\"\n\n\"Look here, sonny; if you play any longer on that string you'll wear it\nout.  In the morning there was one melon left, the spring-gun having\nblown the fourth one to smithereens--pieces of it being scattered all\nover the ground--though there was not a fragment of skin or hair or\nfeather to show what sort of thing it was had carried off the fifth\nmelon.  There was one left.  The biggest of the lot--a great dark-green\nball of liquid fire and honey, that would ha' fetched first prize at any\nshow.  I made up my mind to save that one, so I built a kraal round it\nwith stakes driven in a foot deep, and roofed in with saplins, and over\nall a fence of thorns.  And when the dark came on I sat out there with\nthe gun and the bull's-eye lantern.  I tell you I've suffered a lot in\ntrying to keep those six melons of yours--and that night there was a\nstillness in the air that brought out all my sufferings on the stretch\nlike fiddle-strings.  It was dead quiet far into the night, with the\nstars blinking, and the voice of the sea appearing to pass overhead,\nwhen of a sudden there came that splash from the pool, loud and\nstartlin'.  I stood up to look down into the valley, then I slipped\ninside.\"\n\n\"What did you see?\"\n\n\"See! nothing; but I felt there was something crawling up that hill--and\nthrough the air all around there came that humming.  Yes, I slipped\ninside; but on the bank I left that lantern glaring like a great eye\nover the melon patch.  I could not sleep for a melancholy sound in the\nair, half whistle, half moan; and when I went into the middle room to\nlook out of the window, I'm gummed ef that bull's-eye lantern wasn't\nstanding on the table with the slide shut.  That very same lantern I'd\nleft all ablaze on the bank--and in the room there was a smell of crabs,\na damp, muddy smell, and beyond the window was a smoulderin' fire--the\nsame dull spark-like point I had seen on the first night.\"\n\n\"Your pipe is out; do you want another match?\"\n\n\"A match is not much good without baccy.  Thankye, sonny.  So I climbed\ninto bed again, or rather--for I'm not ashamed of being afraid--under\nthe bed, and there I was when I yeard the old rooster say good-morning\nto the sun.  The first thing I did was to look at the melon patch, and--\nwhat'jer think--\"\n\n\"Go on, you wretched old fabricator.\"\n\n\"I seed that last water-melon sliding down the hill.\"\n\n\"Sliding?  Wasn't it walking?\"\n\n\"Yes, sliding--not rolling, as you'd expect a round thing to do down a\nsteep like that, but jes' gently sliding, as though it were resting on a\ncoat.  There was nothing by it, nothing at all, and it was the most\nsurprisin' sight I ever seed to watch that fine melon softly skimming\nover the grass and dodging all the stones.  I was so lost,\nflabbergasted, unbalanced by this sight that I never saw what was\nawaiting the melon, down by the pool, until the last thing, when it\nslid, all of a sudden, into a dark hole.  Into a dark hole--a sort of\ntunnel level with the take-off into the pool--and that hole, that\ntunnel, sonny, was the throat of the big devil-snake.  All in a moment I\nsaw that.  The melon disappeared, the jaws of the snake came together,\nand a column of water shot into the air as he slid back into the pool.\"\n\n\"So; and that's where the six melons went?\"\n\n\"Five, sonny; five--one of 'em was blown to smithereens by the gun.  The\nfive of 'em were swallowed by that devil-snake.\"\n\n\"And how did he cut the stems so clean?\"\n\n\"That's where the mystery comes in, sonny.  I expect you'll have to take\nsix of the best that are left, sonny; and I'm going into town next week\nto get some dynamite to blow the bottom outer that pool.  That\ndevil-snake might take it into his head to swallow me one of these\nfishing nights.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWELVE.\n\nABE PIKE AND THE BIG FISH.\n\nThe Fish River was \"down.\"  It generally was down, in the sense of being\nlow, but colonial rivers run by contraries--when they are down they are\nup.  There had been a heavy fall of rain \"up country,\" and the water\nrushing off the sun-baked surface poured like a flood between the high\nbanks, sweeping, as we afterwards heard, a stone bridge away, and\ncatching in its career a wagon and span of eighteen oxen at a drift\nwhich, at the time of crossing, had scarcely water enough to wet the\nfeet.  For many a mile the banks of the river are of red soil, and as\nthe flood eats into the banks its waters are stained a dull brick\ncolour, which hue is imparted to the Atlantic itself for miles along the\ncoast as the red waters pour out into the sea, bearing with them a\nwonderful collection of flotsam in the shape of timber, dead stock, and\nlive reptiles.  Of late, railway sleepers formed no small part of the\nflotsam, and if work was slack we sometimes, when the river was down,\nspent a sloppy day on the banks fishing for these floating items.  On\nhearing the news I rode off to pick up Uncle Abe, but finding him out,\nwent to a spot on the bank which he particularly favoured, where a wide\nflat rock stood at the base of a krantz.  He was not there, however, and\nthe rock itself was covered by the flood, which reached half-way up the\nkrantz, but it was evident he had been there, for from a cave in the\nrock, just above the lap of the waters, there issued a thin line of\nsmoke, and on climbing along a ledge I saw signs of his occupation in a\nskin kaross, a dark lantern, a gun, and a few well-known traps which he\nalways carried with him when after _kablejauw_, the great hundred\npounders which come up as far as this point in the spring tides.  Now\nthoroughly alarmed for his safety, I rode down towards the sea, from\nwhich, six miles away, there came the continuous roar and thunder of the\nsurf, and, to my great relief, met him in a bush path, with a full-grown\notter on his back, and the water oozing from his top boots and from his\nclothes, which clung to his lank body.\n\n\"Halloa!  Uncle; I thought you were drowned.\"\n\n\"That's me,\" he said, sweeping the water from his eyes; \"I've been\ndrowned twice over.  Got a pipe and baccy?  I'm jest perishing for a\nsmoke.\"\n\nI saw now that his knuckles were skinned, and that his face was pinched\nand blue.\n\n\"Get up,\" I said dismounting.\n\n\"Not me.  I'd spoil the saddle.  Lemme catch hold of the stirrup--so.\nNow get along quick, for I want to boil this yer soaking of water outer\nmy bones and body.\"\n\nWe went along, and presently I had a bright fire going in the cave, and\nthe kettle singing, while Abe, stripped of his clothes, sat shivering\nstill in his skin kaross, his eyes fixed on the red torrent, which\nstretched across for a mile.\n\nA tin beaker of boiling coffee soon brought back the warmth to his body,\nand when he had my pipe between his teeth he began to talk.\n\n\"I believe I'm getting old, sonny; and I've lost my fishin' tackle.\"\n\n\"Not the _kablejauw_ tackle?\"\n\n\"Jest that.  It's stood by me, man and boy, for twenty-five years.  I've\nwaxed it and waxed it, and wired it about the shank, till it were strong\nenough to haul in a shark, and now it's gone--all along of this yer\nflood.  I don't like loosing old things, and the loss of it pains me as\ntho' you'd pulled the sinews outer me.\"\n\n\"How did it happen?\"\n\n\"Yesterday I came here to fish, and in the afternoon--when the tide\ncrept whispering along the rushes--I cast in from the big rock.  'Twas\nas quiet as Sunday, with a fringe of bubbles right across the river\nmarking when the tide moved up.  On the mud bank, jest below where the\nbig fish would soon be routing up the mud like pigs, there was a blue\ncrane dozing on one leg, with his head bunched between his shoulders; on\na dead tree above sat a big black and white kingfisher, with his red\nbeak pointing up, and on the top of the krantz a white-headed eagle was\nall huddled up.  After a smoke, I built up the fire in the cave, then\nmade another cast with the line, for the fish were coming up, and the\ntide had reached up so high that the crane had to quit.  I heaved the\nlead out about thirty yards, and was drawing her in when there comes a\ntug, and I was into a _steinbrasse_.  That same moment the eagle started\ninto the air, sailing roun' and roun', and letting go screech after\nscreech; and when I looked up at him, surprised at the racket, I yeard a\nhollow murmur, like an echo that comes from a cave.  I knew what it\nmeant.\n\n\"'Twas the river comin' down, and in a hurry I began hauling in that\nline, when, with a rush that parted the water, a big _kablejauw_ took\nthe _steinbrasse_, and, with a swirl of his tail, made for mid-stream to\nbolt his food.  I dunno how it happened, but a coil of the line whipped\nroun' my leg, and I was yanked on to the broad of my back into the\nriver, with that eagle 'twixt me and the blue sky.  That fish pulled me\nright into the middle, then he paused to take bearings, and when the\nstrain slackened I took a breath, and reached along to get hold of the\nline.  But it was beyond me to slacken the knot without a knife, and I\nturned over to swim to the rock.  'Twas easy enough till I tautened the\nline, when the fish made another struggle.  'Twas pull devil, pull\nsaint, and the line wouldn't break.  First he'd gain, then I'd gain; but\nmost of the time we just stuck there--he facing to the sea, me to the\nrock, and that eagle ripping out up above.  And then!\"\n\n\"Well, Uncle?\"\n\n\"Lord love you, lad.  There were a roar in the air; I seed the tree tops\nabove the bend swaying; then there shot into the air a great tongue of\nwater, and round the corner, from side to side, there came a wall--the\nface of it curved in, the top hissing in foam, and the sides of it\nrunning right up the banks, so high it shut out the valley beyond.  I\ngave a yell, then turned over on my back, with my hands clasped behind\nmy head to protect it from the shock, and the next minute I were\nscooting down the river for the sea, with that wall howling behind me\nlike a thousand thunders.\"\n\n\"I don't understand.\"\n\n\"That _kablejauw_ did.  'Twas a race between him and the flood, and the\nway he flashed along showed he'd only been fooling with me before.  And\nthe line didn't break, and overhead there sailed the eagle, with his\nblack wings outspread and his white head looking down at me.  We flew so\nfast that in a few minutes I saw the white lines one above the other,\nwhich showed where the waves were breaking, and then with a snap like a\npistol-shot, the line snapped.  'Twasn't my weight that broke it, but a\nsnagged tree, into which, with the way on me, I went feet foremost.  No\nsooner'd I clung to a mud greasy branch than, with a roar like a fallen\nmountain in my head, the red flood tossed the big tree into the air,\nand, when we come down, we were in the thick of it--rushing on, at a\nheight of twelve feet above the blue waters of the tide.  Phew! how we\ndid go; and in a minute there was the mouth of the river, the big waves\nsolemnly rolling in, and beyond them the heaving blue of the ocean.\nWith a fierce rush, like a live crittur, the flood threw itself at the\nsea.  We just footed it over the small waves, then we cut the top off\nthe first roller, throwing up columns of spray high as the church\nsteeple, and then the fight began.  Behind us there was a hundred miles\nof flood; before us was the tide with the Atlantic at the back, and the\nsea after the first shock jes' gave a sort of surly roar, and away back\nof the outermost breaker I seed a dark line coming along steady and\nunbroken.  'Twas the last of the seven brothers, of the seven big waves\nthat roll in with the tide at intervals, and it was bigger than all.\nNearer it came, dark at the base, with a glistening curve, and a light\nline along the top.  We in the front had made a track for the flood\nbehind.  For a little we stopped--then my tree was flung forward, and a\nred, angry column shot forth to meet the big wave.  My!  Sonny!  The\nmusic of that meeting!  The two waters coming together would neither\ngive in, and they piled up, and up, and up, until there was built up a\nwall of water high as a hill, red on my side, blue on the other, and up\nthis wall my tree was forced by the flood behind.  Up we went, until we\nwere balanced on the very ridge, with a black gulf on the other side of\nsmooth water.  A breath we poised there while the fresh and the salt\nwere straining against each other, then a heaving mass out of the sea\nswiftly smote the great wall, and we went headlong--the tree and me--\ninto the biggest toss-up you ever see.  I dunno why it was I kept\na-hold, but I think the weight of the waters jammed me into a cleft\nbranch.  Anyhow, the life kept in my body, and when I took a breath, the\nnext minute it was dark, the stars were blazing, and the tree was\na-rocking up and down away out on the ocean beyond the fighting\nwhirl-about of river flood and tide.  In that one second between the\ntime I went headlong from the curling top of that hill-high wall of\nwater into the roarin' jumble some hours had gone--the tide had flowed\nand turned, and the old tree, with me on it, hanging like a withered\napple, had floated miles.  I must have been drowned over and over, and\nreg'lar pickled with salt.  I tell you it was lonesome out there on the\nsea--and wet.\"\n\n\"It was a wonderful escape, Uncle.\"\n\n\"But it warn't over.  Bymby the tide turned again, and the tree made\nagain for the shore, where the fighting was going on jes' the same from\nthe roar, and when the sun broke I saw we would strike the mouth of the\nriver again.  I dunno, sonny, how it is, but it seemed to me the ole sea\nwas entering into the fight, for there was a sort of rush in the great\nheaving masses that began to pile in out of the blue, and when I came\nnear the beat of the surf where the sea was all red, the breaker that\ncarried the tree on his round back rose higher and higher, as he swept\non until he reached the flood water, when he let the head of him curl\nand plunge with a force that swept everything away, and in the wall of\nhis foam we were shot right into the river.  That's when I was drowned\nagain; and when I came to I found we were settled in the still centre of\na great circle of waters under the left bank, outer the main current.\nEverything that came into that circle went roun' and roun' till it came\ngently into the centre, to drift up against the big tree.  Already there\nwere three goats against the tree, legs up, an' a sheep were drifting\nup, while in the circle sailin' roun' was a straw hat and a pair of\ntrousers.  On the tree there was fifteen snakes--all alive, but\nsluggish, mostly puff-adders, with some long yeller boomslangs, and\nthree or four ugly looking black snakes that must er come way down 200\nmiles from the karoo veld.  While I was looking at these ugly lodgers\ncoiled round the branch, there was a swirl in the water, and the sheep\nthat were drifting along suddenly went under.  'Twas a shark took him.\nThat made things lively, but when three more sharks come up, and after\neating the goats, the straw hat, and the trousers began butting at the\ntree with their shovel noses, I felt there was a lot of excitement in\nthis world if you only look for it patiently.  The rolling of the tree\nstirred the snakes, and the whole fifteen of them began crawling up.  If\nthere'd been two I'd kicked 'em off, but being so many I sot and took\n'em.  When they had settled down again there was one round my neck, a\nyeller boomslang, making a very fine collar, there were a pair of black\nsnakes on each of my arms, a brown boomslang round my waist, and no\nless'n six big puff-adders coiled about my legs.  I tell you I kept my\nmouth shut less one should crawl in by mistake, an' if my hair hadn't\nbeen so scant and wet it would ha' stood up straight.\"\n\n\"That was a tight fix, Uncle.\"\n\n\"Tight!  By gum!  The pressure of that six foot o' collar on my neck\ntilted my chin up in the air, while the chap above my waist nearly broke\nmy ribs.  The worst of it wer' I was freezing.\"\n\n\"Freezing! and the sun at 108.\"\n\n\"That's so; but fright turns a chap cold, and them snakes were drawing\nall the remainin' warmth outer me.  And ther' were those sharks\npromenadin' roun' and roun' the tree, every now and again givin' it a\nlazy shove.  Jes' then the tide turned, and the tree began to move on\nanother cruise.  This time I knew it would be all up with me.  I\ncouldn't live through another fight with the surf, and if I moved there\nwas the snakes and the sharks.  Soon as the tree moved those snakes woke\nup and began hissing an' puffing an' swaying their heads about, while\ntheir eyes got bright and brighter.  Suddenly the collar chap crept up\nover my face and took a twist round my head with the end of his tail in\nmy ear; then one by one the other snakes crawled up over my face, each\none of 'em giving me such a look as threatened my life in case I moved.\nI wondered what they were about, for I couldn't see, but the pressure on\nmy neck was terrible, when, after the last one had gone, I heard a hiss,\na whizz, and a thud.  What jer think?\"\n\n\"I suppose they flew away.\"\n\n\"They jest piled on top of each other, tail round the other's neck, till\nthey made a column that would reach the bank; then the topmost one bent\nforward, and there was a line of snakes from the tree to the bank.  A\nbig puff-adder was at the far end, and he hitched his fangs over a tree\nstump.  Right there I spotted my chance.  I softly hauled on the line,\nand drew the tree ashore, when I jumped to the ground and cut.\"\n\n\"And where did you find the otter?\"\n\n\"Picked him up, sonny.  And to think that I lost my line.\"\n\n\"That's a wonderful story, Uncle.\"\n\n\"Eh! but it's so.  You can see yourself I'm soaked through and through,\nand if you look out, there's the river in flood plain enough, and here's\nthe otter which will make a good weskitt.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTEEN.\n\nTHE BLACK TIGER AGAIN.\n\nAbe suffered for several days from an attack of rheumatism in his\nshoulder, brought on by his immersion in the flood waters, and he\napplied himself steadily to the manufacture of a wonderful lotion, in\nwhich camphorated oil was the main stock, with a dash of turpentine, a\nstrong trace of eucalyptus, and a few drops of the powerful euphorbia\njuice, together with extracts from sundry potent herbs.  When I visited\nhim this concoction was brewing in a pot, the steam from which filled\nthe house with an extremely pungent smell.\n\n\"There,\" said he, holding up a wooden ladle full of the mixture, \"jes'\ntake a sniff of that.  That's the sort to sift right through you, and\nyank out rheumatics from the knuckle joints.\"\n\n\"It certainly is strong.\"\n\n\"Yes, sonny; but it lacks one thing.\"\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"Jes' a lump, as big as your fist, of fat from a tiger's inside.\"\n\n\"Is that so?\"\n\n\"'Tw'd give substance to it; bind all these yer scents together, and\nmake 'em settle down to their work instead of fighting against each\nother.  This euphorby juice is mighty cantankerous, and is given to\nblisterin' unless it's toned down by tiger fat.\"\n\n\"Well, Uncle, that black tiger is still alive.\"\n\n\"Hum!  I don't know that the black tiger is good for this purpose.  What\ndo you say?\"\n\n\"I know nothing about it; but, if any tiger is good, I should say a\nblack tiger, by reason of his greater strength, should suit best, and,\nif you remember, you said you had a plan for trapping him.  I believe\nhe's still in the big kloof.\"\n\n\"Yes, he's there.  That ole man baboon's been aroun' here, and maybe\nhe's got some notion of showing me where the black fellow takes his\nsnooze.  I'll jes' think over it.\"\n\n\"If you want any help I can bring along some dogs and a couple of guns?\"\n\n\"Dogs, eh!  Seems to me that tiger's too smart for dogs.  He chawed up\none of yours.  I don't want no dogs, sonny, and if this tiger is to be\ndowned, he's got to be downed by cunning.  You leave him to me.\"\n\nAfter the lapse of a week I rode over to see how the old man had\nsucceeded, and found him peacefully employed boiling down wax berries\nfor the manufacture of candles for his own lighting--the rheumatism,\napparently, having been vanquished.\n\n\"Hallo!  Abe,\" I said, taking a look round the room, \"where's the tiger\nskin?\"\n\n\"I speck it's on the tiger.\"\n\n\"So your plan didn't succeed?\"  Abe solemnly skimmed a ladle full of\nmelted wax from the water, and poured it into a bamboo mould.\n\n\"Berries is terrible skerce this season.  Time was when a body could\ngather a bagful in a day from the bushes above the beach; but now--lor',\neverything's different now.  This very earth's agoing downhill--it's\ngetting played out.\"\n\n\"Are you mixing any tiger fat with that wax, Uncle, to bind it?\"\n\n\"Maybe goose fat would be better, sonny; have you got any to spare?\"\n\n\"That tiger must be a cunning beast if he's got the better of you,\nUncle!\"\n\nHe shook his head gravely.  \"He's no tiger.  He's jes' a ole witch\nprowling aroun', that's what he is.\"\n\n\"Eh?\"\n\n\"Yes.  You believe me, that's what ole Black Sam is.  I worked out a\nplan to catch him, supposin' I could find where he put up in the\ndaytime, and what path he took on setting out in the night, for you know\nthese critturs in the woods don't go along anyhow, but follow paths jes'\nas you or me would, and some of these paths they're more fond of than\nothers.  Well, I kep' watch on that ole man baboon, and when I see him\nstrolling along outside the kloof I up and follered him.  He knew, bless\nyou, what I was after, and the way he led me into the dark of that kloof\nwas a caution; so silent he went, and so careful to take the proper\ntrack.  Bymby he stopped and pointed--yes, pointed with his finger at\nthe ground--then he jumped for a bough, and there he sat grinning an'\nworking his eyebrows.  Well, blow me, ef there wer'n't a spoor of the\ntiger where he pointed, and squinting along through the underbush I see\na clean walk which the tiger had made--the sides of the trees worn\nsmooth and the ground jes' trodden down.  That was enough.  So I went\nhome and made a pill of meat, with enough poison in it to kill a museum\nfull of stuffed critturs.  Nex' morning I went down, and if that baboon\nhadn't a almost stopped me by force I'd a run bang into that tiger.\"\n\n\"Was he dead?\"\n\n\"Dead!  Thunderation! he was jes' lying full-stretched for a spring from\na tree branch jes' above where I laid that pill, awaiting for me to come\nalong.  The baboon jes' invited me to climb a tree, and looking through\nthe leaves, I spotted that black devil, with his tail a-switching and\na-jerking.  I jes' climbed down, and slipped off like a shadder, with my\nheart in my boots.  Well, I did some thinking.  You know cats is fond of\ncertain smells, so is dogs--only dogs is not so dainty as cats.  It's\njes' the same with a tiger, and he's got a nose for a partickler herb\nwhich he rubs his head into.  I dug up one of these year herbs, and I\nfixed it up fine, jes' over the spring of a big man trap.  Then, it\nbeing near dusk, I climbed into a yeller wood, and waited for Black Sam\nto walk up and put his foot into the jaws of that trap; but the dark\ncame before he did, and then I wasn't going to trust myself in the\nwood--so there I stuck, with the stiffness in all my bones, till the\nmorning.  By gum! it were skeery work, sittin' up there with the wind\nmoaning over the tree, and sounds of creeping things all aroun'.  Then,\nblame me! the first thing I clapped eyes on in the morning was that\nblack crittur standing there in the path, staring at that scent bush\n'sif it were somethin' to be suspicious about instead of a nice smellin'\nbottle.  There he stood like a dark shadder, working his nose for maybe\nhalf an hour, when he walked all around, finally sitting down on his\ntail with a pucker between his eyes jes'sif he were thinking.  Yes, he\nsat there working his brain; then up he stood, looked about for a\nspell--then, I'm hanged, if he didn't pick up a dry stick in his mouth\nand poke it at that bush.\"\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.  He jes' sprung the trap.  Of course, soon's he poked the\nbush the spring give, and the jaws flew together with a snap that bit\nclean through the stick.  Then that there witch reached for the bush\nwith his claw, and fetched a grin that spread all over his face like a\ngash in a water-melon.  Then he smelt that trap all over and began to\nswitch his tail, and with a growl in his stummick off he went slinking\non my trail, taking long strides with his ears flattened.  Luckily he\nwent on the long trail leading from the house, and soon's he'd gone I\nlit out for the top of the krantz, where I could see the veld right up\nto my door.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Well, after a time, I saw him crossing the veld, making himself small\nwhen he was on the level, and running when he got in a holler.  Right up\nnear the house he went and hid himself in a clump of wild cotton,\nwaiting and watching for me to come out o' the door.  I tell you he\nstopped there till the sun was right over head, then suddenly he ran\nright up to the house and looked in at the winder.  I never was so glad\nat being not at home to a visitor.  He walked all round the house and\ngot on the roof; then he came back, full lick, having made up his mind I\nwas in the kloof.  Yes, then I made a bee line for home, and shut myself\nin.\"\n\n\"And that ends it?\"\n\n\"No, sonny, it's the beginning of the chapter.  He's jes' scheming to\nget me; but the ole baboon's on the watch and maybe I'll have the black\nskin yet.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER FOURTEEN.\n\nBUFFALO BULL AND THE SHORTHORN.\n\nIn one of the kloofs near the Fish River, an old buffalo bull had taken\nup his quarters, and, like all solitary males, he was suspicious and\nsavage.\n\n\"And I don't wonder at it,\" said Abe Pike, when discussing the bull's\npoints.  \"Trouble sours the best of us, and he's had his share of\ntrouble--what with his struggles as a youngster to get a footing in the\nherd, and his struggles, when he became leader, to guard his position\nagainst enemies without in the shape of tigers and hunters, an' against\nenemies within in the shape of younger bulls, not to speak of the\njealousy of his wives; and then on top of all this, the trouble of being\ndriven from the family when his powers were failing, maybe by a own son\nof his.  Yes, sir, that lonely animile, for all he's so savage, an'\na'most knocked the life outer me, has my sympathy in his proud old age.\nProud he is, you believe me.  He might a stayed with the herd ef so be\nhe choose to behave himself and foller with the calves, but once a king\nalways a king.  Ef he can't rule in the herd, he'll rule all alone in\nthat kloof--nursing his pride and his memories--and going scatter--\ndash--on sight for any critters mad enough to enter his domain.\"\n\n\"Did you run against him, Uncle?\"\n\n\"Well--I'd put it the other way--that he run against me.  I tole you\noften how he fit and killed my _rooi bonte_ bull, Red Prince, that old\nred and white chap with a cross of shorthorn that was so masterful you\ncouldn't keep him in any kraal if he wanted to move out I've seen him\nfix his horns under a heavy pole that took two men to place across the\ngate, and jest hoist it as tho' it were a straw, and if he set out to go\ninto the mealie patch why he'd go in, an' there was an end of it,\nbellowing all the time fit to drown the roar of the sea.\"\n\n\"Did the old solitary kill your bull?\"\n\n\"You know that, sonny, for you saw his body with the rip that went to\nhis heart.  I yeared ole Prince bellow one morning, and, lookin' over\nthe veld, I saw him away off yonder on the ridge slowly moving, with his\nbig head swaying from side to side, and as I watched him he would, every\nnow and again, stop to paw the ground and toss his horns.  I thought,\nmaybe, there was some stray cattle beyond, and I set off after him with\nthe sjambok.  After he topped the ridge I could still hear the rumble of\nhis challenge, and when I reached the divide there he was down below\nraking up the earth with his hoof, but there was no sign of a horn or\nhide beside him.  I ran down to him, and at the sound of my running he\nturned his head, showing the red of his eyes.  He blew through his\nnostrils at me, and he looked that wicked that I dodged away behind a\nbig rock, and soon's I peeped out I saw he was looking at the kloof with\nhis ears pricked forward.  So I scanned the edge of the wood, which was\nabout fifty paces off, and there, poking out of the shadows, was the\nhead of that buffel, his black muzzle held high, and the sharp curved\ntips of his horns showing above the great mass of bone on his forehead.\nThe foam was dripping from his muzzle.  I saw, then, that red crittur of\nmine had got the scent of the buffel, and here he had come to do battle\nout of the love of a fight.  I called to the old fool to come back, but,\nwith another dig of his hoof and a shake of his head, he went forward\nwith that slow, steady stride of a crittur that knows no fear.  From the\nwood there came a menacing growl, and at the hoarse rumble of it the red\nbull sunk his crest and let out a beller that went rolling over the\nkloof.  Then the old solitary stepped out, big and black, with white\nscars showing on his shoulders and his head held high and threatenin'.\nThere the two of them stood face to face with twenty yards between,\ntheir ears twitching and the tails jerking against their sides, Red\nPrince looking heavier with a mightier neck, the crest arching like the\nneck of a horse, and the dewlap hanging down between his wide knees.\nBigger and stronger he looked than the buffel, but my heart went weak\nwithin me for him when I saw the wild gleam of the buffel eyes, and\ndwelt on the pile of rugged bone that spanned his forehead.  Slowly they\nwalked up to each other, muttering deep threats, then their horns\nclashed, and their foreheads were pressed closer and closer to the\nstrain of heaving quarters.  A minute they stood so, the breathing\ncoming heavily, so that the dust below was blown about--then my old red\nchap turned the buffalo right round, and with a snort and a sidelong\nblow, he ripped a long red streak in the black thigh.  The buffel sprang\na step aside, then his tail went up over his back, and he rushed\nforward.  Right round on his pins as nimble as a yearling the old red\nwent, and catching the buffel between the forelegs, he heaved him up and\nsent him with a thud on to his side.  If he had only known, poor old\nchap, he would never have let his enemy reach his feet again, but he\ncurled his nose up and jest stood there watching the black devil gather\nhimself together.  The buffel was up--phew--and then, with a savage\nroar, his eyes gleaming like a tiger's, he jest leapt at the big red\nbody standing there so proud, and the next moment--'twas done so quick--\nI saw the blood running from his side.  I wept, lad, at the sight.\nThere stood the buffel, with his muzzle up--and the foam dripping from\nit--watching the red bull, whose legs were planted wide apart to steady\nhimself.  While the life was flowing from that terrible wound in his\nside the old chap shook his head again.  So they stood silent, eyeing\none another, then Prince lurched forward--dead--and the buffel went up\nand smelt him, with his back toward me.  I had moved round the rock to\nwatch the fight, and as I stood there tremblin' from the excitement,\nthat old black devil suddenly whipped round, and with a most hair-rising\nroar, came straight at me.  The outer curve of his horn caught me on the\nshoulder, and sent me spinning till I tripped over a rock, and when he\nturned I squeezed tight against the shelter of the stone.  Then that ole\nbrute came and stood by with his nose a few inches off, and his\nbloodshot eyes glaring at me, and every minute or so he'd try to chop me\nwith a hoof, or hook me out with his horns.  And three times he trotted\noff to smell the red bull--the which times I'd try to squeeze closer to\nthe rock, and then at the third time he cleared off to the left at a\ngallop.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER FIFTEEN.\n\nTHE END OF THE TIGER.\n\nI had been busy all day `branding' the young cattle, and returning hot,\ndusty, and tired to the house, found Abe Pike comfortably seated in the\ncane chair, with the veldschoens of his outspread feet resting on the\ntop bar of the verandah rail, and his lined face looking up at the\nthatched roof, whence came the loud zing of a bluebottle fly caught in\nthe meshes of a spider web.  A jar of my Transvaal tobacco was on the\nground by his side, and a large jug of buttermilk near it.\n\n\"Don't disturb yourself, Uncle!\"\n\n\"I'm not agoing to.  Mind how you step, else you'll obset that\nbuttermilk--not that it would matter much, for it ain't been rightly\nmade.  Should ha' been kep' in a calabash with a drop of old milk in the\nbottom, to flavour it with a taste of biled leather and smoke that\nbelongs to the proper article.  But all the old arts is dying out, and\ninsects and beasts is the only critturs that keep up the old customs.\nConservatism is a law of nature--among men who have broken away from\nnature it's a blind, unreasonin' protest against change.  Conservatism\nis the preserving wisdom of the aged, the salt of experience, and change\nis born of the rashness of youth.  I'm a Conservative--I'm old.  I\nshould be presarved for the edification and guidance of the young.  Give\nme the buttermilk.\"\n\nAs he would not move, I tilted his chair over by kicking the legs away,\nand passed over his recumbent body to the bedroom.  After a wash down I\nfound him still outspread on the ground, his long legs hooked over the\nchair, and his head resting on his arm, while the glow of his pipe\nshowed that he was still calmly smoking.\n\n\"What's brought you over here, Uncle?\"\n\n\"Well, I 'spect I walked.  Have you ever observed, sonny, that the human\nbody is so built that it will fit itself to any position?  This is\ncomfortable and the tobacco is fair to middlin', fair to middlin', with\na touch of sulphur in it.\"\n\nI sat down on the stone steps to listen to the most delightful of all\nsounds--those made by the domestic animals and birds settling to rest;\nwhile from the deep black of the sky the stars shot out with a sudden\nblaze, and the cool night wind came softly whispering through the\nacacias.\n\nUncle Abe gathered himself up, and bunched upon the rail, his back bent\nlike a sickle to keep his balance.  \"What's acrost over yonder?\" he\nsaid.\n\n\"My boundary ridge.\"\n\n\"Your boundary ridge!  An' a euphorby tree, and a sprinkling of white\nthorn acacias, with the gum drops glistenin' on the rough bark, and a\nfew grey stones all covered with moss and a stretch of grey veld.  Go\n'long; there's more than that under the curtain of the dark, for if\nthere weren't why would you an' me sit here and look away off, an' look\nan' look, as ef behind the curtain was all the mysteries of the unknown\nworld.  The dark makes a wonderful difference.\"\n\n\"So it does--when you're five miles from home and hear the `gurr' of a\ntiger.\"\n\n\"Sonny, I've downed that black tiger.\"\n\n\"You have!\"\n\n\"That's so.  Ole Abe Pike has come out on top--and soon's I skinned him\nI lit out to tell you the news.  You see it was my wits against his.\nTraps was no good, so I determined to set my skin against his and trust\nto the ole gun.  I calculated to tackle him right close up to his lair.\"\n\n\"In the kloof?\"\n\n\"Eweh! in the dark of the big kloof, where it's that still you can hear\nthe sap moving in the trees.  You see that crittur was more'n ordinary\ncunning, and he'd seen how he was feared, so he'd settle it down to a\ncertainty that no man would ever dare tempt death near his sleepin'\nplace.  Therefore, though deadly risky, the best plan would be to go to\nthat very spot.  Next thing was to give him a good feed far away--and\nyet not too far.  Ef the kill was too far he wouldn't come back to his\nroost, and ef it was too near he wouldn't eat before returning.  So I\nbuilt a little bush kraal near the kloof an got a brandzickt goat from\nNed Amos to turn in.\"\n\n\"Why not have tied the goat up in the kloof?\"\n\n\"No good, sonny, with an 'xper'enced tiger.  He'd a suspected a plant,\n'cos his understanding 'ud tell him that goats don't grow in kloofs.\nThe kraal he would take as a piece of man's foolishness.  Before this I\nfiled down a whole sixpence, and the filings I melted into a good round\nbullet, with some clean lead.  Two charges I put in behind that bullet,\nand seed that the powder was well up in the nipple with the shiniest cap\nwell pressed down.  Then I killed a stink-cat--I'll tell you why\nafterwards.  I got the goat down to the kraal an hour before sun-down,\nand then I slipped into the kloof, treading like a shadder, with the\nbleat of the old billy buck calling loud.  I pulled up, an' waited till\nthat ole man baboon, who had watched all proceedings, gave me the sign\nthat the Black Sam was on the move.  I felt my way on up to his lair\nunder a shelving rock at the foot of the precipice that hems in the\nkloof on the top side.  It was that dark I couldn't see my hand, and I\nknew at once my plan would land me with a split throttle if I waited for\nhis coming back.  I was that skeered, too, with the whisperin' in the\ntrees, that I was just making ready to run when I see a firefly dodging\naround.\"\n\n\"And you thought it was the tiger's eye?\"\n\n\"You wait.  I seed a firefly making circles of flame against the\nblackness--and I cotched him gently--so's not to spoil his lantern.  I\nfixed him in the bark of a tree that stood near the den--and two others\nI fixed in line--one above, one below.  The top was three feet above the\nground, the middle was two and a half, and the bottom one a foot high.\nNext thing I threw that stink-cat in the den, and the smell of him came\nout thick, covering up all taint of a man.  Then I settled down opposite\nthe tree with the gun fixed on the little spark where I'd fixed the\nmiddle fly.  I reckoned when the ole chap came home and smelt that cat\nhe'd stand in disgust--and as the smell would strike him just by the\ntree his body would blot out the flies and give me a mark.\"\n\n\"And he didn't come back that way?\"\n\n\"He did that, as it was the easiest way; but before he came the feeling\ngrew in me that he was just behind watching me where I lay.  I tell you,\nsonny, that long watch in the stillness of the dark, with a drop of\nwater minute by minute falling into a little pool, and a sort of queer\nstirring noise among the trees, gave me the ague.  But he came at last.\nIt may have been three, or two o'clock; but without a sound he was there\nbefore me.  My eyes had grown tired of watching those three dots of\nfire, and I'd been shutting them tight for a spell every now and again,\nand when I opened them the last time I saw the light was there, but\naltered.  I looked away a second, then back, and there was three lights;\nbut two of 'em were close together, and bigger.  Jimminy! it was the ole\nman himself looking at me.  I pulled the trigger, and the gun flew outer\nmy hands.  Then I rolled over and over, with a roaring, scuffling, and\nscreaming in my ears as ef the gun had woke a whole crowd of devils and\nbrought them howling outer the rocks.  I rolled against a tree, and I\nwas up it before I knew where I was, an' all the time there was that\nscuffling an' growlin' and awful screamin' going on down below.  Bymby\nit got weaker and weaker, until it died off in gurglings and deep\nbreathing, and by the grey light of the morning there was the two of 'em\ndead, the black tiger and the ole man baboon.  The baboon had got his\ntwo long teeth in the big throat, and there he had held while the tiger\nwith his hind claws raked the stomach clean out of him.\"\n\n\"And where did your bullet strike?\"\n\n\"It struck the tree, and smashed the top firefly to smithereens.  The\nother two had dropped off.\"\n\n\"Then you didn't kill the tiger?\"\n\n\"I reckon I did; at any rate, I've got his skin and the skull of the ole\nbaboon.  He was the biggest tiger you ever see, and old as the hills,\nwith his teeth worn down.  I'm sorry for the baboon, but I'm glad he was\nthere.\"\n\nI have reason to believe that Uncle Abe maligned himself for the sake of\nthe yarn.  On examining the tiger's skin subsequently, I found no traces\nof the baboon's teeth, but exactly between the eyes was a bullet-hole.\nThe old man had held his gun straight in the dark kloof.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER SIXTEEN.\n\nWHERE THE QUAILS CAME FROM.\n\nIn the spring the quails come in from the west, and one September\nmorning I went out into the standing oat-crops with two other guns, each\none of us attended by a little Kaffir lad to retrieve the birds.  By\nnoon we had traversed and re-traversed in line the upper lands and low\nlands, bagging 98 brace, and then in the glare of the mid-day we took\nshelter in the shade of a yellow-wood tree.  There we argued the\never-recurring theme of the coming of the quail.\n\nIn August there is not a quail to all seeming in the land, but suddenly,\nas the spring advances, there comes from every thicket of grass and\nsquare of growing corn on the coast the whistling call of the male\nbird--`phee--phe--yew' calling in bird language, `where are you?--where\nare you?' and the answering cry of the modest mate--`phee--\nphee'--\"here--here.\"  Whence do they come--these thousands of birds that\nthrong along the coast?  On that point regularly as September came\nround, as the 12-bore gun was taken down, and the cartridges filled with\nNumber 6, we talked greatly, setting forth many theories.  Silas Topper\nwas of opinion that the quails spent their time in travelling round the\ncontinent of Africa in four huge armies, covering 500 miles from front\nto rear, and that while one was passing along the southern coast, the\nsecond army would be going north somewhere above the Zambesi, while the\nthird would be traversing the shores of the Mediterranean, and the\nfourth skirting of Gold Coast.  We all agreed that was a very good\ntheory, and one deserving more credence than the crude, but positive,\nassertion of Amos Topper that the quail was originally a frog.\n\n\"It stands to reason,\" Amos would say, \"that a quail is developed from a\nfrog.  If 'tain't so, what becomes of all the frogs?--tell me that.\nTake a caterpillar.  A caterpillar comes from an egg, and a cocoon comes\nfrom a caterpillar, and a butterfly from a cocoon.\"\n\n\"But a quail isn't a butterfly.\"\n\n\"Chuts!  A tadpole comes from an egg, doesn't it?  Well, a frog comes\nfrom a tadpole, and a quail comes from a frog.  That's clear enough,\nain't it?\"\n\nThen, of course, the argument would start, and this particular September\nmorning we had got well into the frog theory when old Abe Pike came\nalong.\n\n\"I don't mind if I do,\" he said, as he sat down and selected a plump\nbird that Amos had carefully prepared for his own eating.  He had opened\nit out by a cut down the breast bone, laid the broad bare back on the\nwood coals, and in the cup-like cavities of the breast had placed a pat\nof butter, with pepper and salt.  The juices of the bird had gathered in\nthese cavities, and Amos had just cut off a slice of bread to serve as a\nplate when old Pike forestalled him.\n\n\"That's my bird,\" said Topper, fiercely.\n\n\"Just yeard you say 'twas a frog,\" grunted Abe, as he dug his knife into\nthe earth to clean it.\n\n\"I said it was a frog, but it's a sure enough bird now--blow you!\"\n\n\"Go slow, sonny, go slow,\" said Abe, between the mouthfuls.  \"Stick to\none thing at a time.  Once a frog always a frog.\"\n\n\"Humph,\" said Amos, as he picked out another bird from the heap.  \"I\ns'pose you never heard frogs whistling of a night?\"\n\n\"Well, of course.\"\n\n\"What do they whistle for, eh, if they're not fitting themselves for the\nbird life--tell me that?\"  And Amos looked at us triumphantly.\n\n\"They whistle for the rain, you donderkop.\"\n\n\"P'raps, then, you can tell us where these birds come from, as you're so\nmighty clever.\"\n\n\"To be sure, sonny, to be sure; they come from the clouds.\"\n\n\"Oh, thunder!\"\n\n\"Yes; from the clouds, or maybe higher.  I s'pose you yeard of the\npeople of Israel and how they were fed in the wilderness with manna and\nquail.  Where d'you expect those birds came from?  Frogs!  No; they just\ndropped from the sky, and they've kep' on droppin' ever since in the\nspring.\"\n\n\"Go along!  There's no people wandering in the wilderness in these\ndays.\"\n\n\"I seed 'em.\"\n\n\"The Israelites?\"\n\n\"No; the quail a-falling out the roof of the world.  I'll tell you how\nit came about that I diskivered this secret that's been kep' locked up\nall these hundreds of years.  I'd been a-fishin' off the great rock that\nstands out of the breakers over there yonder by the Kasouga, an' the\nspring tide, rolling in with a great heave, made a boilin' foam 'twixt\nme an' the beach.  I were fixed there for the night, sure enough; an' I\ntell you what, sonny, when a man is brought face to face in the black of\nthe night with the leaping sea, he don't forget the time.  Noise! by\ngum!  You know what it is to be waked all of a sudden out of a sleep a\nfull mile from the sea by the smacking crash of a great wave, and there\nI was in the very thick of the thunderation, with the big black breakers\nswishing out of the dark like a movin' wall, and jus' leapin' agin the\nrock as though they were bent on sweeping it away.  The white foam went\nflying above, drenching me through and through--and it grew so slippery\nup above on that table size top, that I was obliged to lay full\nstretched on my back with my heels agin a crack, and my arms\noutstretched--and my eyes fixed on the stars above whenever I could see\nthem through the flying scud.  Even a spring tide turns--and in the\ndarkness before the early morning I could feel the rock under me growing\nfirmer.  I was just thinking o' getting to the shore to dry myself in\nthe white sand when I yeard a queer sound from the sky.  There's just\none thing wanting to this yer quail.\"\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"Just a dash of Dop brandy.\"\n\nI passed him over the stone demijohn, and we listened to the cluck of\nthe liquor as it poured into the tin komeky.\n\n\"Yes; out of the black of the sky there came a sort of sound that goes\nbefore a storm; and, boys, it licks me how such a shadder of a noise can\ncome on in advance.\"\n\n\"It's the way with shadows,\" said Amos, drily.\n\n\"Soh! but it's a queer thing to hear the hum of a wind-storm before the\nwind comes along; jes' 'sif th're messages going ahead to warn critturs\nand trees to stand firm.  Well, I squinted around, and bymby, as the\nlight grew, far above I seed a something movin', and the noise of its\ncoming grew.  'Twas no bigger'n a umbrella when I fixed it; but it soon\nspread out, wider and wider, and what was the curiosest, it lengthened\nout behind like my old concertina.  I tell you, I begun to get skeered,\nfor I thought maybe 'twas one o' them water-spouts.  Then the light grew\nstronger and there was a twinkling from the growing column jes' if\nthousands and thousands o' poplar leaves was stirred by the wind.  `'Tis\nalive,' I said, jumping to my feet, and I scaled down that rock and\nscooted through the pools, and up over the sand hills to the shelter of\nthe woods.  I thought it was one o' them here sea-serpents.\"\n\n\"But it was not?\"\n\n\"No sonny; it was a heaven-high column of quail.  That's what it were.\"\n\n\"Falling from the moon, eh?\"\n\n\"When the head of the column reached the ground, which it did, on the\nbeach the whole length just collapsd like a falling tree, and the whole\nlot were just scattered along the coast in a twinkling.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER SEVENTEEN.\n\nABE PIKE AND THE GHON-YA.\n\nOld Abe had strolled over to my place to see a new Harvester tried on a\ngood crop of wheat.  In the previous reaping season I had been left\nsuddenly in the lurch by my Kaffirs, who had silently vanished in the\nnight for other scenes without a word of explanation, or a single regret\nfor the loss they would put me to, and I determined to be prepared in\nfuture for such another vagary.  Hence the Harvester, which reaped the\ncorn and bound up the sheaves, aided only by one man and a boy.  We were\njust sweeping clear the last square in the small field when Abe came up\nand hung himself on the fence, with his back bent like a bow, and his\ntoes hitched under the lower wire.  There, all bunched up, he eyed the\nmachine in silence.\n\n\"Well, Uncle, what do you think of it?\"  I said, with some pride, as the\nlast sheaf was tossed on one side by the human-like grippers.\n\nHe looked at me vacantly, then climbed slowly down, examined the sheaf\nand the tie, and then took a look all round the country.\n\n\"Things is changing,\" he said.\n\n\"Yes; this is the age of progress and electricity.\"\n\n\"And snorting steam engines and that there man machine--that thing\nwithout a heart, or a stomach, or eyes to see.  Where's the good?\"\n\n\"It is a labour-saving machine, and enables me to produce more.\"\n\n\"'Tis all vanity, an' foolishness, an laziness--that's what.  Laziness\nand pride,\" and the old sinner, who never did a fair day's work in a\nmonth, wore an air of virtuous indignation as he resumed his seat on the\nfence.\n\n\"Things is changing--that's so; and mankind's on the down track.  Time\nwas when a reaper would take his sickle and harken to the rustlin' of\nthe yaller corn as he cut his way along, with the smell o' the yearth in\nhis nostrils, and the sight of all manner o' living insects below him.\nAnd bymby he would straighten his back and look away over the land, or\nat the shining layers behind, and then he would stoop to it again with\nthe thoughts busy in his mind as bees about a comb concerning the going\nout of the wheat in waggons an' trains, an' ships across the sea to the\nfeeding of the nations.  An' look at this yer cast-iron reaper; what's\nit good for but to work for a cast-iron man?  That's what's the world's\ncomin' to, with all the people cast in a mould.  I'm gwine home!\"\n\n\"Nonsense; come back with me and try the new lot of rolled tabak from\nthe Transvaal.\"\n\nFor all his disgust with the Harvester, Uncle Abe did not mind \"riding,\"\nto the house on the driver's seat; neither was he cast down after supper\nwhen he sat out on the stoep.  The day's work was done for man and beast\nand the great quiet of the evening brooded over the place.  There we sat\nand smoked in silence, until the glow died out of the sky, when the\nnight creatures began to stir, sending forth inquiring notes as if to\nassure themselves that the time was really at hand for the starting of\nthe wonderful orchestra of the insect band.  And, as we listened, there\nrang out above the shrill drummings and chirpings and whistling, the\nweird, mournful cry of the \"ghon-ya,\" calling \"ghon-ya!\" \"ghon-ya!\" at\nregular intervals, until the melancholy of its far-reaching cry stilled\nthe other noisy voices.\n\nAbe stirred uneasily.  \"There's the lost sperrit,\" he muttered.\n\n\"Why, that's the night locust!\"\n\n\"Soh; jes' a locust.\"\n\n\"Yes, with a transparent drum in place of a body which he blows out when\nhe wishes to make that noise, and rubs his legs upon the drum.\"\n\n\"How big is this yer drum?\"\n\n\"About as large as a hen's egg.\"\n\n\"So; and with such a small thunder-bag he can send out a noise that\nbooms further than the greatest drum in the British army.  Don't tell\nme.  That's no insect; it's a cry that comes from beyond.\"\n\n\"Beyond where?\"\n\n\"Beyond the dark.  I tell you, sonny, when the ghon-ya cries he ain't\nbothering himself about any glass-eyed beetle-hunter who's just\nhankering to label all the critturs in this yearth; he's not thinkin'\nabout you nor me, but he's jes' wailing in that shudderous voice to the\nshadders that pass by in the night; whether it's to comfort 'em, or to\nput 'em on the right track, or to warn 'em of danger, I can't say.  One\nnight I had taken the short cut past the big krantz, being late from the\nshop where I'd been for a tin of o' black sugar, and thinkin' of nothin'\nat all when I yeard the ghon-ya's cry passin' overhead.  There was\nnothin' more'n ordinary solemn in the wail of it, but when I came to the\nthick of the wood it seemed to me there was a queer whisperin' going on\namong the trees.  Have you ever marked a bee against the shadder?  Of\ncourse you have, and you'll know how he moves like a drop o' light as\nthe sun strikes on his wings against the dark of the hill behind.  Well,\nI happened to look back over my shoulder to the other side of the valley\nwhere 'twas as black as black, and in the glance of my eyes, with the\nblue and red light snapping from 'em as it does sometimes when you\nblink, in that very moment of turning, I seed a passing of a many\nshadders.\"\n\n\"Tree shadows?\"\n\n\"Shadders of dreams, sonny, I tell you.  Jes' in a flash I seed 'em\nmoving up, and then all was black groups of trees; but I knowed where\nthat whisperin' come from.  Yes, a many shadders hurryin' on up that\nvalley with the cry of the `ghon-ya' pealin' out ahead.  Well, I got\nouter that valley pretty quick, and were hurryin' by the top of the\nkrantz overlooking the big kloof when the `ghon-ya' cried jes' ahead o'\nme.  A locust!  Lor', sonny, right afore me there was a something\nshaddery--a darker patch on the blackness, standing on the brink of the\nkrantz overlooking the deep kloof that lay below stretching towards the\nsea, and the `ghon-ya,' loud, long, mournful as the solitary toll of the\ndeath-bell, went out on the air, an' I jes' went to the ground as if the\nbones had all been drawed out.  Looking along the top, with my eyes to\nthe light that was in the sky over the sea, I seed them shadders from\nthe valley file down into the kloof.  A many shadders, sonny, come out\nof the valley--passed by that dark patch, and jes' floated down into the\nkloof--whispering as they went.  What sort o' shadders they were I\ncouldn't tell you, my lad; but they belong, sure enough, to the other\nworld beyond the dark.  Many a time I yeard them same things in the\nkloof, when the dead quiet has been broken by a movement in the air, and\na sort o' creepin' sound 'sif somethin' were peepin' at you from behind\na tree.  You've felt it, too, of course.  The dogs they know, 'cos\nthey're not so cock-sure as we are about knowin' everything jes' bekose\nwe can make a cast-iron reaper.\"\n\nThe ghon-ya from the darkness called again, as if the sorrows of the\nworld were in the cry.\n\n\"A locust!\" cried Abe scornfully; \"that's no locust.  It's calling the\nsperits of the woods together, and the ghostses of animiles--that's\nwhat; and that's why all the other noises is hushed.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER EIGHTEEN.\n\nABE PIKE AND THE KAFFIR WAR.\n\n\"Were you ever in the wars, Abe?\"  I asked the old chap on one of my\noff-days, when I had called on him to go out after rhea-buck.\n\n\"Were I ever in the wars?  Did I ever grow pumpkins?  There's some\nfellows go through life asking questions about things that's as plain as\nplain--why, blow me, I've known 'em ask ef 'twdn't be a fine day when\nthere's bin no rain for a month and not a stir o' wind.\"\n\n\"So you have been in the wars?\"\n\nGrunt.\n\n\"I suppose,\" said I, unmoved by Abe's indignation, \"you never got into a\nfix--always kept with the rear column?\"\n\n\"What, me!  Jes' you look here,\" and cocking up his chin, he showed a\nlong scar under his beard.  \"Assegai!\" he said.\n\n\"Must have been a close shave!\"\n\n\"'Twarnt no barber held that wepin I tell you, sonny.  No, sir!  I jes'\nseed the whites of his eyes and the gleam of his teeth, and whizz!--\nwhough!--the assegai darted like a serpent's tongue.  He was painted\nred, he were!\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"The Kaffir, you blind eyed calabash.  It was in Blaauw krantz in '45.\nYou don't remember those days, 'cos you weren't born, but Blaauw krantz\nwere jes' where it is now, and the red Kaffirs had suddenly got back\ntheir old idea they could drive us into the sea.  Wonderful how sot they\nare on getting us into the salt water; and that time they was partikler\nkeen on making us take to the sea without so much as a plank.  Of course\nwe knew there was something in the wind.  When Kaffirs mean to fight\nthey don't fire off blank cartridges in the papers; they jes' keep dark,\nuncommon dark an' sulky, but for all that they can't keep down the human\nnature that's in 'em, and they have a way of giving you the shoulder\nwhen you order them about that means mischief.  When a Kaffir clicks at\nyou with his tongue you don't want him to tell you in plain words that\nhe's _quaai_ and would like to belt you over the head.  Well, I tell\nyou, you dursen't order a boy to step a yard but he'd click, an' some of\nthe chaps with families took the hint and shifted into Grahamstown; but,\nlor' bless yer, the Government didn't take any notice.  Oh no; the\nGovernment knew the Kaffirs and it knew the whites, and it believed in\nthe Kaffirs.  Look here, sonny, Government's a ass--alus was a ass, and\nalus will be a ass.  Alus so darned cock-sure, and so blamed ignorant\nthat any Kaffir chief could best it every time.  You know, sonny, the\nchief he would jes' come along--simple an' humble--and pitch in a yarn\nabout how he loved the `great white ox,' how he wished to herd his\ncattle in peace, and how thankful he'd be if the great white chief would\nsend him a little white chief to keep the wicked white men from his\nkraals.  All he wanted was peace--since he had listened to the words of\nwisdom from the Government.  Then the chief would say: `That is my\nspeech,' and the Government would up and pat him on the back; an' when\nthe farmers said the Kaffirs meant to fight, Government would tell 'em\nthey was a passel of fools.  Oh, I tell you, Government is vain as a boy\nin a new weskit, an' as easily humbugged.  Well, about 1845 Government\nwas laced up and smoothed down by the chiefs, with their tongues in\ntheir cheeks, and on a sudden the war smoke rose on the frontier.\"\n\n\"The war smoke!\"\n\n\"Ay, bossie; the heaven-high columns of smoke going up blue and round in\nthe still air, as a sign to the Kaffirs waiting silently in the bush and\nthe kloofs.  At the sign out they came, slipping from the bush paths\nstealthy as leopards on the trail, and one morning the hill-sides yonder\nwere red, as though the aloes had blossomed.\"\n\n\"What--with fire?\"\n\n\"Neh! karel with red clay smeared thick over the black faces, and with\nthe red blankets carried by the bearers.  Then there was in-spanning of\nhorses, hurrying of women after their children, and the trail of dust\nabout each flying cart.  The red Kaffirs!  Ay, lad! many a mother an'\nwife has gone white at times of peace at the sight of a Kaffir in his\npaint--squatting, maybe, like a tame dog at the back door, waiting for\nhis women-folk in the kitchen to hand him out a bone--for in the\nsmouldering eyes of him she can see the leaping flames of a burning\nhomestead and assegais runnin' red, and if it's so in peace what must\nshe feel when her roving eye, searching the veld for the little ones to\nbid them to breakfast, lights on the far-off streak on the border hills,\nand when her ear catches a murmur that is not from the sea--the murmur\nof fighting-men singing of death?  The sun was level when it shone upon\nthe red Kaffirs, and when the shadder was close up to my heels in the\nmid-day the country was empty of whites, except maybe a solitary cuss\nlike me, hating to leave his home, and lurking in the bush close to his\nbelongings.\"\n\n\"And the cattle?\"\n\n\"It's the horned beasts that you think of--well, why not? they're meat\nand drink and a roof over your head.  A few there were who saved their\nherds, but the bulk were swept in the net of the robbers.  There was not\na many human fish caught in that net that time, 'cept old Dave Harkins,\nan' his five sons who fell all in one spot by Palmiet Fontein fighting\nto the last grain o' powder, and ole Sam Parkes.  Poor ole Sam.  He\nfound religion, did ole Sam, and many the day I've a-harkened to him\nholdin' forth on his stoep, where he would sit for the rheumatism kep'\nhim from moving.  Well, ole Sam, when they told him that he must fly, he\nsaid, `Lift my chair to the stoep.  The Kaffirs will not harm me.'  They\nplaced him there with his face to the east, and there the Kaffirs found\nhim.  I passed the house the next day, and he was leanin' back lookin'\nso peaceful that I hailed him.  But he were dead, sonny, with a gash in\nhis heart.  Ay, they struck him as he sat, but they left the house\nstanding and when I peeped in at the window there was the table set with\nall the chiney in the house.  The Kaffirs did that One on 'em had been\nabout a white man's house, and he showed his friends how the white man\nprepared his table.  A little one's vanity and the blood dropping from\nthe assegai.\"\n\n\"What were you doing all this time, Uncle Abe?\"\n\n\"Shiverin' and hidin', sonny; for a party on 'em swooped down on my\nplace led by a thunderin' ole thief I had once lammed with a sjambok for\nstealin' my sugar.  There was a fine bedstead in the house and a whole\nshelf o' crockery, for I had some idees then of marryin', and, blow me,\nif they didn't smash the lot, besides breaking all the winders and\nburning the thatched roof.  Then they killed an ox, a fine _rooi bonte_,\nroasted him whole, and ate him--by gosh.  After that they slept with\ntheir bellies full!  Yes, they did that; slep' with me a watching 'em\nfrom an ant bear hole.  I nearly spiflicated 'em, but somehow I didn't.\nThen they moved off all but three, including that ole thief, which\ngathered my cows an heifers an' calves an' oxen together, and druv 'em\noff.  'Twas like partin' with my heart strings, and I followed 'em up.\nThat evenin' I druv the lot inter the big kloof.\"\n\n\"You recaptured them?\"\n\n\"I s'pose so, sonny!\"\n\n\"And the three Kaffirs?\"\n\n\"I speck they ate too much beef, sonny, I speck they did.  Any way they\ndied.  They did so--and after I had druv the cattle into the kloof I sot\noff for Grahamstown, passing ole Sam Parkes on the way.  I came pretty\nnigh close to parties o' Kaffirs, but 'twas when I came to Blaauw krantz\nthat I got the shivers.  I were goin' along mighty keerful, I tell you\njes' 'sif I were `still huntin'' but ne'r a sound o' a Kaffir I could\nhear.  Well you know one side the road there's a yellow bank with a bush\non the top.  I had turned a corner on the listen, with my eyes every\nway, when I caught the move of a insect, or something like that, on the\nleft.  Blow me, sonny, there was a big Kaffir standing agin' the bank,\nall naked, but red with clay.  What caught my eye was the roll of his\neyes, for he were jes' like a part of the wall.  He'd been walking down\nthe road when he must a' yeard me comin' for all I went so soft.  My!  I\njes' give a jerk o' my head as he launched out with his assegai.  Then I\ngave him a charge o' buck-shot in the stummick and jumped back inter the\nbush on the lower side.  I yeard a shout from other Kaffirs, and, you\nb'lieve me, I dodged through the bush like a blue-bok until I got right\nunder the big krantz, where I crep' inter a cave.  I seed then the blood\nrunning down, and like a streak I were out o' that cave inter a pool o'\nwater until I got under a thick `dry-my-throat' bush where I hid.  The\nKaffirs they followed on the blood-spoor right up to the cave, but they\nmissed me where I lay in the dark o' the pool, an' next evenin' I were\nin Grahamstown, where the doctor stitched up the wound.\"\n\n\"A very close call, Uncle.\"\n\n\"Oh, I've been in many tight places, sonny--a many, an' maybe I'll tell\nyou about 'em.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER NINETEEN.\n\nA BLACK CHRISTMAS.\n\n\"How is it you never married?\"  I asked of Abe on an evening after the\nmealie cobs had been shelled, and we were too dead tired to brush the\nhusks from our hair.\n\n\"Me!  Well, you see this yer cob.  It's worth nothin', 'cos all the\nmealies been shelled off.  That's me--I'm a shelled cob, and wimmen folk\nisn't got any use for that sort of bargain.\"\n\n\"But you told me the other day that you were thinking of marriage once.\nThat time, you know, when the Kaffirs smashed your furniture.\"\n\n\"Jes' so--the critturs.  They broke a fine four-posted bed and a hull\nlot o' chiney.\"\n\n\"And the lady.\"\n\n\"You see, bossie, she was gone on that four-poster and the chiney.\n'Twasn't me she was thinkin' of nohow.\"\n\n\"Nonsense, Abe; you're too modest.\"\n\n\"Well, she forgot me, an' took up with a armchair an' a copper kettle\nwhich belonged to young Buck Wittal, son to ole Bob.  A armchair an' a\nshiney kettle, that's what cut me out, sonny; but Buck went up the gum\n'cos she would have a swing lookin'-glass.  That's so!  Wimmen is mighty\nkeen on the look o' things, an' that kettle fetched her.  Them was\ntimes!\"\n\n\"Courting times?\"\n\n\"Fighting times, sonny; all up an' down the country, in an' out the\nkloofs, an' over the mountains, by gum.  I tole you about that chief--\nhow I spoored him a full forty mile from the Chumie after Black 'Xmas?\"\n\n\"Black 'Xmas!\"\n\n\"You mean by that raising o' the voice you never yeard o' Black Xmas!\nWell, well, the ignorance an' the vanity o' learnin' which takes no\naccount of the great happenings in your own country, and you come\nswaggerin' about with your Greek turnips.\"\n\n\"I assure you I never heard of Black 'Xmas.\"\n\n\"Never yeard of the soldier settlers away up by the Chumie--them as were\nplanted there by Sir Harry Smith--of their wives and children, making\nmerry on Christmas Day, 1850--making merry with the old custom, and the\nsounds of the laughing going out into the dark kloof, where the Kaffirs\ncrouched, eyeing them as they fingered their assegais.  Lor' love you,\nlad: when the poor little children were running at their games, and the\nwomen were talking over their washing up, and the men at their pipes in\nthe quiet of the afternoon, the war shout broke suddenly from the wood.\nThere was stabbing, and a blaze, a great gasp, and the life went out of\nthem all that Christmas Day.  That was Black Xmas--men, and women, and\nchildren, and dogs, and every crawlin' crittur given to the assegai.  I\nwere on my way there after stray cattle, and I yeard the cry of a little\nchild, sonny, and the sand went out o' young Abe Pike that day.  I seed\nit all--yes--lad, and I see it now in the nights, the stabbing of the\nwomen and little ones.\"\n\n\"And what did you do, old man?\"\n\n\"What did I do?  I dunno, sonny--I dunno!  I must a walked an' walked\nall through the night, for the nex' morning I were away beyond the\nChumie in a deep kloof, without knowing how I came there.  Then the cry\nof the little one went out o' my ears and out of my eyes with the sight\nof them leapin' devils about the burnin' houses, an' I saw the rifle in\nmy hand--for ther' came boomin' through the trees the sound of a Kaffir\nsinging from his chest.  I found him in a clearin', stampin' with his\nfeet and swingin' his kerrie before the chief and his headmen seated all\naroun' against the trees, with their long pipes all agoin'.  The blood\nwas still caked on his arms, an' I plunked him in the breast.\"\n\n\"You shot him?  Good old Abe!\"\n\n\"It were a ole muzzle-loader--one smooth, one rifle--and I shifted, but\nit weren't long afor' they picked up my spoor, and in the fust rush I\ncould hear the rattle of assegais as they follered.  Then it was quiet\nin the kloof, an' I knew what a animile must feel when the hunter's\nafter him, or the tiger's tracking him down.  Bymby I yeard the call of\nthe bush-dove every side, and I gave the call too at a venture, keepin'\nmy eye on a dark spot where the last cry came from.  Sure enough I seed\nthe leaves tremble, and there was a show of red paint where the Kaffir\nstood.  That were the bush-dove, and he called again; then he came\nsteppin' along to the fern chump where I were hid, movin' like a shadder\nwith the whites of his eyes showin' as he glanced around.  By gum, lad,\nI thought it was all over, but another dove called an' he moved off.  I\nyeard the calls growin' softer an' softer, and I made a move to slip\naway; but there's no gettin' to the bottom of a red Kaffir's cuteness.\"\n\n\"How is that?\"\n\n\"Why, sonny; that chap never went off when he made as if he would.  He\njes' slipped behind a tree, and when I ris my head out of them ferns he\ndruv his assegai at me, and it clean pinned my left arm to my side.\nSee, here's the scar;\" and the old man rolled back the sleeve of his\nworn shirt until a white scar was revealed on the fleshy part of the\nupper arm.\n\n\"I fetched a groan, and he sprang out to belt me over the head, but I\nkep' my senses, an' knocked the wind clear outer him with a straight\nthrust of the muzzle.  As he stood gasping, I give him back his own\nassegai.\"\n\n\"You killed him?\"\n\n\"Maybe he died; but Kaffirs is tough, and at the thrust he gave his cry,\nstandin' there with his legs wide apart, afore he sank among the ferns.\nI turned an' ran, keeping down the little stream till I come to a\nkrantz, with the water slidin' down, an' I swung over, holdin' fast to a\nmonkey tow.  I slid down fifty feet, and then let go, holdin' the rifle\nhigh over head, and fell feet first inter a little round pool at the\nbottom.  It was a chance, sonny, but I kep' my bones sound and the\npowder dry.  I did that.  I tell you young Abe Pike was some pumpkins.\nThen I pushed on an' on till I went over a ridge into another kloof, an'\nthrough that to another kop, standing up above the wood in a mass of\nstone.  I sat down in a cleft, and the weakness came on me from the loss\nof blood and the want of food.  Well, I tell you, sonny, I fit ag'inst\nthe weakness, an' with a spread of shirt, holdin' one end in my teeth, I\nbound up the wound after plugging it with dirt.  Right away I looked\nover the country, an' I see'd to the right the smoke rising and across a\nstretch of veld I seed a black patch movin'.  'Twere Kaffirs on the\nmarch, an' following the directshun they were taking, I seed a white\nspeck to the left; a farmhouse, sonny, with a thin trail of smoke going\nup from the one chimney.\"\n\n\"The Kaffirs were on their way to sack the place.\"\n\n\"They were that, and I set off to beat 'em.  But look here, I said when\nI started talking, I was going to tell you how I trekked the Kosa chief,\nand here I been a' spinnin' on about another thing.\"\n\n\"Did you get to the house first?\"\n\n\"What--me!  I did that, sonny.  I got there fust, an' there was nobody\nin--not a one though the pot was on the fire.  I went off with the pot\ninto a patch of mealies, and when the Kaffirs came up an' smashed things\nI were eatin' pap outer the pot, yes, that's so.\"\n\n\"And did they find you?\"  I ventured after a long pause.\n\n\"That pap were good, but it wanted salt--it did that.  So long, sonny,\nso long,\" and the old man moved off to bed.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY.\n\nTRACKING THE KOSA CHIEF.\n\n\"I tole you all about it, and, what's more, I ain't got no time to jaw\nalong when that shed o' mine wants mendin',\" and Abe resolutely\nre-filled his pipe, unheeding my request for the completion of his last\nyarn.\n\n\"Leave the shed alone.  It will keep--besides, this is resting weather.\"\n\n\"Sonny, listen to me.  Restin' weather's been the ruin of this yer\ncountry.  That so.  When a man should span in and plough, when he should\ntake the hoe and skoffel the lands, what does he do?  Why up and say at\nthe first touch of the warm wind, that it's restin' weather.  I can't\nstand such laziness, and I ast you, sonny, where'd I been to-day, if I'd\ntaken notice of the weather?\"\n\nI glanced round at the neglected lands, at the solitary gum tree, at the\nold water barrel on its tree sledge, at the tumble-down shed, and shook\nmy head, for there really was nothing to say.\n\nOld Abe followed my look, and then shoved himself back with his heels\ninto a breadth of shade.\n\n\"That's it, my lad,\" he said with a queer smile, \"cast your eyes round\nand see what can be done by one man if his heart's in his work.  Forty\nyears agone this yer land were wilderness, and now look at it, with that\nthere shed, them pumpkin lands, and this yer tree standin' up like the\nsteeple of a church as a token of honest labour.\"\n\n\"Wonderful!\"  I said.\n\n\"That it are.  I watched that old gum grow since it were no higher than\nmy knee.  I watered it an' tended it, an' measured it by the buttons on\nmy shirt till it topped my head, and now, blow me, you could send a hull\nregiment with the band in the shadder of it.\"\n\n\"I suppose you have seen regiments on the march?\"\n\n\"What, me?  Well, now, I was tellin' you of that time I give the slip to\nthe Kaffirs beyond Chumie and took hiding in the mealie field.  Well,\nthat time I came on a regiment in Pluto's Vale, when a Kaffir poked his\nassegai in the big drum, and the Colonel he give me a big knife for what\nI did.\"\n\nI said nothing about the shed or the resting weather, and Uncle Abe,\nsprawling in the shade, went on with his story.\n\n\"Yes, sonny, there I were in the mealies, and there were the Kaffirs\nabout the house banging at the windows because there was nobody at home\nfor 'em to kill.  They were mostly young bucks, and they all jawed\ntogether, 'cept two or three who started singin' about what big potatoes\nthey was.  Well, after knocking around an' smashin' things, they set off\nin a cluster anyhow, on the back trail.  And as I watched 'em go, blow\nme ef one of them in the rear didn't drop his assegai on puppose.  On\nthey went out o' sight behind the bush, but Abe Pike he jest kep' where\nhe were.  I tell you, Kaffirs is mighty stuck on their assegais, and\nbymby, sure enough, back came that chap lopin' along.  When he reached\nthe house he shouted out to his friends that it was all right and he'd\nfoller.  Well, they gave him the answer back, saying they would go on.\nHe were a young chief this, with an ivory ring round his wrist, and a\nfeather sticking out behind his ear, and as springy on his feet as a\nyoung ram.  I spotted him well, for I were wondering what his game were,\nand marked the look in his eyes, and the smooth sweep of his jaws.  He\npicked up his wepin and then he giv' a sharp look all roun', and nex' he\nwent steppin' roun' the house with his head bent.  I saw it then, sonny.\nHe were lookin' for spoor, and, by gum, he found it sooner you could\nsnap your fingers.  I yeard him give a grunt, and nex' thing I see him\nsailin' along over the veld with his head down on a trail quite away\nfrom that taken by his friends.\"\n\n\"He was spooring the people who had escaped from the house?\"\n\n\"Don't jump over a gate when you can open it, bossie.  I crep' out of\nthe mealies and cast round the house; but for all I'd seen where that\nyoung Kaffir went it were many minutes afore I saw the spoor--then it\nwere as slight as a brush of a hare's tail.  But there it were--the\nspoor of a man in _veldschoens_.  You know, there's no heel to a\n_veldschoen_, and it leaves little sign; but this yer chap had a habit\nof stickin' his toes into the ground, and here and there he had kicked\nup a tuft o' grass.  Well, I laid down to that spoor, marking the\ndirection the Kaffir had taken, and went at a trot, thinking all the\ntime it were mighty queer for one Kaffir to leave his friends.  When I\nreached the wood it was easier going, for in the bush path the naked\nspoor of the chief was plain enough in the dust.  The spoor led deeper\ninto the wood, crossed a stream where the white man had drunk, for there\nwas the print of his corduroys where he had knelt, and then climbed a\nhill, when I went slow.  The darkness was coming on, and I reckoned that\nthe chief couldn't be but a mile ahead.  Neither he nor me could spoor\nin the dark, so I guessed he would pull up, an' I didn't want to run in\non his assegai.  Turnin' away from the trail I pegged out under a rock\nuntil the spreuws whistled before sun-up, when I crept once more on the\ntrail.  'Twere very faint now, but bymby I come on fresh spoor--so fresh\nI jest squatted behind a tree.  Then, after a time, I marked where this\nnew sign entered the path, and follering it back came on the spot where\nthe chief had slept.  The beggar had turned back on his trail a matter\no' fifty paces, and if so be I'd follered him in the evening he'd a' had\nme sure.\"\n\n\"He was up to his work!\"\n\n\"Him--I guess so, lad.  He were a caution for cunnin' and bush learnin',\nwere the chief.\"\n\n\"What chief was he?\"\n\n\"This ain't the place to bring in his name, for I didn't know him then.\nI tell you it was smart work tracking him through the woods, over the\nhills, inter the kloofs, but Abe Pike did it sure enough, and he tracked\nthe white man, though he were half starved and lamed in the arm, by\ngosh.  Many a time that day, when my back ached from the bending of it,\nand my stummick was jammed together for want of something to eat, many a\ntime I thought of the three of us strung out in the dark woods like\ntigers on the scent.  Hungry, by gum!  I jest chewed leaves as I went\nalong; and sore--thunder--I kin feel now the throbbing of the wound in\nmy arm.  But I kep' on.  I tell you, young Abe Pike was tough as\n_foreslag_, and he wern't going to cave in while that red Kaffir boy was\nkeepin' up.  The chap in the lead, the man in _veldschoens_ who was\nescaping, must a been made o' iron too, I reckon, for he only stopped\nonce the second day, when he ate some bread.  There was some crumbs on\nthe yearth among the grass, with the ants over 'em where he'd sat and\nate, and the dry skin from a piece o' _biltong_.  I took a chew o'\nelephant leaves, and bymby in the afternoon I seed little balls of pith,\nwhich showed the Kaffir had cut off a _insengi_ root to chew.  The white\nman kep' on for twenty miles, keeping to the woods all the time where he\ncould, and the Kaffir kep' on arter him, and Abe Pike he kep' on arter\nthe Kaffir.  If it hadn't a been for that _insengi_ root I'd a lost the\nspoor clean, for there were a big stretch of rock veld where they passed\nover, and all I could follow was white balls of chewed root.  I dunno\nhow the Kaffir picked up the trail on that stretch.  He must ha' smelt\nit.  There were a bit o' hill to climb, and when I reached the top my\nhead swam, an' I pitched down like a log.  When I opened my eyes it were\ndark, and my bad arm was doubled up.\"\n\n\"You gave up?\"\n\n\"Sonny; you didn't know young Abe--no, you didn't.  But I did.  And I\ntell you, for all his emptiness, he jes' kep' on.  Yes, sir--he did that\nI said the darkness were down, but when I looked aroun' I seed the\nglimmer o' a spark down below, an' I kep' my eyes on it whiles I crawled\ndown the steep of the hill to the kloof below.  Things happen sometimes,\nsonny, in a way that makes you very quiet an' thoughtful.  A bird flew\nup--a grey-wing partridge, I guess, from the whirr--and, searchin'\naround, I found its eggs.  They put life into me, and I steadied up--but\nwhat's all this I'm telling you about?  There's work to be done, and if\nyou don't stir 'twill be sun-down and too dark.  As for me, I'm going to\nboil the kettle.\"\n\n\"But you've not finished telling about the spooring.\"\n\n\"Ah, well, it can wait, sonny; but it's time the kettle were put on and\nthe mealies roasted.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY ONE.\n\nTHE BOOM OF THE DRUM.\n\n\"Oh, ghoisters!\" said Abe, \"there's the blamed bung come outer the\n_vaitje_ and not a drop of Dop left, and all the _buchu_ collected for\nthe soaking.\"\n\n\"Do you soak the _buchu_ in brandy?\"\n\n\"The brandy brings out the goodness from the yerb, and I tell you a dose\nof it gets home every time.  But what's the good--the brandy's gone,\nthere's not a tickey in the stocking, and not a man in the country would\noffer ole Abe Pike so much as half-a-pint--not a one.  The old people's\ngone and the new ones, blow me--the new ones drink cold tea.\"\n\n\"What about the Kaffir chief you were following Abe?\"\n\n\"I ain't follering no Kaffir chief, not me--and look here sonny, you get\nalong home, see, 'fore it gets dark.\"\n\n\"I think I could spare a gallon of brown Cango, Abe, if you come over in\nthe morning.\"\n\n\"Cango, eh!  Stay right here, sonny--I've marked down a fine porkipine--\nand we'll hunt him to-night.  In the morning I'll go over with you,\narter showing you something as'll surprise you, I bet.\"\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"A horn-bill sitting on her nest in a hollow tree, and the entrance\nbuilt up with mud, so she can't get out, and the cats can't git in, by\ngum, an' the ole chap a feeding her.  Lor' love yer, there's no matchin'\nanimiles an' birds for cunnin'.\"\n\n\"Yet I remember you saying that young chief was very cunning.\"\n\n\"So he were; lad, he were born smart; an' them gleamin' eyes of his'n\ncould read the writin' on the ground, the signs of weather, and the ways\nof fightin' men better'n you could read a big print book.  That's so.  I\ntole you how I follered him, and how he follered a chap in _veldschoens_\nall the way from the Chumie.  Well, in the dark of the second evenin' I\nseed a red light, and were blunderin' on towards it, being pretty well\ndazed from the hunger and weakness and pain o' my bad arm, when\nsomethin' in the steady glow of it brought me up with a jerk.  Says I,\nthat fire's been long lit, there's nothin' but coals blazing, and\nwhoever lit it must feel safe.  Says I, who can feel safe in this yer\nplace?  Why, a Kaffir.  So I slowed down to a crawl, and blow me, when I\ngot within hearin' distance, I seed a man by the fire.  Sonny, he were\nthe man in _veldschoens_.\"\n\n\"The white man the chief was after.\"\n\n\"'Twas a blanged half-caste, lad, that's what he were.  I saw that in\nthe fust look by the red _dook_ he wore roun' his greasy head, and by\nthe spread of his flat nose, and the sight of him kept me still, I tell\nyou.  Half-castes is mean.  And to think I'd been goin' hungry to save a\nthing like that, and him a sitting there with his mouth all smeared with\nblack coal from the bried meat he were eatin'.  The smell of it came to\nme where I lay in the shadder, an' I tell you it made me sick with\nlonging for a bite, but I jes' kept there sniffin' till the faintness\nleft me.  Well, all ov a sudden I seed his jaws stop, and his eyes had\nthat sort o' fixed look which they has when a man's listenin'.  Then,\nwithout movin' his body, he reached out for his gun.  Yes, sonny, he\nreached out for his gun with his eyes starin' straight for me, and I\nkivered him.  While I was gettin' ready to shoot, outer the darkness\nbehin' him there come a voice callin' in greetin', `Gumela vietu!'  I\ngiv' a start, but that ere half-caste he never stirred.  The hand that\nwas reachin' out for his gun stopped, his jaws began to move, but his\nvoice were a bit shaky when he said `Gumela inkose!' and there was a\nsort o' hunchin' of his shoulders as tho' he felt the assegai going in.\nFor a spell there was silence, then from the wall o' blackness there\nstepped to the fire the young chief hisself.  I see the gleam o' his\nivory bracelet.  With his toe he moved the gun away.  Then he reached\ndown, took up a length of roasting flesh, caught hold of a mouthful and\nsaw off the chunk with the blade of his assegai 'twixt his hand and his\nlips.  He jes' ate and ate, an' the smell o' the meat made my stummick\nheave an' grumble most horrible.\"\n\n\"They were friends, then, after all?\"\n\n\"You wait, sonny--jes' keep still an' wait.  Arter a time they began to\ntalk.  Then it came out that the half-caste was on some mission from the\nhead chief, and the young chap was mighty curious to know all about it;\nbut the half-caste he were too slim.  They jes' paced roun' each other\nlike a couple o' strange dogs.  At the end the chief he up and say, `I\nknow where you're going.'  `Soh?' said the half-caste.  `Yes,' said the\nchief, `you're going to the white man's camp to give the white chief\nnews of our coming.'  Well, the half-caste he spat in the fire.  `You\nare a boy,' he said; `your place is at home with the women.'  `My place\nis with you,' said the young chief, speaking soft, so that the other\nlaughed in his throat, and called the chief _quedin_--`boy'--again,\nwhich you know is the easiest word to rile a Kaffir.  `I know, in your\nheart,' said the boy, `you will sell us for the white man's money.'  The\nhalf-caste spat again.  `Oh, yes,' he said, `the white men are in terror\nof you--a warrior like you would be worth a whole goat to them.'  `I am\nSandili,' said the lad, `son of the head chief, and one day the Amakosa\nwill do my bidding.'  The half-caste giv' a start; then he grew soft all\nof a sudden.  `I was but trying you,' he said.  `Oh, chief, forget my\nwords, and take the path with me in the morning.  We will find out where\nthe red-coats are, how many of them, and what road they take, so that we\ncan report to your father, and plans can be made to trap them.'  I could\nhear the hiss of a snake in the man's speech, sonny; and it struck me\nthen he had, in his heart, determined to take the young chief Sandili to\nthe English colonel.\"\n\n\"It was really Sandili?\"\n\n\"It were, an' no mistake.  I could a' shot him then, an' put a stop to\ntwo wars; but a good many things could be done, sonny, if only we could\nsee ahead.  Well, for all they'd made friends, those two didn't trust\none another--not a bit, not they--they jes' sat there glancing acrost\nthe coals, nodding, an' wakin' up with a start, and when one on 'em\nmoved t'other would have his eyes wide open.  Long before sun-up they\nmoved off, an' I crep' outer my hidin' place to the fire, where I found\njes' a coal-blackened strip o' meat that jes' made me hungrier than\nafore.  Lor' love you, a human is a helpless crittur.  There was\nanimiles about an' birds, but as I darn't use my gun I couldn't get one.\nI cotched a salamander and ate him, an' a land crab by the stream, an'\nate him--an' I ate some berries, an' a clutch o' young birds from the\nnest, and I had a bathe--and took up the spoor of the two of 'em.  'Twas\neasier spoorin' now, for they was going slow, and at mid-day I had 'em\nin sight, and so kep' 'em till the last.  In the afternoon we were\nclimbing a ridge among the bushes, when boomin' along there came the\nsound of music that brought the three of us to a dead stop.  Never had\nyoung Abe yeard any sound like that afore or since 'cept once--it went\nthrough my worn-out body until I trembled like a leaf--yes, sonny--and\nthe wet ran down my cheeks.  'Twas the soun' of a big drum.\"\n\n\"There's not much music in that, Abe.\"\n\n\"Isn't there, sonny?  Not when you've been three days in the woods,\nskeered of every shadder; not when you've yeard the war-cry of the red\nKaffir; not when the cries of the little ones waitin' for the assegai\nare ringin' in yer head.  Only the soun' of a drum.  One, big boomin'\nnote, rolling clear an' far with a message of help.  The tiredness an'\nthe sickness fell from me, sonny, an' I could a' run up that hill.  The\nother two they crept up presently, and bymby I follered and hid behind\n'em.  They was crouchin' by a rock, lookin' down, and I forgot 'em in\nlookin' at the picture.  Far below in the valley was the white tents,\nan' the cattle, an' a line of red where the soldiers were drawn up,\nbayonets flashing.  Then a troop of men on horseback rode down the line,\nand again the drums beat and the bugles rang out.  It was a picture,\nsonny, that I could a' looked at all day, but I were jes' jerked out o'\nmy spell o' dreamin' by the chief talkin'.\"\n\n\"`Yoh,' he said, `they are few, but what noise is that?'\n\n\"`Tis their witch-music,' said the half-caste; `'tis kep' in a big box,\nand when the man hits the top of it with a stick the witch cries out\nwhat they should do.'  `Yoh!' said the chief, `I will kill the box!\nThey are great warriors, these, but they are foolish to wear a red so\nbright, that no man of them can hide.'  `They do not hide,' said the\nhalf-caste, and he shifted his gun as he looked at the chief from the\ncorner of his eyes.  `Let us go.'  `Nay,' said the chief, `it is a good\nsight this--stay a little while.  Why do they move about so?'  `It's\ntheir war-dance, and he on the white horse is the chief.  At his words\nthey turn and stop, break up, and come together.'  The young chief\nwatched like a dog straining at the leash--and, by gum, he yeard the\ncolonel's commands, though never a sound reached me.  A smart Kaffir can\nsmell, and see, and hear like a animile.  `Yoh!' he said; `listen to his\nwords!'--and in his excitement he raised his head, and the half-caste he\nstood back and lifted his gun.  But he measured his distance to the\ncamp, and he said, `Let us get nearer'--for why, the cuss wanted to be\nnear help when he went for the chief.  The chief looked round, and,\nghoisters! he seed my face stickin' outer a bush.  He jumped to his feet\nand drew back his arm to fly the assegai, but the half-caste, after one\nglance at me, dropped his gun, seized the haft of the assegai with one\nhand and hooked his other arm round the chief's neck.  `It was a good\nword you spoke, _quedin_,' he said, hissing as he struggled with the\nboy.  `I will sell you to the white man.'  Seein' how it was, I stepped\nout, and as I went up I seed the chief's eyes rollin', while his\nnostrils were blowed out like a horse.  `I am a boy,' he said; `I give\nin.'  The half-caste he laughed, turnin' to me whiles he called out in\nDutch that it was he who took the _quedin_ prisoner, but he'd give me\nsomethin' if I helped him--the skunk, the blanged, mangy, yeller dog.\nWell, sonny, that Kaffir were shamming.  Soon's he give in, the\nhalf-caste he loosed his hold, when, with a grunt, the Kaffir yanked his\nassegai away, and with a wriggle o' his naked body he got a length and\nstruck the half-caste under the armpit.  `Dog,' he said, and druv' his\nassegai in over the blade.  The half-caste he jes' went green.  `_Ek 'es\ndood_,' he said, lookin' at me; then he sat down all of a heap.  The\nyoung chief he stood there eyein' me like a tiger, with his lips curled\nback and his chest heavin'.  It was the first man he'd killed, I guess.\nWell, I lifted the gun, but the left hand gave out and the barrel\nwobbled--then, I dunno why, but I begin to laugh in a foolish way, an' I\nkep' on laughin' whiles the Kaffir came crouchin' up with his assegai\nheld back.  Nex' thing I seed the half-caste roll over, and then sit up\nand point his gun at the boy's back.  `Pass op,' I said 'mid the\nlaughin', while the sweat was drippin' off my nose; and the chief he\njumped aside as tho' there was a snake in his way, and the bullet\nwhizzed by him.  The half-caste gave a groan and rolled over dead, out\nof hate and disappointment, 'cause he'd missed.  That's so.  The chief\nhe looked at me, an' he looked at the soldiers who were hurrying up from\ndown below, then he jes' turned and walked away; yes, he jes' walked\naway with his head up, and I could a' shot him--for the laughin' fit had\npassed away.  But before he could ha' killed me easy as sticking a pig,\nso I watched him go; an' when he reached the bush he said, lookin' over\nhis shoulder, `Grow fat, man who laughs, an' you will be food for my\nassegai.'  The cheek of these young bucks; but I reckon, sonny, if he'd\na' known I'd killed two of his men in the Chumie he wouldn't a' waited,\nfor all I was like a shadder.\"\n\n\"Is that all?\"  I said, when the old man paused.\n\n\"Well, it were enuff, wern't it?\"\n\n\"What did the Colonel say?\"\n\n\"Oh, the Colonel!  He said, `Who the devil are you, an' where the blazes\nyou come from?'  That's what _he_ said, that time; but 'twern't long\nafore he changed the tune of his remarks.  `Who the devil are you, and\nwhere the blazes you come from?' he sed, sittin' in his tent with his\nofficers by him; an' I jes' reached over to a black square bottle that\nwas ahind him and put the neck to my mouth.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY TWO.\n\nTHE RED DIAMOND.\n\nOur big Christmas hunt was in full swing.  In a smooth, well-carpeted\nglade, surrounded by forest trees and bush, the three tent wagons of the\nparty were outspanned, drawn up in a hollow square which formed a\ncapacious outside room, roofed in by a wide stretch of canvas.  From the\nspreading branches of a yellow-wood hung the last day's `bag,'\nconsisting of seven bushbucks, two duikers, three blaauwboks, one\njackal, and a wild dog.  Beyond the wagons was the servants' fire, and\nthe `boys' themselves were `brying' meat and talking, as only Kaffirs\ncan talk when the day's work is over and food is plentiful.  In our\n`scherm' one lantern swung from the centre pole, its light just\nsufficient to mark out the position of the brown demijohn on the box\nthat served as a table; while across the breadth of darkness, where the\n`scherm' opened to the wood, fireflies crossed and circled.  The quiet\nof the night was over the bush, intensified by the deep undertone from\nthe sea, and the brooding spirit in time reduced us to silence, even\nstilling Long Jim's concertina, whose lugubrious notes had in the early\nhours of the evening wailed complainingly over \"The Old Camp Ground,\"\n\"Poor Old Joe,\" and other old favourites.\n\n\"I envy you fellows,\" said Mr Strong, a crack shot from the town; \"we\ndon't get such nights as this.\"\n\n\"The boot's on the other foot,\" said Long Jim, making his instrument\nmoan.  \"We've got poverty and pumpkins.  You've got comfort and a\npianny.\"  And he pumped out \"Hard times come again no more\" till a dog\npointed its nose to the sky and howled in sympathy.\n\n\"There's no chance of making a pile in the country,\" said Amos Topper,\nwho raised ten acres of \"forage\" regularly every season, and \"rode\"\nfirewood for a living in the balance of the year.  \"'Tis all hard work\nand disappointment--ticks in the cattle and rust in the corn.\"\n\n\"Soh!\" said Abe Pike.\n\n\"Well; so it is!\"\n\n\"Yet,\" said Abe, \"there's chances.\"\n\n\"Meanin' pine-apples and bananas, which Dick Purdy made a fortune out of\nthrough growing them on the slope of a valley.\"\n\n\"No; meanin' diamonds.\"\n\n\"There's no diamonds down here.\"\n\n\"Is that so?  Well, I seed one right here, as big as a plum an' as red\nas the eye of a coal gleamin' outer the dark.  Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Of course.  It belonged to some digger from the field.  For the matter\nof that, I've seen a whole bucketful of them, but then they was white,\nand the sight of 'em never made me any the richer.\"\n\n\"Your head was allus too big for your hat, Amos.  I expect that's why\nthere's a hole in the crown of it for your hair to grow through--but it\nso happens this yer diamon' I'm speakin' of could ha' been gathered by\nanyone who had the pluck to grab it.\"\n\n\"Fire ahead, old man,\" I said, seeing that Abe was preparing the way for\na yarn.\n\n\"You've hit it, sonny,\" said Abe solemnly; \"it was fire-ahead, and no\nmistake.  Lemme see; you know ole Harkins, the mad trader?\"\n\n\"I remember him,\" said Mr Strong, \"a fine hunter in his youth, who\nreturned from his last trip into the interior broken by the Zambesi\nfever.  He had a suspicion that everyone was watching him, and I believe\nhe died in the bush after leading the life of a hermit.\"\n\n\"That's him,\" said Abe, pulling at his pipe until the glow lit up his\nlined face.  \"Yes, he went into the bush--and for three years he hunted\nfor that same red diamond.  Some people thought he was crazy--so he were\ncrazy after a fortune, but lor' bless yer, he'd got all his wits about\nhim, and the fortune was big enough to buy up the whole side of this\ndistrict--houses, land and stock--which is a big enough haul to turn the\nminds of most of us.  One night, many years ago, I was still-huntin'\nbuffel by the Kowie bush, when from the thick of the wood I yeard a\nnoise that sent me up a tree in a jif--a shrill sort o' scream that I\ncouldn't fix--an' whiles I was up the tree I seed ole Harkins slippin'\nalong through the moon light.  He stood under the tree listenin', and\nthen he began talkin' to hisself in jerks.  `That's him, I swear!' he\nsaid, `and by God I'll have him or die!'\n\n\"I jes' kep' quiet, for I tell you I didn't like the look o' him, with\nhis long hair, and his lean fingers, and burnin' eyes, but when he\nslipped along inter the wood like a shadder--for there the no boots on\nhis feet--I skimmed down and let out after him with my heart in my\nmouth.  I guess I hadn't got much sense, and when I'd gone no more'n\nfifty paces inter the dark of the trees he grabbed me by the throat--\nafore I knew where he were.  Oh, lor'!  He jes' grabbed me by the throat\nand shook me.  `You're follerin' me!' he hissed.\n\n\"Of course, I couldn't speak, but I kicked and spluttered, and he\nloosened his hold.  `You're follerin' me!' he said, stickin' his face\nclose up.  `I ain't,' I said; `I'm after buffel.'  `You yeard it,' he\nhissed; `and you meant to rob me.'  Well, I laughed.  The idea of\nrobbing a scarecrow like him was too much, and I couldn't help laughing,\nnot though he looked as savage as a starved tiger.  All the property he\ncarried were a big-bore elephant gun, and I noticed the trigger were\ncocked.  `Clear out,' he said; `and if I see you after me I'll kill\nyou.'  By gum, he meant it, and I cleared out smart with him after me\nover the ridge, when once ag'in there came that strange cry from the\nwoods, so near this time that I jumped inter a bush.  Well, there were a\nsmashin' o' trees, and afore I knew what was up a bit of the country\nrose up and came rolling down through the moonlight.  Man alive--it were\na thunderation bull elephant, and I slipped outer the bush and bolted\nfor hum with Harkins's yell a-ringing in my ears.  Well, sir, whiles I\nwas sittin' in the room gettin' back my wind, up along, in a flurry,\ncame Sam Dale.  `It's true,' said he, with a gasp, as he flung open the\ndoor.  `What's true?'  `Yes,' he said, `I seed it.  I were crossing the\ndrift in Euphorby Valley when I yeard a splash in the pool, and out of\nthe dark end beneath the krantz I seed a glow of red.  First I thought\nit were a eye, but then I noted how it sparkled, and all in a breath it\nstruck me it were ole Harkins's diamond.  Then there was a splash in the\nwater, and I ran on here to ask you to help me kill the crittur.'  `Hol'\non,' I said; `what the blazes are you talking about?  I never yeard of\nany diamond, and I'm not killing any crittur to-night,' I said.  Well,\nSam Dale he up and tole me how Harkins had courted his sister years\nbefore, and how his sister had told him, unbeknown to Harkins, how she\nhad seen the big red diamond he kep' in his pocket, which he had bought\nfrom a Kaffir chief.  And Sam, he told me a most surprisin' story, how\nHarkins being one night cornered by a animile in the wood had loaded his\nbig rifle with that same diamond instead of a bullet--and how he had\nfired it into that animile--and how he went crazy in consequence.\nThat's what Sam tole me that very night arter I had met Harkins hisself,\nand it wern't more'n a minute afore I seed that if there was any truth\nin that yarn the red diamon' was in that bull elephant.  Sam and me we\ntalked and talked, until in the early morning we fixed up a company.\"\n\n\"What did you do?\"\n\n\"We made a company--that's what--the Dale-Pike Diamon' Mining Company,\nbut lor' bless yer, in the morning the whole thing seemed so blamed\nridiklus that we guv up the idea.  All the same, Sam he went down to\nEuphorby Drift, and I smoused over to the old spot where I seed the\nelephant, and blow me--there was ole Harkins flattened out Yes, sir.  He\nwere.\"\n\n\"What ailed him?\"\n\n\"He were dead--that's all.  That bull elephant must have charged him\ndown soon's I cleared off.  We reckoned, Sam and me, that as Harkins\nwere dead that diamon' mine b'longed to us, and we started that company\nover again.  It was quite reg'lar.  Sam he studied up a prospectus, and\nfixed up a capital, he subscribin' two trek oxen, an' me a cow, a bull\ncalf, and a pair o' gobblers.  The hull lot came to 16 pounds, and with\nthat we laid in a stock o' powder, lead, blankets, boots, coffee, sugar,\ntabak, an' a demijohn o' Cango.  Then we shut up our homes, both on us\nbeing bachelors, and started after that ere blasted bull elephant.\"\n\n\"I thought you were after a diamond?\"\n\n\"You ain't got any more thinking machine than a biled rabbit, Sam\nTopper.  That bull elephant were the diamon' mine, in course.\"\n\n\"How was that?\"\n\n\"Ain't I tole you?  Why, when Harkins made that mistake and fired off\nthat diamon' it went plump into the ole bull.  I seed that as soon's Sam\nDale told me the yarn, and we started after that property of ourn.  That\nwas forty-five year ago, and I guess from the size of his right tusk,\nthe left been broken off, he were then about one hundred years old.  I\ntell you what, chaps, that diamon's still knocking aroun' in the Addo\nbush.\"\n\n\"The company didn't come into possession, then?\" said Mr Strong.\n\n\"Well, do I look as if I had a fortune of one hundred and fifty thousand\ngolding sovereigns, which we reckoned was the value of that stone?  Not\nmuch!  No, sir.\"\n\n\"Well, did you ever see the diamond?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you.  Sam and me we struck the spoor at Euphorby, follered it\nfifteen miles in an' out of the Kowie bush, away over to the Kasouga,\nand ten miles to the Kareiga--in an' out of the thickest bush--sleepin'\nout o' nights.  Back ag'in to the Kowie bush, over into the Fish River,\nwithout settin' eyes once on the blanged thing.  One month we were on\nthe spoor, and the food run out, so's we'd got to raise more capital,\nwhich we riz by selling Sam's plough and my harrow--the two of 'em\nbringing in twenty-five shillings.  Then we ran ag'inst the mine after\nSam had taken a horn o' Cango--and his ribs were broken in.  Yes, the\nfust thing we knowed one night thet bull charged us out of a patch of\nbush in the open.  Well, I took Sam to a farmhouse, and picked up the\nspoor, and two nights after came on the bull standin' in a vley on the\nflats over yonder.  My!  He were jes' standing there shooting the water\nover his mountain-high body, with his big ears flapping, when he turned\nhis head, and I seed that diamon' shinin' in his forehead like a\nblood-red star.  I tell you that mine lit out a yell and came arter me\nlike a rock hurled from the hilltop.  The land was as flat as the palm\nof your hand, and the only thing was ter double.  Well, I did that, and\nslipped into the vley, and the ole bull, arter ramping around, stood\nthere on the brink listenin', while his trunk went twistin' about to\ncatch my wind.  He kep' me there till the cold got into my bones, and\nthen, when the dawn was breaking, off he made for the Kareiga again.\nArter that Sam and me we called in fresh capital, an' Jerry Wittal\njoined us with a piebald mare and twenty-five sheep.  Part o' the money\nwas paid to mend Sam's ribs, and then we went arter the ole bull ag'in.\nThis time he went west, through the Addo and on to the Knysna.  Six\nmonths we kep' on arter him, sometimes he came arter us; and at last he\nsmashed up the company one morning by takin' us as we slep'.  Yes, sir.\nThat crittur, he waited till the cold of the mornin', when we couldn't\nsee for the sleep, and he pounded Jerry into the groun'.  He did that,\nand ef he hadn't a screamed in his joy he might a done for us; but Sam\nand me, we dodged roun' a tree an' blazed inter him.  Sam right there\nsaid the company must go inter liquidation, an' he worked his way back\nhome as a handy-man from farm to farm.  Poor Sam!  His nerves went, and\nin less than a year he was dead, sure enuf.  Of course all this huntin'\ngot about, and a chap from Port Elizabeth said he would help me refloat\nthe company; but when I giv' him all the facts blow me if he didn't try\nto `jump' the claim.\"\n\n\"How was that?\"\n\n\"Why, he went off on the hunt with a couple o' niggers, and afore I\nknowed about it he'd been out three days in the bush.  It makes me laugh\nnow.  Wha' yer think?  I came across him without his gun, or his hat, or\nhis kit, making tracks for home.  He found the bull sure enough, but the\nbull chased him up a yellow-wood tree and kep' him there one day and a\nnight.\"\n\n\"Did he see the diamond?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes; he seed too much of it; but he didn't want any more of that\nsort o' minin'--and 'tweren't long afore I chucked the job, too.\"\n\n\"How was that?\"\n\n\"Well, you wouldn't believe me if I tole you.  At any rate it's bedtime;\nand if you young ones don't roost now you'll never hold your guns\nstraight in the mornin'.  So long!\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY THREE.\n\nABE'S DIAMOND MINE.\n\nWe were still at the camp near the bush by the sea, and the week's hunt\nwas ended.  The \"boys\" had gone off to a neighbouring kraal to dance and\neat and drink throughout the night, and we were left in the great quiet\nof a South African evening.  As usual, Long Jim had squeezed from his\nconcertina all the melancholy airs he knew, and Amos Topper had trotted\nout all his well-worn arguments against the _Ukolobola_--the Kaffir\nsystem of selling girls into wedlock in exchange for cattle; a system\nwhich he warmly contended was the root of all the stock-thieving.\n\n\"A darned good system,\" said Abe; \"one that's based on reason and\njustice; that's so.\"\n\n\"Hear the old boomer!\" said Amos scornfully; \"anyone would think he'd\ngot a parcel o' daughters to marry off fer cattle.\"\n\n\"Go slow, Amos Topper, and maybe you won't stumble.  A good system, says\nI; and why? 'cos it's lasted all these centuries--since and before Jacob\nhe collected a heap o' goats for his wife.  See yer, when a white man\nmarries a girl he don't give nothin' for her, but he asks her father how\nmuch he's going to give the girl.  That's what a white man does, and\nlor' lov' yer, more often than not he swallows up all her money, and\nthen beats her, the skunk.  Now a black man is different.  When he goes\ncourtin' he don't ask the father how much the girl's goin' to bring to\nthe hut--not he.  What he does is to ask the father how much he wants\nfor the girl.  `Five cows,' says the father `for the girl is nice an'\nfat.'  Well, the young buck he's got to get them five cows, and if he\ntakes one outer a white man's kraal that's due to his impatience--it\ndon't prove the system is wrong.  Well, the five cows is paid over, an'\nthe girl goes to the young buck.  As usual, the pair has children--and\nthe cows has calves.  Maybe the husband beats his wife.  What then; why,\nsir, the wife takes her children and goes back to her father.  `I've\ncome back,' she says, `and I'm going to live on them cows and calves.'\nThe father he can't say nothin'; 'cos why, 'cos he took those same cows\nin trust for his daughter 'gainst she should come, back to him on\naccount of her husband's bad treatment.  That's so.  The _Ukolobola_ is\nbetter'n a magistrate for keeping the peace 'twixt husband and wife.\nThat's why I say 'tis a good system, an' a just system.\"\n\n\"'Tis well known,\" said Amos, \"that Abe Pike's got no cause to kick\nagainst Kaffir customs, because he keeps no cattle worth havin'--nor\nnothin' else, for that matter.\"\n\n\"By the way, Uncle Abe,\" I said quickly, to prevent the coming storm;\n\"you promised to tell us how it was you gave over searching for that\ndiamond mine.\"\n\n\"Meaning that bull elephant,\" said Amos Topper, still aggressively; \"and\nI do say this, of all the yarns I heard there's none to beat that for\ndownright contrariness to what is reasonable.  Who ever heard of a bull\nelephant rampaging round with a red diamond stuck in his forehead?\"\n\n\"Humph!\" grunted Abe.  \"If we was to believe nothin' you never yeard on\nwe'd be a pack o' blamed jackasses, and no mistake.  Now, I tell you\nthat same elephant is a-tramping around now over yonder in the Addo\nbush, with that same red diamond a-gleamin' in his forehead, if so be\nthe hide ain't growed over it.\"\n\n\"Why don't you get a permit from Government and shoot him, then!\"\n\n\"Not me: not Abe Pike.  Oh, no!  I tole you how he flattened out ole\nHarkins, an' stove in my partner's ribs, an' laid out another chap what\nj'ined the company with a yeller horse, an' skeered off that Port\nElizabeth fellow what tried to `jump' my claim.  Well, that showed this\nyer walkin' diamond mine were dangerous, but, lor' bless yer, the\n_schreik_ he gave me was somethin' that sent the everlastin' shivers up\nan' down my backbone.  I'll tell you how 'twas.  When the company was\nbusted up I was the only chap what held shares, an' as there was no\nmarket for 'em I calkerlated to do the prospectin' myself.  So I went on\na reg'lar expedition into the bush with a new castin' o' bullets, a horn\no' powder, a tin box o' caps--them being muzzle-loading days--an' a kit\no' one sheepskin kaross, with a roll o' tobacco, five pounds o' coffee,\nan' sugar, an' as much Boer meal as I could buy, with a pot an'\n_cometje_.  I reckoned to shoot my own meat an' pick up berries, besides\ngettin' a square meal at a farmhouse now an' ag'in.  So I sot out into\nthe Addo, an' gettin' to the middle of it, planted my kit in a holler\ntree.  That was a Sunday.  Then I scouted aroun'.  Monday I seed\nnothin'.  Tuesday I came on a family party o' two tigers an' their cubs.\nThe ole woman, steppin' on her toes, marched me off the premises, an' I\ndarsn't shoot for fear o' skeerin' the elephant.  I had to march\nback'ards, an' the thorns they jest had a picnic with my shirt, I tell\nyou; an' I got sich a cramp in my stummick that I couldn't hunt any more\nthat day.  Wednesday I came on elephant spoor--fresh spoor--and follered\nit for four hours without ever seein' a patch o' the animile.  Thursday\nI came on spoor ag'in within twenty yards o' where I camped.  Yes,\nsirree; that crittur had come up as near as that, and he'd stood there\nfor a long time, maybe watchin' me.  Well, I lit out on the tracks and\nfollered 'em in an' out an' roun' about all through the mornin' into the\nafternoon, the tracks keeping so fresh that I kep' on with the trigger\nat full cock.  In the evenin' the spoor led me right back to my holler\ntree, and blow me if that crittur hadn't been overhauling my goods.\nYes, that's so.  The kettle it were hung twenty feet from the ground.\nThe kaross it were peppered all over with holes, where he'd drove his\ntusk through.  The Boer meal were all eaten up, except for a sprinkle\nhere and there; and the tobacco were chewed up and spat out.  I dried it\nand smoked it, and it had a flavour of boots most terrible.  Well, I\ntell you, this made me _quei_, but when I seed, arter looking more\ncarefully, that this yer fool elephant were my diamon' mine itself I\njes' picked up.  'Cos, what's the loss of a few shillin's worth of\nthings when that diamon' 'ud bring in enough to buy up a whole street\nfull o' grocers' shops.\"\n\n\"How did you know it was the elephant you wanted?\"\n\n\"How did I know!  'Cos I seed, that's how, by the size of his hoofs and\nthe plain writin' that he'd only one tusk, same as my bull.  That's how!\nFriday I up and follered ag'in afore sunrise, and I tell yer I hadn't\ngone mor'n half-an-hour before I diskivered that he were follerin' me.\nYes.  I were standin' to listen, and I yeard the rumbling of his\nstummick.  I yeard it plain--and jes' crawled along so's not to crush so\nmuch as a dry leaf.  I yeard that rumble ag'in--but blow me if I could\nsee him, an' I crawled an' crawled, poking the big gun afore till the\nsweat it run down my back.  There was the spoor and there was the\nrumble, but--there was no elephant.  I began to feel shivery, and looked\nover my shoulder like a man does in the dark, and--by gosh!--I seed that\nred diamon' gleamin' out of the leaves behind me.  An' jes' below it and\non each side were two other gleamin' objects--the eyes of the bull\nhisself.  Well, he giv' a scream, I rolled over--an' the next I yeard he\nwere thundering by, smashing down the trees and yelling out most\nhorrible.  Abe Pike didn't stop there, I tell you.  He jest sneaked off,\nand when he yeard the bull stand--which was plain to hear from the\nstillness--Abe he stopped to.  I did that.\"\n\n\"Why didn't you go back and shoot him?\"\n\n\"Sonny, you never had a railway engine runnin' arter you, did you?\nWell, you try, and then settle with yourself whether your nerves would\nbe worth much for a spell.  No, sir; I didn't go back to shoot him, but\nI found the biggest yellow-wood and I climbed up.  That's what I did,\nand that bull he found out.  Yes, sir, he picked up my scent and he\ntree'd me.  But, by gum, d'ye think he'd show hisself?  No, gentlemen,\nhe jes' kep' away in the thick o' the bush, goin' roun' and roun' an'\nstopping sometimes for a blow.  Once I saw the sparkle of the diamon',\nwhen he was doin' a spell o' listenin' and watchin', and I pulled\nstraight at it.  I hit him hard, the ole cuss, an' he fetched a yell an'\nwent smashin' off.  The sound o' him runnin' away did me good.  I loaded\nup and picked up the blood-trail, and was goin' so hot on that that I'm\nblowed if I didn't a'most run inter him.  I were slippin' along, and\nfrom the corner of my eye I saw the point of his tusk on my left.  The\nole chap had turned on his spoor; but his tusk saved me, for I dodged\nroun' a big tree and brought the gun up.  D'ye think he'd charge?  He\njes' slipped back by inches and stole away as silent as a hare, whiles I\nhad my eyes gummed on the thick cover where he'd stood.  He jes' slipped\naway and made a circle to come on me from the rear.  He did that, and if\nI hadn't edged away to see better inter the cover he'd a nabbed me--for\nbymby I saw he'd gone, and on follering on the spoor I seed where he'd\nturned back.  I tell you that gave me the creeps, and I made off for a\nsmall krantz near by where there's a stream.  I crawled inter a cave\nthere and went off ter sleep, because of the tiredness in my bones; and\nSaturday mornin' I woke up hungry an' stiff in the j'ints, and I laid\noff for the camp.  Blow me, if that blamed bull hadn't been there ag'in.\nThe kettle were clean gone this time, and all the other things was\nsmashed to nothing--so there wasn't a smell, let 'lone a mouthful.  I\nwere that savage I jes' went hot-foot on the old boomer's spoor ag'in,\nan' this time he were travellin'.  He went straight on for fifteen\nmiles, over the ridge, inter a deep kloof--where he laid in grub--and\nthen set off, nose on, for another five mile towards Alicedale, where he\nhad a bathe in a pool.  All this time I hadn't seen even the flap of his\nears, and I were still on his spoor, when I just flung myself inter a\nhump o' grass and chawed on to a stick o' _biltong_.  Then I went to\nsleep, 'cos I couldn't keep my eyes skinned, but the morning cold woke\nme in the small hours, and the fust thing I seed were a blazing eye\nlooking at me outer the dark.  It sparkled and flickered and blinked,\nwith the red heart of it contractin' an' expandin'.  In the drowsiness I\nlay there, thinkin' 'twas the mornin' star, when I yeard the rumble of a\nelephant's inside, an' I knew that ole bull were a standing over me;\nmaybe had been standin' there for hours waitin' for me to wake so's he\ncould enjoy seein' me shake.\n\n\"Afraid!  Well, I think so.  And the shakes went scooting up an' down my\nbackbone, an' my heart nearly stopped and I could skasely breathe.  Then\nI felt about for my gun with one hand, then with the other, and then\nwith each foot; but, by gosh! the wepin weren't there, an' the cole\nchills were chasing each other up an' down my bones, an' the ole bull\nlaafed in his stummick, while that busted red diamond glowered at me.  I\nthought o' poor ole Harkins flattened out, an' I jest pulled the plug\nouter the powder-horn, then I got out the flint an' steel, an' lay there\nwatching the outline of the ole cuss come clearer an' clearer out of the\ndarkness an' saw the shine of his wicked little eyes.  He laafed in his\nstummick ag'in, and the coil of his trunk came out.  I got the flint\nready over the powder, and the stir of my body made him suspicious.  His\nbig ears went out like sails, and he made a step forrard.  Then I struck\nwith the steel, an' turned over on my back.  He brought his trunk down\n`ker--whack,' on my sitting place, rolling me over an' over--and when I\nrubbed the dust outer my eyes I yeard him smashin' through the trees.\nThe puff and flame of the powder must ha' skeered him bad, but I didn't\nwait beyond a second to search for my gun, and I seed the stock one side\nof a tree and the barrel bent up a yard away.  He had moved it away, and\nwere waitin' for me to wake.  Then I lit out for the water an' hid away.\nThat was Saturday.  On Sunday I took the back tracks, without a wepin\nor anythin', and blow me ef that bull didn't reg'lar hunt me.  He did\nthat, an' in the afternoon he caught me up and druv me inter a big tree.\nI jes' managed to reach the first bough when, ker-blunk, he came up\nag'inst it an' nearly shook me off.  By gum! the way that bull went on\nwas a caution.  He let off steam through his nose, stamped his feet, dug\nhis tusk in the ground, twisted his little tail, and butted that tree\ntill its roots heaved up the ground.  In his walk he wore down a circle\nas big as a cattle kraal, smashin' all the trees down, and trampling the\nleaves and branches and trunks inter a mass.  And every now and then\nhe'd wheel round and come smash ag'inst my tree till he started the\nwound in his forehead where my bullet struck, an' the blood poured down\nhis face.  I never seed such wickedness an' temper, never, and I crawled\nup to the top branch, for the sight of him made me queer.  All through\nthat Sunday afternoon he kep' up that smash-jamble, an' in the night he\nfetched up some water outer his stummick an' washed his face; then, with\nthat diamon' shinin' red outer the dark, he stood there, still as a\nrock, keeping guard.  That night I went empty in my head, an' got back\nmy senses in starts when I were slippin'.  In the mornin' I jest gave\nhim my trousers.\n\n\"It was a inspiration, that's what.  A flash came inter my brain from\nthe blue sky, an' I gave him my trousers.  Lor', the scream he gave when\nhe fell on 'em, trampled 'em, knelt on 'em, jabbed his tusk inter 'em,\nand then danced 'em outer sight through the mass o' leaves into the\nyearth beneath.  Then he kep' on going away and comin' back with a rush,\ntill I got giddy, and fin'ly jest slithered to the ground.  That time he\ndidn't come back, and I krept away outer the Addo bush, living on roots\nand leaves like a animile.  That's so.  I got on a Wednesday to a Kaffir\nclearing, most like a wild beast, all kivered with ticks and sores.\"\n\n\"And what became of the diamond?\"\n\n\"Well, the Abe Pike Diamon' Mining Company went to smash.  That\ndiamond's still in the Addo bush, and if any o' you would like to float\nthe company I'm not sure but I wouldn't jine you again.  I guess that\nole bull's a hundred an' fifty years old, an' maybe he's not so blamed\nactive.  So long!\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.\n\nHOW ABE LOST HIS WATER BARREL.\n\nAbe Pike was laying a new floor to his shed.  He had at last, after many\nyears, brought that wonderful structure to some semblance of a covered\nshelter, and now he was stamping down the red earth taken from\nant-hills.  This earth makes a firm floor, as it binds well and grows\nharder from use.\n\n\"Yes, sonny,\" said the old man, \"when animiles or insecks take a work in\nhand they do it better'n men.  See this yer earth.  Well, every grain of\nit's been worked up by the jaws of a ant, and covered with a nateral\nmortar.  It's been all milled month in and month out, mostly after a\nfall o' rain, each tiny pellet mined out o' the smoking ground and\ncarried by the little chaps way up the tunnels out inter the sunlight\nand glued to its place on the risin' mound.  An' in the buildin' of the\ndome them critturs don't forget the chopped straw, and when they've\ncarried their temple high above the groun' they don't forget, too, to\nnarrow the circle till they come to the finishin' peak.  Yes, sir, I\ntell you, there's more wonder in one of em ord'nary ant-hills than there\nis in the biggest cathedral ever built, an' yet here I be spreading the\nremains of such works over the floor of this yer shed.\"\n\n\"But ants always keep to the same designs, Abe.\"\n\n\"Not they.  In diffrent countries they have diffrent kinds o' hills; but\nwhen they find the sort that's best fitted for the climate they sticks\nto it, which is morn men do.  No, sonny; the animiles an' the insecks\nknow what they start out to learn without goin' to school for sixteen\nyears, same as some young ones do that I know of, and then can't tell a\nfield of wheat from a barley crop.  As for me, I've had no schooling;\nbut I know how to do what I want to do.\"\n\n\"How long have you been over this shed, Abe?\"\n\n\"Lemme see.  I laid the fust pole at the time of the big drought, maybe\nthirty years ago.\"\n\n\"And when it's finished?\"\n\n\"Finished!\"  Abe left off stamping the red earth, and looked around with\na strange expression.  \"I ain't goin' to finish it, sonny; no, what's\nthe use?  When I begun that shed Abe Pike were a young man, and I seed\nunder the roof of it when the work were done sacks o' yellow wheat,\npiled up.  The lands were young, I had a team o' young oxen, there were\nyoung cows in the kraal, a good flock o' sheep, an' a crop of hopes in\nmy head.  That were thirty years ago, sonny, an' the shed ain't finished\nyet, and the cows is dead, the lands are poor, and Abe Pike don't hope\nno more.  I ain't goin' to finish this yer shed, not me; it's all that\nholds me together.  There's a man buried in this yer shed.\"\n\n\"What!\"\n\n\"Yes, lad, that's so.  Young Abe is here--in the four corners, and under\nthe ground, an' in the roof, and the sides.  Yes, young Abe hisself, an'\nhis sorrows, an' his hopes, an' his pride and laziness.  I've worked him\nin these thirty years in loneliness, with the sound of the sea groanin'\nin the air, an' the hills lookin' on, and the sky stretched abuv,\nworkin' him in slowly with nery an eye to watch, and what's lef of him\nis this yer sun-dried karkus that's standing afore you.  That's all.\"\n\nAbe Pike straightened himself and looked round at the drab veld, the\ngrey hills, and the dark of the kloof where the forest trees were\nmassed.  Then he rested his hands on the handle of his stamper, and, so\nstanding, gazed with a vacant expression before him, and watching him I\nseemed to see a long line of shadowy reflections of him, standing so\nwith the same fixed look fastened on the empty veld.  The hollow booming\nof the great waves solemnly breaking in endless succession alone broke\nthe heavy silence.\n\n\"Did ever anything come out of the sea, Abe?\"  I asked, idly, as I\ngazed, like him, in a sort of spell, scarcely knowing what I meant.\n\n\"A many things,\" said he, without moving.  \"Yes, sonny,\" he continued,\nafter a long pause; \"a many, many things.  When the evenin' wind comes\noff the sea, and I been a-sittin' outside the door, listenin' to the\nwaves and the different voices of 'em all blendin', with now and ag'in a\nmighty bass note from the biggest of the seven brothers, as he rolled\nhis shining crest--I've seed things come over the randt yonder, seed 'em\ncome an' melt away, often an' often.\"\n\n\"What things?\"\n\n\"All manner o' things, sonny; but I allow you won't see 'em, as you\nain't had the trainin'.  Night after night, year in year out, you must\nsit alone listenin' in the stillness, and maybe you'll year the voices I\nyear an' see what I see.  But you couldn't go through it--no, sonny!  I\nbin frightened many a time so that I've got up and fetched the gun to\nmake a noise--yes, that's so; for there's some things you can't see,\nonly feel, an' they hard to bear.  I seed a little boy once.  Maybe he\nwas young Abe Pike afore I knew him.  A little chap with brown legs an'\ncurly hair an' big eyes.  He came drifting over the randt outer the sea,\nwhen its waves was jes' murmuring sof and low, and I yeard him laugh as\nI watched him come, thinking he were a wild fowl.  He lighted over there\nwhere that railed-in moss is a-growin'--see how green it is in the dry\nof the yearth.  That's where his little naked feet touched the ground,\nand where he stood eyeing me with his big eyes and a sort o' dew on his\nforehead where the curls came down.  Then he laughed, and with his head\non one side he came up to my knee an' looked up at me.  Yes, a little\nchap; an' he came outer the sea to ole Abe Pike, sitting lonely out\nthere on the door-step.  Maybe if I'd a married I might a' had a son\nlike that, for he seemed to b'long to me, as he eyed me with a smile.\nOnly onct he came, only onct; but, sonny, I feel the touch of his hands\nnow, an' by that touch I know I will meet him ag'in.  He may a bin young\nAbe afore I knew him come back to see what I'd made o' him, an' but for\nthe smile on his face I'd think he were grieved to see what a blamed\nfailure I'd made outer him.  Many a time I watched for him.  Yes, sonny;\nI've sat in the quiet of the afternoon, listenin' to the sea, and when I\nyear the murmuring same as then I look for that little chap to come\nfloatin' up over the randt, an' I keep the moss there wet when I have to\ngo without water to drink in the drought.  You ain't laughing?\"\n\n\"No, Abe, no.  One of these wretched flies has got into my eye.\"\n\n\"I made a boat for the little chap, 'gainst he came again, and a fishin'\nline, and a reed pipe.  We could 'a played many games together, him and\nme, but he only came onct.\"  Abe turned his face to the sea and stared\nwistfully.  He was not yarning now, and I wondered at him.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said; \"I could a showed him many a bird's nest if he'd a come,\nbut maybe the white woman has kep' him away.  She's bin here off an' on\nfor maybe six years.  She came outer the sea, too, footin' her way\nthrough the air--comin' like a cloud or one o' these big sea-birds that\nsails on the wind without a flap of his long, narrer wings.  White, my\nsonny!--I never seed anythin' so white, not even the sails o' a ship\nwith the sun on, or the inside o' one o' them shells folk use for tooth\npowder.  She comes on me all o' a sudden, and all I see is the gleam o'\nher eyes--then she's gone, leavin' me here with my heart beatin'.  Maybe\nshe looks after the little ones, for when she comes there's a queer\nnoise in the waves over yonder 's if a heap o' girls were at play.  Oh,\nyes; many things come outer the sea besides fish an' otter an' sich\nlike--many things, sonny; an' when I'm buildin' this yer shed I stop\nworkin' to look for their comin'.  Of late I bin expectin' somethin'\nmor'n ord'nary, but it ain't come.  Yes, I bin waitin' for that little\nchap to take me by the hand.  Got any tabak?\"\n\nI handed over the pouch, and saw that Abe had come out of the spell that\nhad been on him.\n\n\"That water bar'l o' mine's all broken up.\"\n\n\"How was that?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you how it happened.  The dry weather druv the field-rats to\nthe bar'l for water, which they fetched out by dipping their tails in.\nMany a time I seed 'em at it, an' it weren't long before a _ringhals_\nspotted the performance; so what's he do but get inter the water, tail\nfust, through the bung, and watch for the rats to come an' drink.  My!\nHe guv me a _schreik_ when I went for a drink an' saw his eyes gleamin'\nup outer the green bough I poked in the hole to cool the water an'\nprevent it shakin' out.  I lef him there, for I couldn't see how to\nfetch him out; but, whiles I were sittin' quiet in the evenin', waitin'\nfor him to crawl out, up came along a percession of rats, with a ole\ngrey-whiskered chap leading.  He took a look at me, movin' his nose, but\nI kep' still, and he reared hisself against the bar'l.  Next rat he run\nup, and the next over the two of 'em, till the third got over the swell\nof the bar'l and scooted to the bung-hole, backed round and popped in\nhis tail, unsuspicious of that vicious crittur inside.  Nex' minit that\nrat were hollering out blue murder, for the snake grabbed him by the\ntail, and the other rats, they jes' lit out for hum.  Well, that snake\nhe let go, but the rat he jes' curled up and fell down in a kickin' fit.\nThen the _ringhals_ crawled out--the ugly five feet length o' livin'\ndeath--and there and then gorged the rat.  Well, I let him be.  Snakes\nis bad, and rats is bad.  I let him be, and three days arter there were\nthe blamed _ringhals_ in my bar'l again.  Blow me, if the same\nperformance didn't happen over ag'in, and some days arter I seed that\npartickler tribe o' rats was gettin' smaller, and, believe me, sonny,\nthat _ringhals_ had guv the news to another snake, for one evenin' I\nseed two o' their wicked-lookin' heads jes' inside the bung on the\ntwigs.  I were watchin' for the tragedy--same as us'al--when--same as\nus'al--up come that ole grey chap on his own hook.  He came to the\nbar'l, and sat up on his behind legs like a hare, twiddling his\nmoustaches and twisting his nose.  Then he backed off, and give a\nwhopping spring, which landed him on a swell of the bar'l.  Well, he\nweren't takin' any water, he weren't; oh, no!  He jes' walked on his\nhind legs and took a peep inter the bung-hole.  I guess he seed\nsomething, for he turned a back sumersault, jes' as a vicious head came\nwith a hiss at him.  Well, I tell you that ole chap he scooted off,\nsqueaking like a forty-shillin' kettle.  I sat there laughin' at the\nskeer of that 'ere rat, but, by gum!  I soon dropped grinnin', for up\nalong came the ole feller ag'in with a 'ole lot o' rats behind him.\nWhen they drew near he gave them the word to stop, whiles he examined\nthe bar'l all round.  Then he spoke a few words, and the entire gang\nthey went to the lower side of the bar'l and began to scratch away the\nyearth.  Yes, sir, that's what they done.  They scratched away the\nyearth.  Then the ole chap guv another word, an' they got roun' on the\ntop side o' the bar'l.  Then they begun to shuv.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\"\n\n\"I tell you; them rats they jist put their backs ag'in the bar'l and\nshuved for all they were worth; but 'twarn't no go.  They was too light.\nD'ye think they guv up the job--not they!  The ole chap led 'em roun'\nthe bottom side, and they set to scraping more yearth away till the\nbar'l were almost undermined.  Then roun' they came ag'in, all\nsqueaking, and one of the snakes popped his head out ter see what the\nnoise were about.  Nex' minute he'd a' bin among 'em, but the 'ole\nparcel o' rats, maybe one hundred, guv another mighty shuv, and 'fore I\ncould start up to prevent it that bar'l gave a list over, and then\nstarted.  Once it started it jes' flew down the slope, and went to\npieces at the bottom with a smash.  The snake that were hangin' out were\nflattened dead, and the way them rats fell on his body were a caution.\nThey were tearin' it to pieces when, bilin' with rage an' hissin' most\nfurious, up came the other riptile.  The rats then scooted--that's so!\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.\n\nABE PIKE SCOUTING.\n\n\"Yes!\" said Abe, one afternoon, after he had been helping threshin'\nwheat; \"these newfangled machines bin smashing up all the good old\ncustoms that were the salt of country life.  This yer thresher of yours\nmay get through the sheaves with a lot of dust an' rattle an' smoke, but\ngive me the old floor, an' the oxen tramping out the ear, an' the\nneighbours coming to the supper.  Oh, yes! the old customs they brought\nthe people together and made 'em soshiable and talk.  Lor' bless you,\nthere ain't no talking nowadays--only grunting.\"\n\n\"Is that so?\" said I, as I brushed the dust from my eyes.\n\n\"It are.  No one talks now, 'cos of these yer machines, which does\neverything.  Why, blow me! you can shoot a man with these new guns\nwithout ever seeing him.\"\n\n\"I don't know that it is any more satisfaction for the man shot to die\nwith the knowledge that he knows who shot him.\"\n\n\"Well, I do know.  Take these yer talking machines I year on.  What's\nthe good squeaking through a machine to a man, or maybe a girl, in the\nnex' street when you can't see the eyes of her, or the shape of her\nlips, or the expression, without which talking's no account.  Look here,\nsonny, you listen to what I tell you; these yer machines goin' to turn\nout people same as pins, all o' one pattern.\"\n\n\"You're a great talker yourself, Abe?\"\n\n\"I'm not talking when I ain't got nothin' to say.  When I seed the\nColonel of the 94th up by Pluto's Vale--`Who the blazes are you,' he\nsaid, `and where the devil you come from?'--I weren't saying much, but I\ntook a pull at his black bottle.  He were one of the ole sort were the\nColonel--grey an' peppery, an' stiff in the upper lip 's if his face bin\nfixed in a iron mask.  That's the sort of man he were.  `The Kaffirs is\nlaying a trap for you,' I said to him.  `They darn't do it,' he said.\n`Lay a trap for the 94th!  I never yeard o' sich blamed impertinence,'\nhe said, twisting his grey moustaches, an' glaring at me's if I'd\ninsulted him.  `All right,' I said, `if yure too proud to take advice,\ngo an' walk inter the trap like a blunderin' porkipine, an' you'll get\nstuck full o' assegais,' I said.  `You're too free with your tongue,' he\nsaid, gettin' red in the face; so I walked out, but bymby he came over\nto where I sot by the fire, an' he sot down 'longside o' me.  He talked\nan' I ate, but at last he up an' came to the point.  `Can you scout?' he\nsaid.  `Mejum,' says I.  `Oh,' he said, `I've got a mejum scout with me.\nWhat I want is a fust-class scout.'  Well, sonny, I jes' lit my pipe\nand took a puff.  He looked at me under his eyebrows.  `My scout tells\nme the Kaffirs have retreated,' he said.  `Soh!' says I, and went on\nsmoking.  `Yes,' says he, gettin' angry aller a sudden, `and you've been\ngiving me false news for the sake of getting a reward.'  Well, I jes'\npulled up my sleeve and showed him where I'd been stabbed.  `I beg your\npardon,' he said, and riz up to go back to his tent.  `Colonel,' says I,\nlaying hold of his sash, `if you want me to scout I'll scout, and you\ncan send a man along with me.'  `Leave to-morrer,' he said, `if you feel\nwell enough;' and he marched off jes' as stiff an' unconcerned 's if\nhe'd asked me to supper.  Soon after a young chap came up to my fire.\n`I've received orders to go on scout duty with you,' he said, eyeing me\nup an' down 's if I'd been some kur'ous kind o' inseck.  `When do we\nstart?' says I.  `Oh, furst thing in the morning, if you're awake.'\n`Oh!' says I, `so's the Kaffirs can see us?'  `There ain't no Kaffirs,'\nsays he; `'t any rate I ain't seen any.'  `I'm startin' at midnight,' I\nsays, and with that turned over to sleep.  Well, at midnight I woke up\nand prepared to leave, thinking that young fellow wouldn't be about.\nBut, blow me, there he were, sitting by the fire watching me.  `I'm\nready,' he said, standin' up.  `What for?'  `Why, to scout, of course'\n`Orright,' says I; `take off that sword then, and that white hat, and\nthat red coat.  You ain't anxious for the Kaffirs to see us furst, are\nyou?'  He jes' opened his mouth to cheek me; then he ran off, and bymby\nhe came back without them things, with a grey shirt and soft hat.  `Is\nthat right?' he said, fetching a grin.  I jes' nodded, an' off we\nstepped inter the dark of the night.  Slipping by the sentries without\ngivin' 'em good evenin', we marched along outer the side of the valley\nwhere the camp were pitched to where it narrowed into a poort, between\nbig krantzes, with a kloof running down on the left side.  By sunrise we\nwere on the divide between the poort and the nex' valley, jest about\nwhere the road led over the neck ahead of the troops.  We took cover and\nlooked around.  `There's a Kaffir,' said I, `over yonder on that rock\nabove the far krantz, watching the camp.'  The young chap fetched a\nlaugh.  `That Kaffir,' said he, `is a vidette, and there's a whole\nstring of 'em on the heights.  None of the enemy can get inter the poort\nwithout being seen.'  Well, this was up against me, an' I kep' quiet,\nlooking away down inter the next valley where the road track twisted\nalong the steep aside of the thick bush.  `That's the place for an\nambush,' said the young chap, `down in that ravine.  If there are any\nKaffirs about they will be there.  Let us go down.'  I jes' sot there\nwatchin', an' bymby he began to fidget; then he up an' tole me that if I\nwould not scout, he would.  `There's no Kaffirs in the far valley,' I\nsaid.  `I'm tired of you,' he said, in one o' them sort o' drawn tones\nthat always reminds me o' a sword glinting out o' the scabbard; `I came\nout to scout, not to lie in cover; you may stay here by yourself; I'm\ngoing inter the valley below.'  I nearly got angry, but then I thought\nwhat's the use, so I jest explained matters.  `There's no Kaffirs down\nthere,' says I, `but there is Kaffirs down here in the poort in that big\nkloof, an', what's more, them pickets o' yours will be assegaied before\nlong.  I'll tell you why.  See them birds flying over that kloof?\nThey've been startled, an', what's more, when they settled jest now they\nstarted off ag'in on a new flight, an', what's more, I seed a jackal an'\na ram slip away over the rise.  That's good enough for me, an' when it's\ndark I'll slip back to the camp to tell the Colonel.'  `Are you sure?'\nhe said, lookin' at me hard.  `Certain,' I said.  `Then,' said he, `we\nmust go back to the Colonel at once.'\n\n\"`You might start to go back,' I said, `but you'd never reach half way.\nWhere's the picket?'  I said.  He took a look at the krantz where we'd\nseen the figgur of a man, and he seed the poor beggar was gone.  `Yes,'\nI said, `he's been assegaied!'\n\n\"`My God!' he said, `can't we do anything to save the others?'\n\n\"`It's no go,' said I, pulling out my pipe.  `Haven't you got any\nheart?' he said, fiercely, then he began to move off.  Well, that\nwouldn't do, so I pulled him back.  `Keep still,' says I; `the pickets\nmust look after themselves; we've got to save the camp.'  Well, blow me,\nthat made him worse, and he struggled to get free, saying the 94th\ndidn't want to be saved from any Kaffirs, and all that--but I jes' hung\nonter him, an' while we were struggling in a holler behind a rock, up\nthere came the sound of a bugle.  `Hark!' he said, lettin' go his hold;\n`the regiment has struck camp--that's the order to advance.'  `The\nblamed fool,' I said, `he'll march straight inter the trap.'  `Soh,'\nsays he, then he made a bolt, saying as he ran, `I must warn them.'  I\nseed it were no use, an' I let him go.  By gosh! he jes' bounded down\nfrom rock to rock, without taking any cover, straight for the track that\nran down the poort past the kloof to the regiment.  At the same time I\nseed a black figure running down the slope from where the picket had\nbeen, then another an' another, all of 'em crouchin'.  Of course, there\nwere Kaffirs there, an' in course they seed him, an' they were runnin'\ndown to stop him.\"\n\n\"And what did you do?\"\n\n\"What did I do?  Well I jes' sat an' looked, an' bymby I edged away over\nthe randt away from the Kaffirs.  Then I sot off at a run round to get\nto the back of the krantze where the picket had been killed.\"\n\n\"You didn't know he had been killed.\"\n\n\"Well, according to all that was goin' on he oughter bin killed, and 't\nany rate I made round that way--but if you're going to talk to me like\nthat I'll jes' shut up.  I'm gwine to supper now.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY SIX.\n\nEND OF THE SCOUTING.\n\nThe next morning Abe was stamping mealies with a wooden pestle in a\nwooden mortar made from a tree trunk.  It was a piece of unusual labour\non his part, and I complimented him on his early industry.\n\n\"Industry be blowed--it's my teeth!  They're worn down, and not equal to\nchewing hard mealies.  You take pattern by me, sonny, and keep your\nteeth.  Lor' love yer, when I sees young boys and gals with half their\nteeth missin', I'm jest thinkin' that there's no ignorance like that of\nthe civilised man.  Take me, or take an ord'nary raw Kaffir turned\nsixty, and look at his mouth.  Teeth as white and soun' as a\nanimile's--'cos why?--'cos he ain't loadin' his inside with all sorts o'\nhots an' colds, an' sweets, and thingammies painted yeller an' red--an'\n'cos he polishes up his grinders with a bit o' wood and heaps o' water.\nToothache--man wasn't born to have toothache--o' course not; nor to have\nhis jawbone broken with steel pincers; but there, he ain't got sense to\nknow when he's well off, and so he starts undermining his teeth from the\nday he's old enough to chew toffee.\"\n\n\"I've known a Kaffir to have toothache.\"\n\n\"And I've known a Kaffir to drink off a bottle of Worcester sauce.  But\nwhy?  'Cos some blamed white man invented the sauce to help out his\nfinicking appetite, and if the Kaffir's fool enough to drink white man's\nmixtures, why there's an end to him.  When you start to civilise a\nKaffir you give him toothache, and fill him as full o' wickedness an'\nsickness as a white man.  That's so!\"\n\n\"I didn't know you were such an admirer of Kaffirs.\"\n\n\"Ghoisters!  You're like a ramrod; you can't see your way unless it's\nstraight.  I'm not in love with the black because his teeth is good.\"\n\nAbe scooped up the broken maize, and proceeded to make his morning pap,\nafter which he lit his pipe and was at peace.\n\n\"What was the end of your scouting, Abe?\"\n\n\"I ain't scouting.\"\n\n\"I mean at Pluto's Vale, when the young officer left you.\"\n\n\"Is that so!  Lemme see.  I left him running like a blind hoss at a\nprecipice, straight for the path by the kloof which I reckoned were full\no' Kaffirs, and with three chaps runnin' down to cut him off.  That\nweren't me.  No!  I jest skipped round back o' the krantz opposite the\nkloof, an' crawled up to where I'd seen the vidette.  It were as I\nthought Stone dead he were, with his face to the sky and his arms\nstretched out, assegaied through the back and then turned over by them\nas stabbed him--and who who was sneaking down the hill to do the same\nfor my partner.  I jest peeped over the rock--and far down the valley to\nthe lef I see the regiment on the march, with the waggons in the centre\nand the Colonel riding ahead's if he were going on parade.  Sonny, them\n_rooibaaitjes_ can fight, but they're foolish.  They're too stiff in the\nlip to ask questions, and too proud to learn.  That's so!  There were\nthe Colonel marching his men straight into the tightest kind o' fix\nwithout waiting for me to report the lay o' the land.  I looked down\nbelow, and there were that young chap booming along like a rock rolled\nfrom the top, leaping like a buck, an' jes' ahead o' him, in a turn in\nthe road, crouchin' behin' bushes, was them three red Kaffirs waitin' to\nstab him.  A hundred paces he had to cover afore he came up to the fust\nof 'em, and I seed in a flash he were a gone coon, unless somethin'\nhappened.  I tell you, sonny, I did some quick thinking while he were\nrunning them hundred paces.  S'pose I fired!  The report would jes' boom\nfrom side to side o' that valley and wake up every darned Kaffir in the\nkloof--s'posing Kaffirs was there.  The Kaffirs would be on the watch,\nthe Colonel would hear, an' rush up his men, leaving his waggons\nunprotected.  Then there'd be a awful kind of a mess--s'posing the\nKaffirs was in that kloof.  I thunked all that, and that young chap had\ngone half-way.  If I fired he couldn't a pulled up in time, so I jest\nfetched a yell in Kaffir.  From the bottom o' my throat I fetched up one\nof them deep Kaffir shouts.  `Look out!'  I yelled; `the soldiers--run!'\nThe words fell on them Kaffirs like the lash of a whip.  The three of\nthem jumped to their feet, run across the road, an' slipped inter the\nkloof.  The young chap seed 'em cross his track, and pulled up, then I'm\ndarned if he didn't keep on again.  Well, I give him another chance.  I\ncried to him in English to keep to his left, but he jes' lifted his hand\nand kep' on.  Nex' moment he were running along the fringe of the kloof\nwhere the dark wood came down to the road, and then he gave a lurch, and\nrolled over an' over, his gun flying from his hand.  I could hear the\ntinkle of the metal against the stones.  The roll carried him to a rock,\nand over that he went with a splash inter a pool o' water, and as he\nwent in a Kaffir darted from the kloof with his shield and assegai.  I\nknew then the kloof were full of Kaffirs, for none of the other three\ncarried a shield.  All this yer happened in a breath almost, and then I\nran along the krantz to where a corner of it stood out bold, an'\nstanding there I shouted to the regiment, which lay outstretched down\nbelow, the head of it no further than 300 paces from the beginning of\nthe kloof on that side.  The Colonel were riding ahead, then followed\nthe pioneers, with their axes and spades sheathed in shiny black\nleather, and on their chests big black beards, behind them a company of\nthe 94th with the bayonets glittering like running fire, back o' them\nthe band, and ahind them the waggons in the long line, and far behind, a\nfull mile from the Colonel, the balance of the regiment.  Sonny! in ten\nminutes the hull biling of 'em would 'a been in the narrer of the valley\nwithout room to turn, and they'd a bin assegaied to a man, I tell you!\nBut Abe Pike were there; and I tell you he gave a shout that went\nekering down that valley from side to side.  `Halt!'  I said.  The\nColonel he pulled up.  I seed him shade his eyes with his hand as he\ntook a look, and I seed some of the soldiers point up at me.  The\nColonel he shook his reins, and rode on.  `Halt!'  I said; but he jes'\nkep' on, calm as possible.  `You blamed fool,' I shouted; `stop!\nThere's Kaffirs ahead.'  He pulled up, and turned in his saddle.\n`Ninety-fourth,' he said--and his voice came up clear--`halt!'  All\nalong that mile o' men and oxen the order ran down, and the moving\ncolumn came to a stand.  `Number 1 company,' he said, `leading files\nfrom your left, two paces to the right.  Rear ranks, two paces to your\nfront.'  The leading company jest stretched out like a concertina,\nacross the road.  `Prepare to fire,' he said, and down came that shining\nstretch o' bayonets to the level.  Then I'm darned if the Colonel didn't\nwalk his horse round the turn in the road till he came to the kloof, and\nseed the track wind up through the narrer poort up to the ridge beyond,\nwith me on his right far above him.  He seed nothin', of course; 'cos\nwhy, he couldn't see through the dark o' the woods on his left; but\nthere was hundreds of black eyes glaring at him through the leaves.  He\nlooked up at me, as if to say, `Where are the Kaffirs?'  `They're in the\nbush,' I shouted; then I slid down the krantz by a monkey tow, and after\nmaking my way through the tumbled mass of boulders and thorn scrub at\nthe base, started to run down, when I yeard the beat of the drum, and\nthe next minute seed the pioneers come round the bend, then the first\ncompany, and nex' the band, with the Colonel 'twixt the pioneers and the\ncompany.  The old fire-eater were determined to get inter the trap after\nall, and when I reached him he were half-way by the kloof.  `For God's\nsake,' I said, putting my hand on the bridle, `stop the waggons, and get\nyour men outer this.  Turn back!'  I said.  He were jest going to rap me\nover the head for mutinous conduct, or some sich nonsense, when the\nKaffir yell rang out.  They couldn't wait any longer.  Whew!  My gum,\nsonny! talk o' yellin' an' cussin' an' gruntin'.  Them red Kaffirs were\ninto us.  They jumped this way, and that, their eyes rollin' in their\nheads, their assegais whizzing and kerries flying, with a noise like a\nflight o' partridges.  Then the rifles snapped out, and the big drum\nboomed onct.  Only onct.  Then I seed the drummer throw up his sticks\nan' roll over, drum up, man up, turn an' turn.  I didn't know which way\nto turn at first; then I seed a Kaffir raising his kerrie to smash the\nColonel, who were lying on the ground, and I shot him.  I helped the\nColonel up, and he roared out `Bayonets.'  The soldiers were too mixed\nup to use their bayonets.  I seed five of them--one after another--\nassegaied.  The Kaffirs, they jes' grabbed the poor Johnny by the belt,\npulled him outer the thick of the jam, and then assegaied him.  I seed\nhow things would go if the soldiers couldn't get ground to fight, so I\njumped for the drum, and, cutting it free from the poor drummer chap, I\nbanged on it and marched across the stream to the far slope.  Some of\nthe fellers seed me and follered.  `Steady,' says I, `take your man--\nfire.'  Well, they did jes' so, and I banged the drum.  The ole Colonel\nhe got the pioneers with him--there was eight of them--and, my gum!--\nthey jest swished their way through the Kaffirs with their axes.  Then\nup come some more men, follering the drum, and we peppered the Kaffirs\ntill they were obliged to get back inter the wood.  Then the Colonel he\nlooked for the wounded.  There were nary one, but seventeen men lay\ndead.  `There's one here,' says I, and led the place to where the young\nofficer had tumbled in the water.  There he were among the rushes,\nbleeding to death from an assegai wound, and one of them pioneers, his\narms all bloody, lifted the young chap up and carried him to the\nwaggons.  I guessed it were time to go before them Kaffirs got up\nsteam--so I banged the ole drum and marched back.  `Where you going?'\nsays the Colonel.  `Back to the camp,' I says.  `That ain't the way,' he\nsays; `we camp over the ridge to-night,' pointing the other way.  `The\nKaffirs will never let the waggons through,' I said.  `The Kaffirs is\nbeaten,' he says; and just then a young Kaffir leapt outer the bush and\nrammed his assegai into the big drum.  `I have done it,' he cried and I\nseed it were Sandili hisself.  I tole you how Sandili he said he would\nbust the drum, and by gosh! he bust it.  He was back inter the wood in a\nwink, and then he shouted how he had killed the white man's war-god, and\nfrom all parts of the kloof the Kaffirs they began shouting.  You could\nhear 'em comin'.  The Colonel he looked round and said `Retire!'  So he\nhad to turn back after all.  He shelled the kloof all that afternoon;\nand the Kaffirs they just moved on.\"\n\n\"And what did the Colonel say to you?\"\n\n\"He said he'd half a mind to tie me up for givin' orders to the\nregiment, and he went on most horrible; then when he cooled down he give\nme a huntin' knife, with five blades and a corkscrew, and said he would\nmention me in despatches.  I dunno whether he did; 't any rate I never\nwere called to account again, so I guess he were only skeering me.\nWell, so long!\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.\n\nABE AND THE TIGER TRAP.\n\nI had got a new tiger trap, and was displaying its beauties to some\nmembers of our Cat Club--not that this was the official name, which in\nfull dress proclaimed itself as the Round Hill Society for the\nDestruction of Vermin.  The mouth of the trap had a span of fifteen\ninches, and the steel spring almost required the weight of a\ntwelve-stone man to flatten it down to the catch.  There was a stout\nchain to the shank end, which could be secured to a log, and the iron\nlips had no teeth.\n\n\"There's a power of grip in the toothless gums of that 'ere grinning\nmouth,\" said old Abe Pike, who was President of the Club, by virtue of\nwhich office it was his right to point out the spots for the setting of\ntraps.  \"I don't hole with teeth nohow.\"\n\n\"Quite so,\" remarked Amos Topper, sourly; \"your tongue's long enough to\nget a clinch round anything.  What I say is, give me a trap with teeth a\ninch long that will drive through a tiger's shin-bone.\"\n\n\"Yes; and maybe cut the foot of him right off, and leave ole\ndot-and-carry-three to go limpin' away growlin' vengeance.  You ain't\ngot no exper'ence, Amos; and talking about tongues, if you shut your\nteeth down tight you might pass for a wise man.\"\n\nAmos opened his mouth wide for a retort, but nothing came out but a\ncloud of smoke and a grunt.\n\n\"I shot a trapped tiger once,\" said Long Jim, \"that was caught only by\nhis toe.  Yes, sir, by his toe! and the danged crittur jes' lay there\nand took the bullet 'thout even standing up.  He jes' hissed like a room\nfull o' kettles.\"\n\n\"Ever been caught in a trap?\" asked Abe quietly.\n\n\"I ain't had any occasion to,\" said Jim severely.\n\n\"Well, I have!\"\n\n\"Gwine after anybody's pumpkins?\" asked Amos, thinking this was a good\nopportunity to work in his belated retort.\n\n\"Some folk's talk,\" said Abe slowly, \"is like burrs--never wanted and\nallus spoilin' good material, with this difference on the side of the\nburr-weed--that you can root up the weed when you find it.\"\n\n\"It would take a better man than you to dig me up,\" said Amos, shaking\nhimself.\n\n\"We ain't discussin' weeds,\" said Abe, looking his lanky opponent up and\ndown; \"we're discussin' the points o' traps--especially teeth.  I bin\ncaught, an' that's why I'm sot against teeth.\"\n\n\"When did it happen, Abe?\"\n\n\"Well, I'll tell you.  You know ole Hill's garden, which held more\ndifferent kinds o' fruit-trees than I have seed in the whole country.\nThere were a thick quince hedge down one side, and the wild pigs had\nmade a path through it big enough to let a stoopin' man through.  Well,\nI were going short cut to the house one night, and I remembered this yer\npig-track.\"\n\n\"You always had a weakness for fruit, Abe!\" remarked Amos.\n\n\"I remembered this yer track, and, follering the hedge down, I felt\nwhere the path had been worn, and, parting the quince _luikeys_ with my\nhand, made a stoop forrard.  My gum!--there were a click, and a yell\nwhich I ripped out, and nex' thing I knowed somethin' got me sore fast\nby the right leg in the thin of the ankle.  It were a tiger trap--that's\nwhat, and sot with teeth.  Lor' love yer!  I can feel the pain of it in\nmy leg now when I think of it, though it were over twenty-seven year\nago.  One iron fang scramped my shin-bone, and the back one druv clean\nthrough the flesh, while the sides of the mouth pressed in so that the\nblood were stopped, and the foot seemed to belong to someone else.  I\ntell you all the blood in my body jes' run down to the tight place to\nfind out what the trouble was, and came rushing back with the news up to\nmy head with a touch of fire all along.  Then that held-fast leg began\nto throb and throb, and a hundred thousand little hammers began\na-hammering all up my backbone, while cold spasms went quivering through\nme and outer the top of my head.  I jes' let go yell on yell, until a\nfaintness came over me, and the sound leg which had been all on a\ntremble gave way, and I sot down.  The wrench were terrible, and I jes'\ngrit my teeth, and held on till the weakness went off, when I shifted\nthe trap a bit.\"\n\n\"Why didn't you ease the spring?\"\n\n\"Why don't a bird fly when its wing's broken?  Ease the spring!  Jes'\nyou put your foot in this yer trap, and see if you can get the spring\ndown with thirty pound o' iron at the end of your foot and your muscles\nall turned to water--to liquid fire--with the pain of the hold.  All I\ncould do was to rub my knee and yell and bite at the quince leaves, and\ndig my fingers inter the flesh.  After a time I found my voice ain't got\nno carrying power; it came out in a hoarse whisper, and I seed if the\npeople at the house hadn't yeard my first call they wouldn't catch any\ncry for help I could give now; so I jes' groaned for comfort, same's if\nI were a trapped tiger growling through the night.  My head were tossing\nabout from side to side like the pendulum of a clock, and one of these\nside swings I noticed the glare of something bright close by.  I jes'\nnoticed it as if 'twere something of no account; for, if all the stars\nin heaven had taken to swinging at the ends of golden threads it\nwouldn't have mattered to me as much as the flame of a tallow candle\nsputtering in a horn lantern.  Well, each time I swung my head I seed\nthese yer bright spots without seeing them--if you know what I mean?--\nwhen I were held still for a moment by a sound.  I looked, and I saw\nthen that they were eyes staring at me, which blinked as I stared, and\nturned away, then sought my face ag'in, and, narrering to a thin green\nslit, so looked at me.  What do ye think it were?\"\n\n\"A pig, of course, waiting for you to move,\" said Topper.\n\n\"You can tell a pig by his grunt,\" said Abe, pointedly.  \"Who ever seed\na pig with green eyes flaming through half-closed lids?  It were a\ntiger,\" and Abe took his pipe out and impressively spat at a\nblack-beetle that was fussily moving on a ball of earth with its\nhindlegs.\n\n\"A tiger?\"\n\n\"Yes, sirrees!  It were that--sitting down on his hams like a big dog\nwithin two yards of me.  No, I were not skeered, for the burning pain in\nmy head and the throbbing in my shin-bone didn't give room for fear of\nthat kind--and the tiger, he seemed to know what were up, for after a\nwhile he stretched himself out on his stummick, and yawned till I could\nsee the gleam of his teeth.  Well, I went on groanin' and tossin' my\nhead, and rubbin' my knee-cap, and chewin' up the quince leaves, every\nnow and then taking a look at the big crittur lying stretched in the\ndark with his eyes opening and shutting like's if you moved the slide\nover a bull's-eye lantern when he rolled over on his back and reached\nout a claw for me, like a kitten playing with a leaf.  He hooked a claw\ninter the trousers of my well leg, and the jerk on it gave him a\n_schreik_, for he let out a growl and jumped away, looking back at me\nover his shoulder.  Then he slunk away, but bymby when I looked ag'in he\nwere standing up against the fence with his nose jes' peeping round, and\nhis near eye squintin' at me through a hole in the leaves.  That give me\na queer feeling--for the beggar'd come up so sly, and I lit out a yell\nthis time which stuck in my throat.  The pain made me feel faint inside,\nan' I jes' closed my eyes.  Soon's the tiger saw I wern't looking he\njes' poked his nose up ag'in the trap, and I yeard him licking the iron\nwhere the blood had run.  Then I felt on my sound leg the pressure of\nhis body, and yeard the snarly purr of him.  Then he began licking at my\ntrousers where the trap held fast, and I opened my eyes.  The weight of\nhis body held my leg down, and one of his paws were right into my\nweskit; and, blow me, if he didn't begin shovin' it inter my body, and\nopening and shutting his claws like a pleased cat, while the jar of his\npurring ran up through my bones, and his big tongue were rasping at my\ntrousers.  A sort o' stupor, don't-care-what-he-does feeling come over\nme, and with it the burning in the pain left my brain, and the hammering\nat my bones dropped away inter jes' a sort of tired feeling.  Nex'\nminute I felt his tongue on my flesh--for he'd worn a hole right through\nthem cord tweeds I were wearin'.  At the taste of the blood then he\npurred louder than ever, and shuved his paw quicker and harder into my\nstummick, until I gasped for breath.  Then he drew fresh blood, and his\npurr went inter a savage growl, while, the weight of his body lightened\non my leg.  I tell you, that growl brought back my luv for life in a\nmoment.  I saw that crittur would in his eagerness take a bite at my\nleg--then the game would be up.  What d'ye think I did?\"\n\n\"Began to jaw,\" said Topper; \"and he bolted with his tail down.\"\n\n\"Jobbed him with a knife back of the head,\" suggested Long Jim.\n\n\"No; what I did was a cirkimstance which only one man would think of,\nand that's ole Abe Pike.  I jes' took out my ole pipe, wriggled a length\nof straw down the stem till it were black with nicotine, then laid it\nacross his tongue.  My!  You should 'a seen him.  He shook his head,\ntried to wipe his tongue with his paws, then give a roar, and make\nlightning tracks for the nearest water.  His growl set the dogs going\ntremenjus, then I yeard ole man Hill whistlin' 'em, and I fetched a yell\nthat brung him up at the double.  By gum!  In being saved I were nearly\nkilled!\"\n\n\"How was that?\"\n\n\"Why, them dogs took me for the tiger, and they tore the coat offin me,\nbeside some skin, 'fore ole Bill see who were in the trap and took me\nout.  That's why I say I'm dead sot against traps with teeth.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.\n\nABE AND THE EAGLES.\n\nI had not seen old Abe Pike for some weeks, having been on rinderpest\nguard on the Orange River, but on my return to the coast I rode over to\nGum Tree Farm, where the lone blue-gum threw its pillar of cloud, in the\nblazing afternoon, across the doorway.  Uncle Abe was lounging, as\nusual, by the doorway, looking listlessly at the sea.\n\n\"Well, oud baas!  How goes it?\"\n\n\"Is there no more cattle to kill?\" he said, straightening his back and\npropping himself against the wall.  \"Think you'd be ashamed to look a\nbeefsteak in the face after the way you been shooting them pore\nanimiles!\"\n\n\"The plague must be stamped out, Abe.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes!  I yeard that story before!  It's a good way to save a\ncrittur's life by shooting him!  What beats me is why you don't up and\nshoot all children sick with tyfust and grown people ailing with\ninfluenza!  My gum!  I'm ashamed of you!\"\n\n\"Well, so long!\"\n\n\"You ain't goin'?\"\n\n\"I think so; the work of shooting cattle is not pleasant, but it is less\npleasant to be reminded of it.\"\n\n\"Oh, go along!  Put your horse in the shed and come right in.  The place\nain't been the same since you've been away, sonny; 'sides, there's been\nno one along for weeks, and I'm jes' bu'sting with talk.  You wouldn't\nlike to see old Abe die of untold yarns.\"\n\nSo I off-saddled and knee-haltered the horse, for there was no oat-hay\nin the shed for him, and he had to get what picking he could from the\nold lands, yellow with charlock.\n\nAbe made up the fire, and put on the kettle to boil, while from the\nlarder he produced a slab of pork and a half-loaf--very black on the\noutside and very soft within.\n\n\"The last batch of baking,\" he said, \"was not up to the mark.  The yeast\ngave out, and I were obliged to get a rise out of a handful of rub-rub\nberries.  As for the pork, that came from a pig that was catched.\"\n\n\"What sort of pig?\"\n\n\"Well, sonny, it was this way.  You know the eagles' nest on the old\nyellow-wood in the big kloof?  I got the pig out of there.\"\n\n\"Oh, you did, did you?  As far as I remember, the tree is a hundred feet\nhigh, and the nest quite sixty feet up.  The pig climbed up, I presume?\"\n\n\"You presoom morn's good for you, sonny.  Don't suppose 'cos you bin to\nthe Orange River you know everything.  The pig didn't climb up; he jes'\ndropped in on passin'; paid a sort of flying visit.  That nest's as big\nas a cart wheel, and if you stand below and look up the trunk it shuts\nout the sky, while down below there's bones enough, and of sorts, to\nbuild up the skelingtons of a entire museum.  That pair of eagles used\nthat nest going on for fifteen years, and each year when the young hatch\nout they kill off more dassies and cats and blue-boks than you could eat\nin a year.\"\n\n\"You are welcome to the cats, Abe.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.  Them eagles have buried, I reckon, as many as two thousand\nanimiles in that leaf-mould cemingtary below the big tree.  Well!  Grub\nbeing skerce, I had a fancy to bury them young squabs of eagles, by way\nof satisfying my own yearning for food, and giving the ole hook-beaked\npirates a hint that they hadn't the sole right over the earth and air.\nSonny, that's a big tree, and it took me a fortnight to climb up.\"\n\n\"That was quick!\"\n\n\"I've seen quicker climbin', but taking the size of the tree and the\nheight of it--maybe, five hundred feet!\"\n\n\"I thought the height to the nest was about sixty feet?\"\n\n\"Have you clomb that tree?\"\n\n\"No, Abe.\"\n\n\"Well, I have; and if it's not a mile high, it's high enuf when you're\nup aloft, with nothing to keep you from adding your bones to the pile\nbelow but an iron spike no bigger'n a nail.  I camped out one day at the\nbottom of the tree, and it was mighty lonesome, when the wind came\nwhisperin' round the trees, and dark shadows peeped from behin' the\nrocks, while up above the she-eagle would hiss at her mate.  For about\ntwo days they took no heed of me, but the fifth day, when I was\nsprawling half-way up, with a looped _rheim_ round the tree, the ole\nshe-bird took a squint at me over the nest, and flopped down to the\nlowest bough, where she watched me under her brows drive in a three-inch\nnail.  Two inches I druv it in, and when I lowered myself for another,\nshe jes' dropped down, clawing to the tree with her long hooked toes,\nand yanked that nail out.\"\n\n\"Abe Pike!\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; she jes' grabbed hole of it, give it a wrench, and out it\ncome.  Then she fetched a yell loud enough almost to split the tree, and\nwent off.  Nex' mornin', believe me, there was that nail, and five\nothers, outside the door!  Them eagles had fetched them up to give\nnotice it was no good.  They're mighty strong in the beak, is eagles,\"\nsaid Abe, pouring out the coffee.\n\n\"But truth is stronger, eh?\"\n\n\"That's so, sonny; you take hole o' that, and it'll do you a heap of\ngood.  That day I druv in them nails deeper, and they held good, by\nreason that the ole she-bird had got lockjaw, and sot up there nursin'\nher beak, with her red eyes glowing like coals.  About the fifth day I\nwere near up, when the ole man dropped a coney's head, and by luck it\ntook me over the head.  Well, you'd hardly believe me when I tell you,\nthat no sooner the ole girl seen this than she gave a hiss, and began\nscraping out of the nest all the rubbish, bones, and skin, and feathers,\nand sich.  Whew!  I tell you I had to scuttle and leave off.  Well, next\nday she were looking out for me, and soon's I got up dropped a\nfull-grown blue-bok--ker-blung--and if I had not been prepared, would\nha' sent me tumbling.  I climbed down, an' roasted that there bit of\nvenison while the two of them watched.  Of course, after that meal I\nwent home, and next mornin', when I opened the door, blow me! if there\nweren't a rock rabbit, fat as butter, jes' outside.  I ate him and\nstopped at home.  Next mornin' there was a brace of partridges, so I ate\n'em, and stayed quiet.  Next morning a big hare, an' I ate him and\nstayed at home.  So on till the eleventh mornin', when there was only a\nblack cat, with the musk of him smellin' most awful.  Of course, I\nwasn't eating any such vermin, but I thought the eagles meant well, and\nI wasn't blaming them.  I buried that crittur two feet deep, and went\nhungry to bed.  Next mornin' I was outer the door before I was awake,\nexpecting to fin' a plump lamb, or maybe a kid or a turkey, but there\nwas nothing, sir, but the smell of that stink eat hanging around most\ndreadful.  Sonny, the feelings of them two eagles had been hurt.  They\ntook it as a slight that I hadn't eaten that skunk, so I sot off to the\nkloof to explain matters.  When I got there the ole he was sailing above\nthe tree, with his claws tucked up, and his head on one side.  When he\nseed me he jes' fetched a screech like a railway engine divin' into a\ntunnel, and then he settled on the tree, where, bymby, he were joined by\nthe ole she.  They jest sot there and looked, making no sign to drop\nanything, so I begun to climb; but they took no notice, and bymby I come\nto the end of the nails, and the nearest bough was six feet away.  I had\nto give it up that day, leaving them two birds all ruffled up and mighty\ncold and standoffish.  It was hard next mornin' to find nothing outside\nthe door, and I seed there was nothing left but to finish the job, and\ncatch them young squabs.  I went off to the kloof, bitter against the\ningratitood of them stingy birds, which were ready to let a human bein'\nstarve when they had a larder jes' stuffed with hares and things--and my\nhares, too!  Them birds was waiting for me--throwing their beaks back\nand screaming like mad, while the squabs in the nest squealed till my\nhead split.  They had sense enuf to see I were angry, and they sot up\nthat racket to starve me off; but a hungry man don't stop to listen to\nspeeches when his dinner is callin' out loud for him, so I went up with\nmy mouth full of nails.  Very soon I were over the bough, and the\nscreeching and squealing were terrible to listen to.\"\n\n\"Didn't the eagles attack you?\"\n\n\"No, sonny!  They were jest helpless with laughing!\"\n\n\"Laughing?\"\n\n\"When I threw my leg over the bough, I got the hammer ready to strike,\nbut I seed them shakin' all over, till some of the wing feathers dropped\nout, and tears were running down their beaks and droppin' off the sharp\npoint of the hook.  It was not fear--you never seed a eagle afraid--he\ncouldn't be if he tried--an' I seed at once they were laughin' fit to\ndie.  I sot there in a tremble at the unnatural circumstance, and then\nbegan to climb till I could look into the nest.  Sonny, d'you know what\nthey were laughing at.\"\n\n\"The pig in the nest.\"\n\n\"Who told you?\"\n\n\"Oh, I just guessed.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm blessed!  Ghoisters!  You never seed a pig in a nest up a\ntree seven hundred feet high?\"\n\n\"Not that I remember, Abe.\"\n\n\"Gum!  Yes, sir; there were a pig in that nest.  Them birds, sonny, had\nkept me off till their squabs could fly, and then they played that joke\non me.  I chucked the pig out, and when I got down he were as dead as\nbacon.  Come to think of it, sonny, it were a kind thought of them\neagles to put it up there, and it makes me smile every time to think of\nthe way them birds laughed till they shook their feathers out.\"\n\nThe old man fixed his abstracted gaze on a cloud of tobacco smoke.\n\n\"I hope to train 'em next year,\" he said, \"to keep me in venison and\nlard.  Going?  Well, so long!\"\n\n\"So long, Abe!\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER TWENTY NINE.\n\nABE'S BILLY GOAT.\n\nOur Poison Club was in a flourishing condition.  During the past year\nthe members had killed off 1,500 red cats, wild dogs, jackals, seven\nleopards, and 500 baboons.  This represented a good round sum--each tail\nbeing equivalent to a five-shilling demand on the exchequer of the\ncountry--and the chairman had called a meeting to distribute the awards.\n\n\"I have pleasure in announcing, gentlemen,\" he said, \"that Mr Si Amos\nis the champion poisoner--having placed to his credit 300 cat tails,\nseventy-five jackal tails, fifty-four baboon tails, and one leopard\ntail.  In addition to the dues which are rightly his, he is entitled to\nthe silver medal presented by the club.\"\n\n\"Well done, Si!  Step up!\"\n\nSilas pulled his lank figure together, hitched up his trousers, wiped\nhis mouth with his sleeve, and lumbered up the narrow passage.\n\n\"Give him pizen!\" said someone in a loud voice, whereat there were cries\nof \"Shame!\"\n\nSilas paused, balanced himself uncertainly on one leg, and searched the\naudience.\n\n\"It's that Abe,\" he said.  \"What he says don't amount to nothin'.\"\n\n\"Mr Pike,\" expostulated the chairman; \"I'm astonished at you.\"\n\n\"Look here, Jim Hockey,\" said Abe, rising up from a back seat, and\npointing his pipe-stem at the chairman; \"I don't keer if you give that\n_thing_ there a whole string o' silver buttons--and Lord knows he wants\n'em, to keep himself from falling to pieces--but I tell you, you're\nopsettin' the laws of nature goin' about killing the animiles off the\nface of the yearth.  It's not the mean, sneaking way you've got inter of\ndropping pizen pills all over the place that riles me so much as the\nkillin' of 'em off by the thousan' without takin' any thought of what's\ncoming.  Take baboons--\"\n\n\"Are we here, Mr Chairman, to listen to a speech from Mr Pike, or are\nwe not?\" asked one member, who was credited with having opened a market\nin jackals' tails.\n\n\"Take baboons,\" said Abe, pointing his pipe-stem insultingly at his\ninterrupter.  \"I allow they're mean, I allow they eat your mealies,\nsteal your fruit, kill a sheep or two, and frighten your wives; but if\nit warn't for the baboons there'd be a scorpion under every stone and a\ncentipede in every ole stump.  The baboons eat them vermin.  Take cats--\nif it warn't for cats the lands would be swarmin' with mice.  If it\nwarn't for the jackals there'd be a hare in every grass clump.\"\n\n\"If it warn't for Abe Pike,\" said Silas, with a look of disgust,\n\"there'd be a durn sight less jaw.\"\n\n\"Hear, hear!\"\n\n\"Year away,\" said Abe, \"and listen to this.  When you're done killin'\nall these critturs, the scorpions, an' the centipedes, an' the rats, an'\nthe snakes, an' the spiders'll swarm all over you.  What yer got ter do\nis to set Nature ag'in Nature.  The wild buck can look after hisself;\nteach the tame goat and the sheep to do the same.\"\n\n\"The laws of Nature, Abe, have covered your lands with weeds.\"\n\n\"Yes; and reduced his mangy live stock to one goat,\" added Si.\n\n\"Laugh! yer yeller-eyed, big-footed, long-legged, two-headed,\nfreckled-faced duffers--laugh!--but I bet you that ole goat'll knock the\nstuffin' out of your club, and purtect hisself ag'in any wild crittur,\nfrom a stink-cat to a tiger.\"\n\n\"You're jawing,\" said Si; \"otherwise I'd hold you to your bounce.\"\n\nAbe took from his pocket a skin purse, tightly bound with a long thong,\nunwound this, emptied out into his yellow hand, which shook with\nexcitement, two bright sovereigns.\n\n\"That ain't any wild cat tail money,\" he said; \"it's the saving of sixty\nyears' hard work--and I stake that.\"\n\n\"What's the wager?\" asked the chairman.\n\n\"That my ole goat proves to this yer club that Nature provides a way\noutside of pizening by holding his own ag'inst anything on two feet or\nfour feet, 'cept a elephant or a steam roller.\"\n\n\"The club takes the bet,\" said the chairman, in a solemn voice and a\nwinking eye.\n\n\"Well; jes' take keer o' that money until your nex' meeting, when I'll\nturn up with the ole Kapater.  So long!\"\n\n\"You'll lose that money, Abe,\" I said following him as he slouched away.\n\n\"It's a heap of money,\" he said; \"a glittering pile that I been saving\nup for my ole age.\"\n\n\"Call the bet off, Abe.\"\n\n\"You think the ole man's a blasteratious ijiot, sonny?  Well, well!\nmaybe.  Let him stand at that till nex' meeting.\"\n\nIn three months the meeting was called, and due notice served on Mr Abe\nPike and his goat.  It was a full house that met in the drowsy afternoon\nin the big shed on Mr Hockey's farm, and the discussion turned at once\non the disposal of Abe's money--the general opinion being that it should\nbe given back.\n\n\"I object,\" said Si Amos, who had brought with him a huge and hideous\nhalf-breed between a boar-hound and a mongrel.  \"That ole man's been\nthrowing slurs on this club, and it's my opinion he ought to pay for it.\nAnyhow, I'll `psa' my dog on to his goat.\"\n\nLast of all, Abe Pike himself entered the shed, wearing an expression of\nprofound despondency.\n\n\"Anyone got a pipe of tobacco?\" he said, looking around gloomily.\n\nThere was no tobacco hospitably forthcoming, everyone being too\ndisgusted at the thought that all the fun was off.\n\nAbe leant wearily against the wall.  \"Time was,\" he said, \"when a man\nwould hand you his tobacco bag as he said `Good-morning.'  There's a\nnatural meanness in pizening animiles, and it's jes' oozing out of yer.\"\n\n\"Where's your goat, you old humbug?\"\n\n\"Gentlemen, I'm very sorry, but that goat's woke up with a most awful\ntemper, and I jes' drop in t' ask you _voetsack_ all the dogs outer the\nplace 'fore I bring him in.\"\n\n\"Yah!\" said Si Amos; \"I knew he'd back down.  It was part of the bet\nthat dogs was to be brought.\"\n\n\"That's so,\" said Mr Hockey.\n\n\"You won't turn out your dogs?\"\n\n\"No sir!  But this yer dog'll eat your goat, and I give you fair\nwarning!\" said Si, stirring the big mongrel with his toe.\n\nAbe looked round, gave me a wink, and went out.\n\nWhen he reappeared he was leading one of the biggest goats--a great blue\n\"Kapater,\" with a long beard, massive horns, and a boss of leather and\nbrass over his forehead.\n\n\"Well I'm jiggered!\" said one member, getting behind the table.\n\nSomeone--I don't know who the rash individual was--said \"psa,\" and the\nbig mongrel stood up, showing his teeth and growling in his throat.\n\nAbe smiled sadly, let go his hold of the goat, pinched his ear, and then\nthe great rout of the Poison Club began.  The goat walked briskly up to\nthe dog, reared up, brought his head down, and sent the mongrel smash\nunder the table, where he remained whimpering; then in a brace, at a\nwhistle from his master, the unnatural billy cleared the shed with the\neffectiveness of a battering ram.  At the outset the strong man of the\ncountry tried to seize him by the horns, but he evaded the grasp and\nshot his massive enemy over a form; and when the others fled, he butted\nthem from behind so that each man flew out headlong, helping to swell\nthe struggling pile at the doorway.  After this feat he amused himself\nby reducing the table and chairs to splinters, then he came to the door\nand stood scratching his ear with his left hind foot, while chewing the\nremains of the minute book.\n\n\"Fetch me a gun,\" yelled Si Amos, with his hand pressed to his\nwaistcoat.\n\n\"What will you take for that thunderstorm, Abe?\" asked Mr Hockey,\ntenderly feeling his elbow.\n\n\"You don't want to buy him so's you can shoot him?\"\n\n\"No; I want him as a watch dog.\"\n\n\"Well, seeing's how it's you, you can have him for a pair of blankets\nand a bag of meal.\"\n\n\"It's a swap, Abe.  What do you call him?\"\n\n\"I calls him `Peaceful William.'  I s'pose the club admits it's lost the\nbet; 'cos, if not, William will purceed to further business.\"\n\n\"The bet's yours, Abe.  Take the money, for Heaven's sake!\"\n\n\"All right, then; I'll kraal the goat for you.\"\n\nThe goat was penned up, and Abe loaded his meal on to his horse and went\noff.\n\nThe club watched the old man out of sight, each member absently rubbing\nhimself, and all of them remarkably silent.\n\n\"Oh!--'ell,\" said someone, in a tone of unmistakable dismay.\n\nWe all, as one man, faced round to the kraal, and then we simultaneously\nskurried up to the barn roof.  From this position of safety we saw\nPeaceful William, in a shower of dust, carefully demolish the walls of\nthe pen and the poles that supported the thatched roof, and we fearfully\ngazed down upon him as he walked steadily round and round the barn,\nstopping at intervals to rear against the wall, to eye us threateningly.\nI don't know when he left, but he was not there next morning, when, at\nthe break of day, Abe's voice greeted us.\n\n\"I thought I'd tell you Peaceful Billy is at my place; and he's there\nwhen you care to fetch him.  Fine sunrise, ain't it?  Nice place to see\nit from.  Nature's better than pizen if you take her early.\"\n\nThere was a strange gurgling sound of suppressed laughter.\n\n\"I say!\"  It was Abe again.\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Goat fat 's mighty good for bruises!  So long!\"\n\n\"Darn you and your goat!\" growled the chairman.  \"Boys, I vote we\ndescend to business.\"\n\nWe descended, and while we ate our breakfast the women of the house\ngiggled till they almost choked.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY.\n\nA KAFFIR'S PLAY.\n\nThe red Kaffir is a man with a good deal of character, which he does his\nbest to destroy.  The pure kraal Kaffir, who lounges negligently in his\nred blanket or squats on his loins by the fire at night, telling\ninterminable stories about nothing in particular, has many points which\nmark him from the \"town boy\"--the spoiled child of civilisation, who\ntreads tenderly in his hard \"Blucher\" boots, and covers his corduroy\ntrousers with bright patches of other material; who has to support his\nweary frame against every pillar and post and corner he comes across,\nand who is generally shiftless, saucy, and squalid.\n\nThe kraal Kaffir is lean, long, and tough, dignified in his movements,\ncourteous to his friends, given over to long spells of silence broken by\nfits of noisy eloquence, his sullen, solemn face seldom lit up by a\nsmile, and his black smoke-stained eyes smouldering always with an\nunquenchable fire, that flames out when he meets a Fingo on the highway,\nor when the fire-water runs through his veins at the beer-drinking.\n\nThe red Kaffir is a warrior.  He is also a lawyer.  I am not certain\nwhether he most prefers to settle a dispute by argument or by the\nkerrie, but I think his idea of greatest happiness would be a long\ndisputation extending over a week, to be rounded off with the clashing\nof kerries.  Some people, who have seen the wide smile on the face of a\nWest Coast negro, accept that all-pervading grin as the main feature of\nthe entire black race, and argue from it that all blacks are\ngood-tempered children, prone to every impulse.  That is not true of the\nKaffir.  He is of the Bantu stock, which includes the Zulu and the\nBasuto, whose chief sentiment is stern pride of race, whose ruling\nexpression is one of sullen reserve, and whose national impulse is to\nfight.  They were cradled somewhere in the valley of the Nile, the hot\nnursery of fierce races; their remote ancestors swept South, destroying\nas they went, and the southernest fringe are Amaxosa of the Cape\nfrontier, the men who have waged five separate wars with the red-coats\nof England and the sure-shooting border settlers.  Pringle has, in these\nlines, given a vivid picture of the Kaffir:\n\n  \"Lo! where the fierce Kaffir\n  Crouches by the kloof's dark side,\n  Watching the settlers' flocks afar--\n  Impatient waiting till the evening star\n  Guides him to his prey.\"\n\nUnder the fierce ordeal of war the Kaffir thrived.  His limbs were free\nand straight, his step springy, his eyes far-seeing, his nostrils could\nsniff the taint in the air, his deep melodious voice could boom the\nwar-cry or the message across the wide valleys.  As a man of peace he\nlooks squalid in his broken clothes; he moves stiffly in his boots; he\nsings hymns in a queer, high note, with great melancholy but little\nmeaning; goes reeling home from dirty canteens, and is a hopelessly\ncasual labourer.  He is the victim of civilisation, of strange laws, and\nin the confusion of many counsellors his only hope is the goal which has\nbeen offered to the already civilised labourer of a more favoured race--\nthree acres and several cows, with a title of his own.  There lies his\nsalvation.  If he could get his title to a plot of land sufficient for\nhis wants, he may retain some of those characteristics which made\nconquerors of his warrior ancestors, if not he will go under in the\nstruggle in a pair of uncomfortable boots, with a bottle of brandy in\nhis hands, and strange oaths of civilised man on his lips.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Abe; \"the Kaffir can use two things better'n a white man,\neasy--his tongue and his stick.  I seed a Kaffir onct get the better of\na fencing master.\n\n\"I were sitting in the schoolyard, away up in town, where a sergeant\nfrom the barracks were showing the big boys how to use a singlestick.\nThere were a Kaffir, leaning his chin on the top of the gate, looking\non, with no more life in his face than a chip of mahogany.\n\n\"Bymby the sergeant he spotted the Kaffir, and he sed, sed he, `Now, you\nboys; I'll jes' show you what singlestick play is,' and he called to the\nKaffir to come in.\n\n\"Well, the black feller, he came in--very slow, pulling his blanket up\nto his chin, and looking like a young horse all ready to bolt in a\nminnit.  The end of his long kerrie peeped out below his blanket, and\nthe sergeant touched it with his ash stick, then stood on guard.\n\n\"`You keep your eye on my wrist-play, boys,' sed the sergeant, swellin'\nout his chest till the brass buttons nearly popped off.  `You keep your\neye on me,' he sed, `and you'll see how I get over his guard every\ntime.'\n\n\"The Kaffir he jes' stood there, looking solum, and the sergeant poked\nhim in the stomjack.\n\n\"`Yinnie!' sed the Kaffir, backing off an' snappin' fire from his eyes.\nYou see he didn't know what the sergeant were about, and though he\nwern't fool enough to strike a _rooibaaitje_ in the town, his dander got\nup at that poke.\n\n\"`Do you want to fight this chap?' sed I.\n\n\"`I want to show these boys what real wrist-play is,' sed the sergeant,\nmaking an under-cut with his stick; `and this Kaffir will do well as a\nblock.  Tell him to put up his kerrie.'\n\n\"I jes' tole the Kaffir, and had a quiet larf.  To think of anyone bein'\nsich a simple ijiot as to play at sticks with a Kaffir.  I tole the\n`boy,' and he said, `Yoh!' in surprise.  Then a sort of smile flickered\nabout his mouth, and his black eyes began to shine.  He let slip the\nblanket offen his shoulders, and caught it on his left arm.  Then he\ntook his kerrie by the end, and held it out the full length of his arm,\nwith his head forrard and his toes apart, and back so that he leant\nforward.  You know the fighting kerrie, about five feet long, and tough\nas steel.\n\n\"The sergeant--he smiled--threw forrard his right foot, balanced hisself\non his left, crooked his elbow, and pointed his stick slanting.\n\n\"`You see, boys,' he sed; `you must stand naturally, with your body\nnicely balanced, ready to advance or retreat.  Look at me, and look at\nthe Kaffir,' he said.  `He stands on his toes, and if he lost his\nbalance he would fall on his face.  Watch me get over his guard.'\n\n\"`Ready!' he sed, and they begun.\n\n\"Well the boys watched, I tell you.  There were a grunting, a clatter\nand a whirlwind of sticks--outer which whizzed chips of ash and bits of\nthe basket-hilt.  They didn't see nuffing of the sergeant's wrist-play,\nI tell you.  No, sir, all they seed was that whirling of sticks like the\nspokes of a wheel, and bymby outer the dust come the sergeant.\n\n\"He didn't look the same man.  His face were red an' angry, his\nbasket-hilt was all smashed in, his knuckles were raw, and there were no\nmore'n but a foot left of his stick.\n\n\"The Kaffir stood there, solum as a judge, with jes' a touch of fire in\nhis eyes.  There were not so much as a mark on his smooth skin, as he\nslipped the blanket over his shoulder, and waited for more.\n\n\"The sergeant fished up sixpence, and gave it to the boy, without a\nword.\n\n\"`You'd better go,' I sed.\n\n\"`Yoh,' sed the Kaffir, looking at the sixpence; `is he done?  Let him\ntake another stick; we were but playing, and no one's head is broken.'\n\n\"`You go,' I said; and he went, looking mighty troubled.\n\n\"I tell you what, sonny; the Queen should take a thousand of these yer\nred Kaffirs, and make soldiers of 'em for service in a hot country.  Not\nhere, of course, but away off in Injia.  It's a pity to waste 'em, and\nthey'd do more good scouting than drinkin' Cape brandy, lifting cattle,\nand loafin' around.  A black battalion of Kaffirs and Zulus would be no\nsmall pumpkins, an' they could be officered by Colonials who know the\nlanguage.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY ONE.\n\nA BUGLE CALL.\n\n\"Hulloa, Bassie!  I thought this fine morning would bring you over.  The\nsap's running strong, and the quail are gathering thick in the young\nwheat.  Hear to them whistling.  Where's your gun?\"\n\n\"I did not come to shoot.\"\n\n\"Soh!  Well, you don't look like shooting.  Been eating too much green\nfruit?\"\n\n\"I've passed the green fruit stage, Abe.\"\n\n\"I ain't; there's nothing better'n a pie of green apricots with cream,\nand green mealies is better'n kissing.  You're not in love, are you?\"\n\n\"I have been writing poetry,\" I said, with an air of unconcern; \"and I\nwant to take your opinion of it.\"\n\n\"Fire away,\" said Abe, fetching up a judicial expression; \"it's many a\nyear since I learnt poetry, my boy--many a year.  The ole mum onct, in\nthe moonlight, when I were knee high, read to me outer a torn sheet she\nhad, and these words I remember:\n\n  \"`He prayeth best who loveth best\n  All things, both great and small;\n  For the dear God that loveth us,\n  He made and loveth all.'\n\n\"Long years agone the old mother read that outer a torn slip of paper,\nand I know it yet, sonny.  I'd like to year some more.\"\n\n\"I don't think I'll read it you, on second thoughts,\" I said, with\nsudden doubt.\n\n\"You bet you will, sonny.  A man that's got the gift of making poetry\nhas no occasion to stand back in the corner.\"\n\n\"Well it's only a little thing I dashed off the other night.  Here it\nis:\n\n  \"`Oh, frog, that sits on the garden seat\n  (Croak, croak! where the trees hang low),\n  Have you ever swum in the ocean deep,\n  In the waves where the wild winds blow,\n  Where the red crabs crawl on the rocks below,\n  On the rocks where the dead men sleep?'\"\n\n\"It's kind o' buttery,\" said Abe slowly, \"but I don't see no sense in\nit.  What's a frog on a garden seat got anything to do with dead men?\nAnd crabs ain't red.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's a poet's licence.\"\n\n\"It are, eh?  Well, I won't go to your shop for spirrits.  Is there any\nmore?\"\n\n\"This is the second verse,\" I said, rather discouraged:\n\n  \"`Oh, speckled toad, did you ever dream\n  (Croak, croak! there's a snake on the wall),\n  Did you ever dream of my lady dear,\n  Who sometimes walks in the garden here\n  (While the milk in the pan is making cream),\n  And sings when there's no one near?'\"\n\n\"How does it sound?\"\n\n\"It sounds like treacle,\" said Abe, with a puzzled look; \"but I don't\nsee what the podder's got to do with it, anyhow; and the young woman's\ngot no business to be wasting her time waiting for the milk to set.  Why\ndon't she use the cream separator?\"\n\n\"I couldn't write about a machine.\"\n\n\"Why not--hum--er--hum--why not say this:\n\n  \"After she turned the cream separator,\n  She sat and ate a cold pertater.\"\n\n\"There is no sentiment in that!\"  I said indignantly; \"and the words\nhave no rhythm.\"\n\n\"What's rhythm?\"\n\n\"Why, tone, modulation, music; you know!\"\n\n\"Sonny! is there any music in the croak of a frog--is there?  In course\nnot!  Now listen--what do you hear?\"\n\nI listened, and heard nothing but the drowsy hum and hollow drone of the\nsurf.\n\n\"I can hear nothing.\"\n\n\"Soh!  Well, now jes' cock yer ear, and hearken to the voice of the\nsea--rising and falling, soft and melancholy.  Dying away to a whisper,\nthen swellin' up as the big wave rolls in, swinging to and fro in a\ngreat song of quiet and peace.  That's music, sonny; and when the wind\nrises, and in the dark of the night, the spring-tide, coming in with the\npower of the sea behind, thunders on the beach, there's music there--\nwild and grand--and when the clouds pile up outer the sea higher and\nhigher, and the yearth waitin' in silence, when there is no breath of\nair, shakes to the rollin' crash of the thunder--there's music then.\nWhere's your potery beside them sounds and the lightning flash and the\nrush of the wind, and the splashing of water risin' suddenly?\"\n\nI thrust my paper back into my pocket.\n\n\"There's music, sonny, in the veld and bush, and in the night cries of\nthe wild animiles and birds; but I yeard onct a sound I shall never\nforget, and I guess there was in it a whole book of potery.  But you\nain't finished about your podder.\"\n\n\"Never mind the frog, the snake has swallowed him by this.  Tell me the\nstory.\"\n\n\"Well it were in the Borna Pass, time of the Kaffir War, and the ole\n94th were halted in the jaws of the pass, waitin' for the cool of the\nafternoon before they marched.  I recomember it well--the dark woods in\nthe narrow pass rising up till they 'most shut out the sky; the\nred-coats down by the water; the smoke rising in tall columns from the\ncooking fires; the horses standing in a bunch switching the flies offen\n'em; the oxen knee-deep in the water; and a silence born of the hot sun\nover all.  It were as quiet as Sunday down in the mouth of the pass,\nwith the sun running up and down the bayonets like fire, and no red to\nstain them, for there was no news of Kaffirs within a day's march.\n\n\"I yeard a honey-bird call outer the black of the wood, and I jes' moved\noff with nothin' mor'n a pipe and a clasp-knife.\n\n\"`Where you going, Abe?' said a little bugler chap, lookin' up from the\nshade of a bush.\n\n\"`Bee huntin', sonny.'\n\n\"`I'll come along o' you,' he sed; `as there ain't no bloomin' Kafs to\nhunt, bees'll do.'\n\n\"He were a little chap, with his lips all cracked by the sun, and a\nlittle nose that you couldn't see for the freckles, and brown eyes like\nyou see in a bird or a buck--clear and bright.  Always he were on the\nmove, like a willey-wagtail, and him and me were chums.  Ah yes; many a\nstory I tole him by the camp fire, him a sitting with his chin in his\nhands staring at me with his big round eyes, and they called him `Abe's\nkid,' 'cos I downed a fellow for boosting him with a leather belt.  I\ntole you how a little dream lad had come to me one night outer the sea;\nthat were he, my son--that were my little boy.\"\n\n\"Did he die?\"  I said, looking at the old man.\n\n\"He went away, sonny, but he said he'd wait for me, and he'll keep his\nword.\"  There was a wistful look in the old man's face as he looked\ntowards the sea for some time in silence.  \"Yes; we slipped inter the\nwood, the honey-bird calling--the only sound outer the great stillness\nof the woods, 'cept for the crushing of the dried leaves under our\ntread, and the bird, flitting like a shadder from tree to tree, led us\non deeper and deeper into the heart of the Borna Pass, till I pulled up\nto take bearings.\n\n\"`We must get away back, little chap,' I said.\n\n\"`Then it's not true what you tole me about the honey-bird?' and he\nlooked at me askance.\n\n\"`Why not?' said I.\n\n\"`'Cos there he is a calling like mad, same as ever.  I don't believe\nhe's a honey-bird, and I don't believe any of them stories you've been\ntellin' me.  You're no pal of mine,' he said, looking at me with a\nwrinkle 'tween his eyes.\n\n\"`I'm thinkin' we're gettin' too far from the lines,' I sed, `and you\nain't used to the bush if Kaffirs were to come.'\n\n\"`You're afraid,' he sed; `that's what.'\n\n\"`Come on,' I sed, like a fool; and I went on, stooping through the\nbush, going mighty quick, and him panting after me.  `I can smell\nhoney,' I sed, stopping short, and noticin' that the bird had done his\nflight.\n\n\"`Garn!' he sed, wrinkling up his little nose.  There was a holler tree\nstandin' up in a little clearin' no bigger'n a room, and the hum of the\nbees came to us as we stood.\n\n\"`I see 'em,' he says; `look at 'em streaming in!  What a lark!  Cut a\nhole with your knife,' he says, `'an I'll carry some honey back in this\nbugle,' and he laughed.\n\n\"`Well,' says I, `who's been tellin' lies?'\n\n\"He laughed again.\n\n\"`I takes it back, Abe,' he says.  `Oh my eye!  Jes' look!'\n\n\"I seed then we'd clomb high up on the left side of the pass, and from\nthe clearin' there was a sight of the hanging woods over against us, of\nthe narrow path below, and the soldiers away down to the left.\n\n\"`Now you've seed the bee-tree,' I says, `we mus' go back.'\n\n\"`Jes' a little honey, Abe,' he says; `jes' a little to take back, else\nthat Jimmy'll never b'lieve I been up here.'\n\n\"I were looking across at the dark wood, and I said to him quietly, `Get\nbehind the tree,' for I'd seed a Kaffir stretched out on a grey rock\nthat stood outer the bush.\n\n\"`What's the row?' he says, looking a little scared.  Maybe 'cos I\nlooked the same.\n\n\"`Take off that coat,' I sed; for the red showed up plain.\n\n\"`Take off the Queen's coat?' he sed, going red and white; `not me!'\n\n\"`My lad,' I sed to him quiet; `there are Kaffirs in the bush.'\n\n\"`What larx,' he sed in a whisper, and his eyes opening wide as he\nstared at me.\n\n\"`And if you keep your coat on they'll see you.'\n\n\"`Let 'em,' he said, swallering his throat.\n\n\"`Take it off,' I said.\n\n\"`Not me.'\n\n\"`Then I leave you.'  And with that I slipped away, but turned on my\ntracks and come back softly to peer at him.  He were still standing\nbehin' the tree, looking away off at the soldiers, but his coat were\nbuttoned up tight to his throat I went up to him tip-toe and touched him\non the soldier, and he gave a low cry and jumped aside with his fists\nup.  When he seed who it were, the tears came into his eyes.\n\n\"`Abe Pike,' he sed, tremblin', `that's a mean trick to play on a boy--a\nmean dirty trick.'\n\n\"I allow it were mean, but I thought I'd skeer him into taking off that\nred rag.  Then I give it up.  `Come on,' I sed, `foller me; stop when I\nstop, run when I run, and keep quiet.'\n\n\"So we sot off tenderly through the bush, and we hadn't gone mor'n fifty\npaces when I smelt the Kaffirs.  I sank down; he did, too, and I peered\nthrough the shadders.  A sound came to us--the sound of naked feet, of\nmoving branches--and I knew the pass were full of men.\n\n\"He touched me on the arm as the bugle call to `fall in' rang along into\nthe still pass, ekering as it went from side to side.\n\n\"I put my mouth to his ear to tell him the Kaffirs were swarming, and\nthat we could not go on, but must go up the ridge and work round to the\ntroops.\n\n\"`What are the Kaffirs doing?' he sed.\n\n\"`They are making an ambush.'\n\n\"`And the General doesn't know?'\n\n\"`No, sonny, he doesn't.'\n\n\"`And they'll march in and be stabbed,' he whispered, with his eyes\nround and staring.\n\n\"`Oh, they'll fight their way out,' I sed.  `Come on after me.'\n\n\"`Good-bye,' he said, sitting down.  `You go on--I'm tired.'\n\n\"`I'll carry you, little chap,' says I, and I picked him up, but he was\nheavy for his size, and the bush was thick, and more than that, he\nkicked.\n\n\"So I sot him down, and I yeard a Kaffir calling out to his friends to\nknow what the noise was.  I motioned to him to come, but he sot there,\nwith his face white, and shook his head; then he altered his mind.  `Go\non,' he said, `I'll foller--go quick!'  So I sot off up the ridge\nthrough the wood, slipping from tree to tree, thinking he were coming,\nwhen all of a sudden outer the wood, ringing out clear and loud, a bugle\nsounded the alarm.  I looked round and the boy were not there.  I ran\nback, and saw him with the bugle to his lips, and his cheeks swelling as\nhe blew another blast.  I can hear it now--the call of that little chap,\nwith the muttered cries of the Kaffirs, and the sound of their naked\nfeet running, as they came up.\n\n\"`You little devil,' I yelled; `they'll kill you.  Run!'\n\n\"He gave me one look over his shoulder, and he put his life into that\nlast blow.  As the last note went swinging away, there came an answering\nnote from the regiment--to form square.\n\n\"`That'll be Jimmy,' he said.  And the next minnit an assegai struck him\non the neck, and he fell into my arms.\"\n\nAbe stopped, and looked away.\n\n\"What, then?\"  I said, touching him on the shoulder.\n\n\"I don't know, sonny, what happened, till I laid him down afore the\nGeneral.\"\n\n\"You carried him out?\"\n\n\"I s'pose so--I s'pose so--seeing as we were both there; and my clothes\nwere in rags from the thorns, and my head cut open with a kerrie.  Yes,\nI laid him afore the General.\n\n\"`What's this?' he says.\n\n\"`General,' I said, `this boy has saved the regiment; he could a' run--\nbut he didn't.'\n\n\"`Who sounded the alarm?' he sed.\n\n\"`It was him, and the pass is full of Kaffirs.'\n\n\"The General stooped down, and looked into the little feller's face.\n\n\"`Damn you, man,' he said, turning on me; `what did you take him into\nthe wood for?'\n\n\"The little chap opened his eyes, and they were fixed, all glazed, on\nthe General, and the officers stood around, looking, and the soldiers in\nthe square.\n\n\"The General brought his hand to his cap, then he wheeled round: `Ninety\nfourth--present--arms!'\n\n\"The ranks came to a salute, and the officers brought their heels\ntogether and their swords up.\n\n\"The little chap let his eyes scan the lines.\n\n\"`They are saluting you, my brave boy,' said the General.\n\n\"I felt him move in my arms, and I lifted his hand to his head to\nsalute.  Then he sighed, then he smiled, and his eyes closed.  `I'll\nwait for you, Abe,' he said, and he was dead.\n\n\"`Ninety-fourth,' said the General, `the enemy's in the pass.'\n\n\"They came by in columns, and as they passed, they looked at the little\nchap and saluted, and they went on in silence with their mouths shut.\n\n\"They clean frightened the Kaffirs that time; and next day--they buried\nthe little chap--the band playing--and all the regiment in full dress.\nMy little chap--my little chap!\" said Abe, in a whisper--\"`I'll wait for\nyou, Abe,' he sed.  And when he sounds the bugle ole Abe'll go.  Yes, I\nsit and listen for it.\"  He sat still, looking toward the sea, and I\nwent quietly away.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY TWO.\n\nTHE \"RED\" KAFFIRS!\n\nI found Abe Pike one afternoon poring over a newspaper, tracing each\nword with a horny finger, and laboriously spelling out the long words.\n\n\"Getting hints about pumpkin-growing, Abe?\"\n\n\"No, sonny; jes' studying how to give spoon-food to infants, and you've\ncome in time.\"\n\nThe old man looked vexed.  He suddenly rolled the paper into a ball, and\nthrew it at a lizard.\n\n\"It's mean!\" he said; \"danged mean!\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\nHe held out his hand, and I mechanically gave him my tobacco pouch.\n\n\"Ever been to England?\" he said.\n\n\"Yes; you know I have.\"\n\n\"Soh!  Is the people there white?\"\n\n\"Of course!\"\n\n\"Same as you and me?\"\n\n\"A little whiter, I should say, Abe.  What are you driving at?\"\n\n\"Look here, sonny!  I've been in this country, man an' boy, ever since I\nwere born; and, you b'lieve me, I never get hole of a paper from the Ole\nLand but there's some abuse of us colonists.  That's why I ask you is\nthey white.\"\n\n\"What have they been saying now?\"\n\n\"Saying; why the same old story--that we're a hard lot, always driving\nthe Kaffirs, an' killing 'em, an' stealing their lands, an' 'busin'\ntheir women-folk, and grindin' 'em down.\"\n\n\"Well; what does it matter!\"\n\n\"It matters the hull sackful.  Look at me--I've never been to England,\nbut all the same it's my home.  I love the ole flag, and cry `Hurrah'\nfor the Queen; an', ole as I am, I'd boost anybody over the head as 'ud\nup an' say England was not the best and the biggest and the grandest\ncountry in the world.  Yessir!\"\n\n\"She's not very big, Abe.\"\n\n\"Soh!  Well, she's big enough to spread her arms all round the yearth,\nand fetch anybody on the other side `ker-blum' with a man-o'-war's big\ngun.  We give her all--it ain't much, maybe--an' we get back a crop of\nsuspicions.  That's why I ask, is the people in the Ole Land white?\"\n\n\"We are all of one family, Abe, and relations don't compliment each\nother.\"\n\n\"Who's crying out for compliments?  I leave 'em to the chaps over in\nEngland, who praise each other to their face in the halls, and tell each\nother what fine fellows they are to save the Kaffirs from them cruel,\nsavageous colonists.  May the Lord look up and down 'em for the mischief\nthey've done.\"\n\n\"You seem very bitter, Abe.\"\n\n\"Well, the reading in that paper has lef a bitter taste.  You see,\nsonny, I recomember the wars of the `thirties' and the `forties,' when\nyour father were a boy--and his uncles and brothers, and sisters and\nwives--the whole lot of us--were raw to the land--when the country all\nround were wild--and the Kaffirs hangin' on the frontier like a great\ndark wave way out on the sea--ready to rush in and sweep us offern the\nland.  Three times they rushed in--three times we had to leave our\nhomes, our flocks, our crops, and make for the posts.  Then we had to\nfight 'em back, and those people away over in England each time 'ud\nfetch a howl that reached across the sea about the cruelty of the\ncolonists--with never a word about the burnt houses, and the cattle\nswept off, and the women and children.\n\n\"Look here, sonny,\" said Abe, his face growing dark; \"I'll tell you\nsomethin' I seed when I was a grown boy--somethin' about one of these\nvery wars the people at home have blamed us for making for our own gain.\n\n\"The Kaffirs were over yonder; about twenty miles away across the\nChumie, and the farmers were scattered all about, thinkin' of nothin' at\nall but the mealie crop, and the wheat nearly ripe, and the pumpkin\npatches--for they had been through hard times, and the season were good.\nJes' away back of this place, where the three springs of the\nKleinemonde rise out of the flats, there were a little valley no\nbigger'n ten acres, set around with small hills, and the water runnin'\nthrough and round it under big yellerwood and Kaffir plum trees; while\nin the water stood clumps of palmeit and tree ferns, yeller and green,\nand rustlin' to the wind.  Beyond the hills the grass veld rolled away\nto the Fish River bush, over here towards the Kaffirs, and the Kowie\nbush 'way back.  On the grass veld were a many herd of bucks--springbok\nand blesbok--while in the thick bush were koodoo and buffel--ay, an'\nelephant!\n\n\"It is a _mooi_ place now, that little valley; but I tell you then it\nwere a spot to make a man look and long.  But it were risky.  The Fish\nRiver bush were a leetle too close, in case the Kaffirs raided.\n\n\"Howsomdever, there were one man who took the risk.  He were ole Mr\nTolver--a farmer from Devonshire, and with him were seven sons--two on\n'em born here, the rest away in the ole country.  My gum! you should a\nseed 'em.  The ole man hisself were not so big, though he were broad an'\ndeep; but four of his boys were over six feet, and the other three were\ngrowing fast.  Ole Mr Tolver druv his stake into the little valley.\n`This is my settlement,' he sez to the Government officer who came\nriding round, and tried to persuade him to give it up, because of its\naloneness.  `Here I am,' he sez, `and here I stays, and durn the\nKaffirs!'\n\n\"`You're a stubborn man, Tolver,' sez the officer, `but I have warned\nyou.  If the Kaffirs come they would cut you off before you could reach\nGrahamstown.'\n\n\"`Jes' cast your eyes over my boys,' sez Tolver; and the boys laughed,\nand stood in a row.\n\n\"There was Jake at the top, six-foot-four, with a yeller beard, and eyes\nblue as a bit of sky.  Slow he were and heavy in his tread, with a hand\nlike a leg o' mutton and a heart soft as a woman.  He were courtin' a\ngirl over at Clumber.  I seed him offen there, but all the time you'd a\nthought he were there to play with the little girl, and not her big\nsister.  Nex' to him were Oll, with a smooth face and a bull neck, and\nbrown eyes that were always laughing.  He took arter his mother.  Arter\nhim come Seth--long and thin and solum, with a habit of croonin' to\nhisself.  And nex' him were Harry--the devil of the family; straight as\na ramrod, handsome, and hot-tempered.  He were a fine young chap, and\nthe girls ran when he came in sight to put their hair straight.  Then\ncome one below six foot--young Willie, who took after his brother Jake,\nand jes' follered Harry like a shadder.  Nex' him were barefooted\nJimmy--a boy that was a born hunter, and knew more about animiles and\nhow to cotch 'em than any man; an' last of all were the baby Tom.  Tho'\nthey called him `baby,' he were as big a'most as you, with the hair\nsticking through a hole in his felt hat, and bare brown legs.\n\n\"There they stood in a row--the seven sons; and the officer threw his\neye along 'em.\n\n\"`By God!' he sed, `they're fine chips from the ole country.  Well,\nyou'll do as you like, Tolver; but take my advice--build a house with\nstone walls out in the clearing, and don't have a thatch-roof.'\n\n\"Well; he rode off, and Tolver squatted in that little valley, clearing\nout the bush from the centre, and growing a'most anything.  Many a time\nI went over there to climb the trees for plums with Tom, or go off bee\nhuntin' with Jimmie, and in the quiet of the evenin' I've sot outside\nwith the others, while Seth he played on his concertina bellers, making\nthe saddest music, fit to make you roll over an' cry.\n\n\"One night I went over, so to be ready to go on a long hunt nex' day\nwith Jimmie, and down the hill there came a Kaffir, with his kerrie\nacross his shoulder, and his arms resting on the stick by the wrists,\nafter their way of walking.\n\n\"`Gumela!' he sed, and stood near by, waiting, drawin' his red blanket\nround him, and his face set like a block o' wood.\n\n\"Ole baas Tolver he jes' grunted, and the Kaffir he stood there lookin'.\n\n\"Arter a time the ole baas up and sed--`Jake, fetch him a stick o'\ntobacco!'\n\n\"Jake riz up, and there seemed no end to him, and he reached out a long\narm with a yank of black tobak.\n\n\"`Yoh!' sed the Kaffir.\n\n\"`Oll,' said the ole baas; `step inside for a strip of meat.  Seth, put\nanother stick on the fire.  You, Harry, draw a bucket o' water from the\nspring.'\n\n\"As, one arter the other, these big chaps riz up from the ground, and\nwent striding off about their jobs which the ole man had set them\na-purpose, the Kaffir looked more an' more s'prised.\n\n\"`Sit and eat,' sed the ole baas.\n\n\"`Inkosi,' sed the Kaffir; and he squatted down to the fire, with his\nhands out to the blaze, and his black eyes half-closed; while the meat\nspluttered on the coals, giving off a fine smell.\n\n\"`Willie,' sed the ole man; `fetch out the guns and give 'em a clean\nup.'\n\n\"Willie sprang up--nearly six foot of him--and the Kaffir looked roun'\nthe fire at the other two boys.\n\n\"`Yoh,' he said, `these men are like trees;' and his eyes shone in the\nlight, and on his breast there gleamed white a string of tiger claws.\n\n\"So he sot and eat, and then he said he were going on to the Kasouga to\nsee his brother, who was herding cattle for a white man.\n\n\"When he went the ole man laughed in his beard.  `I guess,' he sed,\n`he'll see we're too much of a mouthful in case they mean trouble.'\n\n\"`I hope we haven't frightened him,' sed Harry; `things are gettin' too\nquiet.'\n\n\"`The quieter the better,' sed Jake; `we don't wan't any Kaffirs\nswooping down here.  I didn't like the look of that fellow; he said too\nlittle.'\n\n\"`Phooh!' said Harry, `I'd take him with one hand.'\n\n\"`I'll jes' walk over to Clumber,' sed Jake, stretching hisself, `and\nfetch the sweet pertaters for sowing to-morrow.'\n\n\"Harry laughed.\n\n\"`You're getting nervous, Jake,' he sed, `now you're in love.  There's\nsomethin' sweeter'n pertaters over yonder.'\n\n\"Jake laid Harry on his back--not so's to hurt him, and swung off inter\nthe dark, while me and Jimmie and Tom reckoned that Harry was the chap\nif there was any trouble.\n\n\"Early next morn, me and Jim stretched away across the veld, towards the\nFish River, carrying a tin for the honey and a hunk of black bread.\n\n\"We'd gone about six miles when Jimmie stubbed his toe, and sit down,\nwith a holler, to nurse it.\n\n\"`My gum!' he sed, `it's bad; I guess we'll go back and leave this trip\nfor nex' week.  There's a honey-tree near home, and we'll go there.'\n\n\"I were 'leven and he were sixteen, and what he sed I'd got to do, so we\nturned back, and he limpin'.\n\n\"All o' a sudden, when we got in a dip, he give over limpin'.  `Abe,' he\nsays, breathin' hard, `there were a Kaffir watching us.  Now you go\nalong home--quick!  Don't say nothin' to father.  Maybe the chap's up to\nno mischief, but if he is, I'll find out.'\n\n\"`Come back with me,' I sed, skeered.\n\n\"`Do what I tell you,' he sez; and when I started to go, he slipped away\nto the left, up the hill.  Well, I went on, gettin' more and more\nskeered, till I saw the house, then I jes' hid away and waited for Jim.\nBymby, in the afternoon, here he came running, and I run to meet him\nwhen he slowed down.\n\n\"`Whatjer see?'  I asked him.\n\n\"`Nothin',' he sez.\n\n\"`Whatjer run for, then?'\n\n\"`To keep warm,' he sez, though the sweat were running off him.\n\n\"Well, when we got to the clearin' we met Jake hauling on a big stump.\n\n\"`Well, youngsters,' he says; wiping his forehead with the back of his\nhand; `had a good time?'\n\n\"`Jake,' said Jimmie, `there's Kaffirs over yonder.'\n\n\"`What's that!  Are you joking?'\n\n\"`There's Kaffirs over yonder,' sed Jimmie, staring at his brother; `and\nthe chap as was here last night is with 'em.  I heard them call him.\nHis name's Tyali.'\n\n\"`My God!' said Jake, going white.  `Tell father,' he sed, and then he\nran.\n\n\"I laughed, sneering at Jake, and Jimmie hit me in the side, though his\nmouth were twitching.\n\n\"`What the row?' sed Harry, coming up.\n\n\"`Kaffirs!' sed Jimmie, scowling after Jake.\n\n\"`Hurrah!' sed Harry, and threw up his hat.\n\n\"`What's all this I yere from Jake?' said ole man Tolver, striding up.\n`So,' he sed, when Jimmie tole him, putting the ends of his beard into\nhis mouth, which were a trick he had when thinking.  `So; they're\ncoming.  Well, let 'em come!  I tole that Guv'ment chap I'd stay here,\nand here I'll stay.  If any of you boys would like to go, you'd better\nclear now.'\n\n\"They were all of them together--all but Jake, and he had gone running\ninto the house.\n\n\"`It's too much trouble to run,' said Oll, biting on a piece of grass.\n`'Sides, I ain't finished \"scoffling\" the mealies.  I'll stay.'\n\n\"The ole baas he jes' grunted.\n\n\"`So'll I,' said Seth.\n\n\"`Ef you all went,' said Harry, with his eyes shining, `I'd stop.'\n\n\"The ole baas he jes' grunted ag'in.\n\n\"`An' me,' said Willie; `and me too'--`and me,' said Jim and baby Tom.\n\n\"`Thank you, my sons,' sed Tolver, softly, and jes' then Jake came outer\nthe house--Jake the biggest and the oldest, and the kindest of the\nbrothers.  In his hand he carried a big chopping axe, which were like a\nlittle stick in his grasp.  He looked at his brothers, and his father\nlooked at him.\n\n\"`I'm going over to Clumber,' he sed.\n\n\"`So,' sed his father; and they all stood silent.\n\n\"`Yes,' sed Jake after a time, `I give 'em warning.'\n\n\"`And take yourself out of danger,' sed the ole baas quietly.\n\n\"Jake looked at his father rather sad-like, and then he said: `Shall I\ntake Jim and Tom with me?'\n\n\"`I won't go,' sed Tom, turning red.\n\n\"Jimmie sed nothin', but his lip trembled.  He thought a heap of Jake,\nand here he seed him turnin' tail.\n\n\"`Abe,' said Jake, speaking quietly; `you've got no part in this--come\nwith me.'\n\n\"`I'm not running away,' I sed.  `I'll stay with Harry.'\n\n\"Jake opened his mouth as if he'd speak, then he turned on his heel and\nstrode away with his axe over his shoulder.\n\n\"His brothers turned to look after him, and ole Tolver, he called out in\na hard voice, `Don't you come back here again.  You're no son of mine.'\nJake he gave no sign, and I seed Jimmie's face working.\n\n\"`Yah! you're afraid like him,' I sed.\n\n\"`You lie,' he sed, and hit me 'longside the jaw.\n\n\"`Be quiet, boys,' said Oll Tolver, ketching Jim by the arm.\n\n\"`Seth,' said the ole baas, speaking short and firm.  `Get ter the top\nof that hill, and keep a sharp look-out.  Willie and Jim, bring the cows\ninto the kraal.  Oll and Harry, fill the water barrel, and put it inside\nthe house.  Tom and you, Abe, move all the things outer the big room,\nand get the guns ready.'\n\n\"Seth sot off up the hill at a lope, and the other boys all went about\ntheir work, and got things to rights in no time.  Then we hung about\nfidgettin'--picking things up and putting them down, and looking up to\nSeth all the time.\n\n\"Arter a long time Seth lifted up his hand, and we all stood in a bunch\nwatching him till our eyes ached--then here he come down the hill like a\ncart wheel, while the big chaps grabbed their guns, and I bolted inter\nthe house.\n\n\"`Are they coming?' shouted Harry.\n\n\"Seth nodded as he ran.\n\n\"`How many?'\n\n\"`One,' said Seth, with a gasp.\n\n\"`Good lord!' said Harry, throwing his rifle down.\n\n\"`I say,' sed Seth, drawlin' out his words--his neck was that long; `you\nfellows jes' slouch around 's if you were at work.  I'm goin' to meet\nthis chap.  Maybe he's a spy.'\n\n\"`Seth's right,' said the ole baas; and the boys put the guns away, and\nscattered about as if they were restin'.\n\n\"Seth slipped a naked hunting-knife inside the band of his trousers, and\nlounged away up the path; and bymby, when he nearly got to the top, a\nKaffir came over the ridge, stood a moment looking, then come down.  He\ncarried his blanket over his right shoulder.\n\n\"When they met, the Kaffir he took snuff, and Seth he gave him a bit of\ntobacco.  Then they talked and talked, and the Kaffir, he kep' his eye\non the house, and arter a time he kep' movin' around--'s if he'd like to\nget behind Seth--and Seth all the time he kep' his face to the t'other.\nThen the Kaffir went away back, and Seth went up to the ridge again, and\nthere was another spell of waiting.\n\n\"Then Harry sed he weren't going to fool about any more, and he made\ntracks for the little wood above the clearing, and Willie follered.  No\nsooner'd they got clear than here comes Seth again, like a streak.\n\n\"`It's all right,' he sed; `they're comin' thick.  The veld's red with\n'em.'\n\n\"They gave a hail for Harry and went inside, and each one looked to see\nthe shiny, brass caps were hard down on the nipple--while Tom, he laid\nout the round bullets, and the greased rags for wroppin' 'em in, and the\nslugs handy.  Seth were tellin' how the Kaffir ast him questions, and\nhow he seed the assegai under his blanket--then there came a deep sound\nrolling along the ground, which made me hide away in the barrel churn,\nand made the brothers all go silent.  It were the war song of the red\nKaffirs, deep from their chests, slow and boomin', and solum, and in\nbetween there were the shrill crying of the women, follering behind the\nfightin' men with the mats and the pots.\n\n\"Ole baas Tolver stood at the door looking for Harry, and he give a\nshout for him to hurry; and the Kaffirs came over the crest of the hill.\nJimmie pushed his rifle through a hole in the wall, with a gasp in his\nthroat.\n\n\"`Don't shoot!' sed his father; and he looked away to the woods for his\ntwo sons.  And so they stood, waiting and watching.\n\n\"I crept out of the barrel to see what they were looking at so set, and\nthere I seed the Kaffirs slipping down the hill, from rock to rock,\nedging all the time towards the wood, and others coming up over the\nridge, their bodies stripped and oiled for war, and their faces smeared\nwith red clay.\n\n\"`My God!' sed the ole man under his breath; then he bellered out `Run!'\n\n\"I looked between his legs, and seed Harry and Willie comin' up from the\nwood, and walkin' jes' 's if they were comin' in to dinner.\n\n\"The Kaffirs yelled when they seed them, and started running.  Harry\nthrew up his gun, and they dropped down, hiding away behind nothing.  I\nyeard Harry laugh.  Well, they came on at that fool pace, and all on a\nsudden the Kaffirs came leaping and dodging down.  The two brothers they\nstood still, with their rifles up and fired; then they come on loading,\nand fired again.\n\n\"`Run, Willie,' sed Harry; `let's see who can get in first,' and with\nthat he made to run, and Willie let out full speed, with the Kaffirs\nyelling like mad.  When he got near the door he looked round and seed\nHarry walking backwards with his rifle ready, and the Kaffirs hanging\naway back and whizzing their assegais.  He made 's if to start back, but\nthe ole man caught him by the arm and yanked him in.\n\n\"`Fire!' sed the ole baas, and he and the three boys blazed away, Jimmy\nletting rip a handful of slugs.\n\n\"Well, the Kaffirs they dropped, crawling for shelter, and Harry came in\nas cool as you please, with an assegai in his hand that he picked up.\nThen he seed me crouching down, and laugh'd a'most till he cried, for I\nwere covered with the leavings of the churn.\n\n\"They took their places inside the room, each one at a hole, and began\nfiring by fits and starts, Tom standin' ready with a charge of powder\nfrom the horn each time.\n\n\"`They're going to rush the cattle,' sed Oll; `and we can't prevent 'em\nfrom here.  Some of us had better get into the shed.'\n\n\"Well, three of them boys went out--Oll, and Harry, and Willie--and\nthere were a terrible how-de-do out there, shoutin' an' whistlin', and\nbangin'; the dogs barking fit to bust themselves, the ole red bull\nbellering, and the fowls that had flew to the roof cackling all\ntogether.  My!  I were skeered, and Tom, he looked if he'd bolt inter\nthe tub along with me, but he jes' kep on pouring out the powder.\n\n\"Then I yeard `Hurrah,' and ole Tolver tore open the door, and Tom most\nsplit his throat.\n\n\"The Kaffirs were on the run, and when I crep' out, I seed Harry a\ntearin' up the hill arter them, with Will at his heels, then--oh, lad!--\noh, lad!--from the wood there came out, swift and silent, a party of\nKaffirs led by the chief Tyali, and they cut between the three boys and\nthe house.\n\n\"I yeard Oll shout, `Back!  Turn back!' then again, `Together,\nbrothers!'--and the three, clubbing their rifles, went straight at the\nchief and his men, an' ole Tolver dancing about at the door, fearing to\nshoot, and Tom staring with his eyes wide, and the powder running from\nthe horn on the floor.\n\n\"Then there were a whirling crowd of men, and the smack of sticks--and\nthe `thud--thud--thud,'--and groans--and out of the pack Oll lurched,\ncarrying Willie, whose head lay back limp.\n\n\"He came along like a tipsy man--rolling--with his mouth fixed in a\nsmile, and the blood running from his head.\n\n\"When he were near the door a Kaffir stabbed him in the back, and the\nole baas shot the Kaffir.\n\n\"Then Oll reeled back, and he spoke in gasps, `I can't--go--any--\nfurther--father--take Will--he's hurt,'--then he jes' sank to the\nground, and rolled over.\n\n\"Seth brought Willie in, and laid him down on the floor.\n\n\"And ole man Tolver stood outside the door calling for a loaded gun; and\nthen he sprang at a Kaffir who were stooping to stab Oll, and broke the\nstock of his gun.\n\n\"I were by the door, 'cause I had no strength to move, and I seed\nsomeone pass.\n\n\"`Get into the house, father,' he sed, `and hold it.'\n\n\"It were Jake; and in his hand he held the axe he took away in the\nmorning.\n\n\"He put his hand on his father's shoulder a moment `Get back,' he sed,\n`for the sake of the boys,' and then he ran up to where the Kaffirs\nstill swarmed around Harry.  He opened a lane with his axe.  I tell you\nI thought it were like splitting water-melons, and I laughed, and\nJimmie, he cried.  The Kaffirs gave way, crouching and holding their\nshields up.  Then Jake lifted Harry, who were on his knees, and carried\nhim down.  As he came, the whole lot of them--maybe five hundred--came\nwith a rush; then Jimmie dashed out, and took Harry from his brother,\nand Jake stood out alone.\n\n\"`Shut the door!' he shouted loud and stern; `do you hear--shut it!'\n\n\"The old baas looked wildly at Seth; and Seth he shook his head.\n\n\"`Shut it,' sed Jake; `in the name of our mother!' and the ole man with\na sort of groan pulled the door to, jamming my fingers.\n\n\"Outside were the noise of that fight, and inside were silence, and\nwhite set faces, and the tears running from Jimmie's eyes.\n\n\"`Let me out!' he cried; `let me out!' he kep' on cryin'--`let me out!'\nand then he struggled to open the door.\n\n\"Then we heard Jake again.\n\n\"`Good-bye,' he sed; and we held our breath, till the fierce shout rose\nhigher and higher, and we knew Jake were dead.\n\n\"Then the ole man's beard curled up.  He forgot about his other sons.\nHe opened the door, and with a roar he ran into the Kaffirs, and Jimmie\nwith him.  Seth were follering, too, when an assegai whizzed into the\nroom, and a Kaffir stood at the doorway, when Seth jabbed him in the\nstomach with the muzzle, and druv his fist into the face of another;\nthen he pulled-to the door, and there were only him and Tom and me, with\nWillie dead and Harry gasping.\n\n\"Then Seth began to sing.  He'd stop to shoot, then he'd sing again; and\nthe sound of his singing were worse than the yelling of the Kaffirs\nswarming all round the house.  Tom he stood up in the room tremblin' and\nloadin', his face black where the smoke stuck to the tears, and once and\nagain he'd jump to a hole and shoot.\n\n\"And at last an ole pot leg struck Seth on the head and he sot down.\n\n\"He put his hand to his head and looked at the blood; then he shook his\nhead and laughed a strange laugh.\n\n\"`It's all over,' he sed--`dang it.'  Then he saw Harry, and he said\nsoftly: `Poor chap,' then he stared at Willie, and his eye came on to me\nwatchin' him.\n\n\"`Abe,' he sed, `you'll find my concertina hanging up; jes' hand it to\nme.'\n\n\"Well, I gave it him, and bolted back into the tub, and he began to\nplay.\n\n\"The Kaffirs stopped, and I yeard one call out `Yinny!' and others said\n`Yoh!' and you could hear them trying to peep in.\n\n\"`Tom,' he said soft.\n\n\"`Yes, Seth.'\n\n\"`You and Abe get into the mealie pit in the pantry.  Maybe, they'll not\nsee you.'\n\n\"Tom he shook his head, and banged the gun--and the Kaffirs came hard at\nthe door.\n\n\"Seth he went on playing, and Harry rolled over.  `I've got a pain,' he\nmuttered; `mother, I've got a pain,'--and Seth he went on playing softer\nand softer.\n\n\"Then I crawled away inter the dark of the pantry--inter the mealie\nhole.\"\n\nAbe stopped, and his face looked grey and aged.\n\n\"Well, Abe?\"\n\n\"That's all sonny.  They did not find me.\"\n\n\"And what became of Tom?\"\n\n\"He went with his brothers, sonny.  Seven better boys you'd never want\nto meet, and seven finer men you could not.  They all went--in that one\nday--and the Kaffirs swep' on over the land.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY THREE.\n\nOUT OF THE DEEP SEA.\n\n\"I see that the magistrate at Port Nolloth has seen the sea-serpent.  It\nwas a mile out at sea--raised its head ten feet from the water, and\nremained in sight for an hour.\"\n\n\"Is he partickler about the ten feet?\" said Abe Pike.\n\n\"Yes, he is explicit on that point.\"\n\n\"Seems to me it's difficult to judge that height at a distance of a\nmile,\" said Abe; \"but, come to think of it, there was a magistrate at\nMossel Bay who had the same luck about two years ago.  He seed the\nserpent sporting around for a hour off the coast, and the crittur raised\nits head somewhere about ten feet.  So I guess it's the same that's\ncruising off Port Nolloth.\"\n\n\"Ever been to Port Nolloth?\" asked Long Jim.  \"Well, I have; and the\ncountry's that lonesome and sand-blown, and gen'rally lost to all sense\nof what's fittin' for human beings to admire, that I'm not surprised the\nmagistrate thought he saw something.\"\n\n\"Don't you believe in sea-serpents, Jim?\"\n\n\"What, me!  Well onct I spent a whole hour trying to smash a sea-serpent\nwith rocks, and at the end of that time I found the thing were\nsea-bamboo--round and smooth, and tapering away to a point like a moving\ntail.  No, sir; give me something I can see and feel.\"\n\n\"'Cording to all accounts,\" said Abe, drily, \"if you did feel the\ncrittur, it would be when passing down his throat.\"\n\n\"Of course you've seen one, Abe?\" said Si Amos with a slight sneer.\n\n\"I have,\" said Abe, quietly, as he reached over for the demijohn of\nCango.\n\n\"Did he lift his head ten feet from the sea?\" asked Long Jim.\n\n\"I see what it is,\" said Abe; \"you fellows been listening to my\nexper'ences so long that you think I'm lying; and I'm not gwine to\nsacrifice my self-respeck by telling you things you don't believe.\nThat's so!\"\n\nThere was a long pause, as no one felt disposed to make the needed\nsacrifice to Abe's exacting honour.\n\n\"Was it a big snake?\" asked Long Jim presently.\n\n\"Pretty big,\" said Abe, shortly.\n\n\"Twenty feet?\" asked Jim, anxiously.\n\nMr Pike smiled.\n\n\"Not so much?\" said Jim.\n\n\"About a quarter of a mile long,\" said Abe, rising.  \"Well, I guess I'll\ngo.  So long.\"\n\n\"Stay a moment,\" said Jim, firmly; \"I can't let you go without saying\nthat Abe Pike's word's as true as steel.  A quarter of a mile, you\nsaid?\"\n\n\"Might a been a yard shorter,\" said Abe, carelessly, as he paused at the\ndoor.\n\n\"Come back, old man,\" said Jim.  \"Take this chair--and there's more in\nthe jug.  So; that's good.  A quarter of a mile,\" he muttered.  \"Well,\nthat's good enough for a stretcher.\"\n\n\"If you come along with me, Jim,\" said Abe, \"I'll tell you about it.\nBut I'm not laying myself open to words from them as is full of\nsuspicion as a family of jackals.\"\n\n\"That's not fair to me,\" I said.  \"I've swallowed--I mean I've\naccepted--all your stories without question.\"\n\n\"And me, too,\" said Si, with a gulp.  \"Try some of this Transvaal\ntabak--it's first rate.\"\n\nAbe permitted himself to be appeased.  He filled his pipe, and as he\nleant back in the chair with his heels up on the chimney, and a glass in\none hand, a reminiscent look overspread his rugged face.\n\n\"This yer exper'ence happened to me away back 'fore you younkers wore\nshoes--but I never told it, as I were afraid of skeering the wits outer\nyou.  That's so.  The Little Kleinemonde over yonder were a blind river,\nsame as now, with a stretch of beach about 200 yards wide 'tween its lip\nand the sea-foam hissing along the hard sands where the little\ntumble-crabs swarm in their shells, and the air comes bubbling up outer\nthe sea-worm's holes.  It were more lonely than now--for there's town\nfamilies as picnic there for weeks in their tents--and you can hear the\nlittle children laugh--and sometimes see a string of girls holding hands\nand jumping up in the foam.  There was never a soul then on the wide,\nwhite beach, that stretched away miles east and west--with black rocks\nrunning out into the breakers--and back of the beach the high white\nsandhills, rimmed on the top with thick berry bushes.  It were that\nlonely that sometimes I could have a run away, and the birds that\nflitted along, hunting for what the tide cast up--the oyster catcher and\nthe curlew made it lonelier with their wild cries.  And the river lay\nback, still and quiet, without a current--between the dark woods--quiet\nand still--crouching down behind the stretch of beach sand--as if it\nfeared the roaring surf--always tossing and thundering jest across that\nnarrow riband.  And the waves came always rushing in, as though they\nwould like to wash away the sand strip and pour their waters over the\nsilent river--and in the spring tides I seed the outermost fringe of\nfoam sweep a'most up to the lip of the river--and go back and come up\nagain--swinging to and fro--till sometimes a little trickle of the salt\nwater would fall into the dead stream, where a many fishes gathered,\nhoping to get out at last into the great wild waters.  I caught fish\nthere at them times--going into ten pounds--springers and steinbrasse.\nWell, one day there came a great storm of rain--like a cloudburst--and\nevery cattle track and footpath were a running stream--and every river\nbed were filled to the brim.  And in the night I yeard the thunder of\nthe waves at the fall of the spring tide.  My!  How they roared through\nthe night--and crashed as the big waves curled over and smote the water\nwith the blow of a falling rock.  The night were that wild that I could\nget no sleep--and went to the door to look out.  The ground was wet and\nsteaming, and the sound of running water came from every dip and hollow.\nI sed to myself the dead river will be alive, and the tide and flood\nwill cut a passage deep and wide through the beach, and there will be a\nlitter heaped along the tide mark all down the beach, with good pickings\nfor the first man.  So I put a sack over my head, and taking the old\nmuzzle-loader, stepped out into the slushy dark, and squelched away over\nthe sodden veld towards the Kleinemonde.  I struck the ridge above the\nriver jest about sunrise, and the light coming through the mist showed\nup the wildest sight of tossing waters and a beach all strewn with trees\nand litter of seaweed.  As I thought, the dead river was alive and\nroaring into the seas through a broad channel cut deep into the sand.  I\nwent down to the beach and watched the flood pour out, while the spray\nfrom the waves druv stinging against my face.  I tell you, it was a\nsight to stand and watch, not heeding the wind or the wet--and the\nsavageness of it gripped hold of me.  Bymby I crept along the beach, in\nand out the piled masses o' rubbish--finding a many dead birds and sich\nthings--then about noon I was back ag'in at the river--where the\nincoming tide, all red with the wash from the land, was rolling back the\nriver water and damming up the channel ag'in with tons of sand and\nseaweed.  I made a fire under the shelter of the wood and cooked a fat\nduck I picked up, and when I finished him off I dried myself by the fire\nwhile I watched the river.  Jes' then I seed something in the river that\nmade me jump behind a tree--the black fin of the biggest shark you ever\nseed, standing out maybe a yard high--and raking back maybe twelve\nfeet--with spikes all along.  `Lord luv me!' thinks I; `what in\nthunder's that?'  And I let drive with both barrels, and the thing\ndarted off with a rush that sent a wave up both sides of the banks among\nthe trees--and far up the river I seed the sun shine on the curve of his\nbody as he turned to come down--and I cut my stick.  When I got home I\nset to and bent a fish-hook outen a steel stable rake--lashing on a line\nof buffalo rheims.  I went back, baited the hook with a sea-bird that I\nhad picked up, and let it run out, taking a bend round the tree with the\nrheim.  The crittur I reckoned was still there--for why, he couldn't get\nout by reason of the silting up of the channel--though I could see no\nsign of him--and he paid no heed to the bait.  Well, I were getting\ntired, when I noticed some cattle at the bend on the other side, where\nthere's a bit of the flat with a `salt lick'--that's a favourite place\nfor them, by reason of the salt in the soil.  They were jest capering\naround with their tails up, then standing to stare at something in the\nriver, with a ole black bull nearer than the rest, pawing at the ground.\nI could tell there was some crittur there that they didn't like--maybe\na tiger--but I could see nix beyond a rock or tree stump.  As I watched,\nwondering what could ha' disturbed them, the ole bull shook his head,\nthen fetched a deep beller and rolled on a few yards--while the cows and\nyoung stock behind came together in a bunch.  Then the bull stood\nag'in--pawing the wet ground--and Lord sakes!--jes' then that rock riz\nout of the river.\"\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"Yessir!\" and Abe wiped the perspiration from his forehead.  \"My sakes!\nI jes' sunk inter the rushes in a tremble, and the ole bull, with a\nbeller that rolled down the river, turned to run.  He never got mor'n\nten yards when he were caught by the neck, and I yeard his bones\ncrunch.\"\n\n\"What caught him?\"\n\n\"A mouth!  It were a mouth that caught him, set in a head like a water\nbarrel, with a neck behind thick as a blue-gum tree, blue along the top\nand white below.  Shaped like a snake it were.  It caught the bull by\nthe neck, and lay outstretched, sucking his blood, while the four legs\nof the poor crittur beat the air, and the cows standing off rushed about\nlowing.  Eighty yards he was distant, and for all I were in a lather\nfrom fear, I plunked a bullet jes' back of the opened jaws.  Believe me,\nat the sound of the gun them cows, with their tails up, charged down on\nthat sarpint.  Yessirs, they went for him like a troop of hosses.  Some\nof them took the neck flying, without attempting any mischief, but two\nold cows went slap at the body with their horns down, druving them in\ntill the blood spurted high.  Then he let go o' the bull, swept the cows\noff their feet, and with a snort slid into the river, and came charging\ndown like a steam tug for the mouth--his head lifted high up, and the\nwaves streaming as he went I let drive at him as he went by, clean into\nthe head--and at the shot he towered up like a column--and, so lifting\nhimself, flung half his length onto the sand bar.  Then he wriggled and\nwrithed till the bulk of his middle lay high and dry, and the tail of\nhim, twenty yards up the river, lashed the water with blows that sounded\nlike cannon--till the swell of the waves he raised floated him off, and\nI saw him cut through the waves out into the deep sea beyond.\"\n\n\"Is that all?\"\n\n\"Yessir, that's all; and if you'd a been there 'sted of me, Si Amos, I\nguess you'd a said it was too much--a darn sight too much for your\nnerves.  As for me, I niver went near the place for a year, and when\nthere's a spring-tide I keep indoors.  One thing I seed, and that was a\ngrowth of barnacles and seaweed on his back, which explains why it is\nthat some folk say the sea-serpent has got a mane like a hoss.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.\n\nTHE YOUNG BURGHER.\n\nThe little Dutch village was astir, where almost hidden by the trees of\nthe orchards and quince hedges grown high, it stood beneath the bare\nrock-bound hills beyond Kambula.\n\nThe Zulus had lifted the cattle when they grazed homewards at dusk amid\nthe thin scattering of dark mimosas on the grey plain.  The herdsman\nlay, with his face to the sky, unburied yet, with a terrible wound in\nhis breast, and the long, ugly slit downwards through the abdomen that\ntold of Zulu work.\n\nAnd the Commando was turning out.\n\nTen men, sitting loosely in their saddles, were all there were--big,\ngaunt men with shaggy beards and lined faces of the colour of smoked\nleather.  Of untanned leather, too, were their trousers and veldschoens.\nEach one carried his food in the small saddle-bag of \"rattel\" skin,\nfood of the scantiest--a strip of biltong, a pound or two of \"ash\ncookies\"--and slung from each bent shoulder was the powder-flask and\nbullet-bag.\n\nTen men and a boy--and he alone showed excitement in the brightness of\nhis brown eyes and the firm set of his mouth.  A boy so brown that you\nwould have said he was of coloured origin, and with clothes so worn that\nno street boy would have envied him.  A sullen boy and dull of wit you\nwould have thought from his narrow forehead and bent brows, but there\nwas one who did not think so.\n\n\"Oh, my _kind_!\" she said, standing by the gate in the quince hedge;\n\"they do not want one so young.  And there is the wood to be brought\nin.\"\n\n\"Ja!\" said one burgher, taking his pipe from his mouth; \"he is\naltogether too young for this work.  Let him stay.\"\n\n\"Hear to Oom Jan,\" cried the woman, stepping across a tiny stream that\ngurgled pleasantly in its narrow bed beside the road; and she laid a\nrestraining hand on the old rheim that did service for the boy's reins.\n\"Come, my son--my little one.\"\n\nThe boy looked steadily at his mother.  \"I am not little any more,\" he\nsaid.\n\n\"It is true,\" said the big man who led the little band, turning slowly\nin his saddle.  \"He is no longer little.  He must come!\"\n\nThe woman let go her hold and stood back humbly, while her tear-stained\nface was turned appealingly at the man--her own man; and the burghers,\nsmoking, took advantage of the pause to look back at their own wives and\nchildren, who stood out in the solitary street, drawing comfort from\neach other.\n\n\"We must all give,\" he said.\n\n\"Why should I give all?\" she cried with renewed hope.  \"My husband and\nmy son.  Let him stay.  Oh! let him stay!\"\n\n\"Ride!\" said the Commandant, sternly; then he sighed, and rode on in\nsilence, never turning.\n\nThe boy kept his eyes fixed on his father's broad back; then a lump came\ninto his throat.\n\nOom Jan touched him on his shoulder, and the boy started.\n\n\"Do not leave her so, neef,\" he said.\n\nThe boy looked back and waved his ragged cap.  \"I will come 'gain soon,\nlittle mother,\" he shouted.\n\n\"If the Groot Herr wills,\" muttered Oom Jan.\n\nThe boy looked at him sharply, then rode on with his head up and his\nhand firmer upon the stock of his long rifle, as long almost as himself.\nAlready his keen young eyes swept the veld for signs of the Zulus--and\nhe had forgotten the little house and the little patient mother.\n\nThe village soon was left behind, and the little band went slowly over\nthe ridge and down the long slope, into a narrow valley, and at dusk\nreached the broken veld that stretches up to the frowning height of\nHlobane.  It was very silent.  The burghers smoked, but talked not; and\nvery plain, and seeming very near, came the dismal baying of a Zulu dog\nfrom a lofty kraal on Zunguin Nek, where a fire gleamed red through the\ndark.\n\n\"There are men there,\" said the Commandant in a guttural whisper.  \"We\nmust ride hard in the morning when we return.\"\n\n\"Ja!\" said Oom Jan; \"else they will cut us off.  I hope they will eat\nand drink much this night, so that they sleep fast.\"\n\nThe other burghers glanced up at the red fire and round into the\ndarkness, as if calculating which way they would ride in case they were\ncut off.\n\nYoung Piet Uys breathed hard.  He had often looked at the steep height\nof Zunguin's Kop from afar--and now the dark mass that seemed to shut\nout half the sky oppressed him with the sense of hidden danger.\nMoreover, he was hungry and cold.  They had been four hours in the\nsaddle, and it was surely time they stopped?  Why didn't they tell his\nfather that the horses would grow tired, and that men couldn't go on all\nnight without feeding and warming themselves?\n\n\"There is water here,\" he ventured, \"and good grass.\"\n\n\"Ja!\" growled Oom Jan.\n\n\"Perhaps we will stop soon,\" said the boy timidly.\n\nA burgher on his left grunted, and young Piet felt that he had said\nsomething stupid.  There was deeper silence now, for they were riding in\na hollow, and he heard the sound of eating.  Why were they eating?\nPerhaps they would not stop!\n\n\"If we stop,\" said Oom Jan, as if answering his thoughts, \"we shall not\nget there before sun-up.\"\n\nYoung Piet sighed heavily and thought of his rheim bed at home, and then\nof the little mother.  He felt now why it was she cried when he left.\nThis was weary work--this blundering on over rocks and through cold\nstreams, with none of the rush and excitement he had pictured.\n\n\"And if we do not get there before sun-up,\" continued Oom Jan, in his\nslow way, \"we lose the cattle and all.\"\n\n\"Hold still!\" came a muttered command from the leader.\n\nThe men drew up, and the horses shook their heads, then pricked their\nears, as out of the darkness ahead came the murmur of a chant, swelling\nup to a deep boom, and sinking again till almost inaudible.\n\n\"They dance and make merry,\" said the leader.  \"Ride!\"\n\nOnce more the horses moved on, picking their way, while each man unslung\nhis rifle and held it with the butt on his thigh.  And louder rose that\nmonotonous chant, mounting to the shrill notes of the women's voices,\nand sinking to the menacing bass of the warrior's deep chest notes; and\npresently there suddenly started out of the gloom a score of gleaming\nfires in a circle at the base of a vast bulk that stood for Hlobane.\n\n\"Pipes out!\" said the leader.  \"Groot Andries, and you Dick Stoffel, and\nyou Piet Uys, will stand here, keeping out of sight, and fire on the\nZulus if they follow.  The rest--ride!\"\n\nThe two burghers and the boy remained, and the others filed out of\nsight.  Slowly the time passed to these three as they crouched behind\nrocks, with their horses tethered in a hollow, and the cold wind of the\nearly morning numbing their fingers and biting their poorly-clad bodies,\ntill the grey of the dawn appeared and threw the mountain of Hlobane\ninto relief.  The singing had died away as the wind rose, the fires were\ndim, and the silence of the early morn was over the land.\n\n\"Look!\" said Groot Andries, pointing a huge hand, and a mile off on the\nbuttress of the mountain young Piet saw a dark mass in motion, with a\nfew moving specks behind.\n\nHe drew his breath in sharply, and the misery left his face.  \"They are\ndriving the cattle,\" he said.\n\n\"Ja!\" said Andries, moving in his lair to get more comfortable, and\nsighting along his rifle.\n\nHow quickly they come.  Piet could see the gleam of tossing horns--and\nthen he counted the riders, with his father riding last.  \"They have not\nbeen seen,\" he whispered.\n\n\"Oh, ja!\" growled Stoffel, \"the verdomde folk come.\"\n\nPiet raised his head, and his heart almost stopped, as on the left of\nthe cattle he saw Zulus running like greyhounds, speeding to reach a\nkopje by which the cattle must be driven, and his startled glance\nroaming further, marked a thin grey whisp of smoke curling up the\nmountain's dark side, while his ear caught the hoarse sound of the Zulu\nhorn spreading the alarm.\n\nGroot Andries turned his head and looked long.\n\n\"Alle magtij!\" he cried; \"they sleep not up there.  May the Groot Heer\nhelp us out for our wives sake.\"\n\nYoung Piet stared at the big man, then glanced back up Zunguin's\nrock-rimmed summit, and saw tiny dark figures like ants hurrying amid\nthe huge rocks.  He moistened his lips, and looked at his horse.\n\n\"Mount and ride, neef,\" said Andries, softly.  \"Keep towards the Blood\nRiver over by Kopje Alleen.  Go, little neef.\"\n\n\"Ja!\" growled Stoffel, who was smoking furiously; \"loop, little one!\"\n\nYoung Piet stared at them wildly, then he looked ahead and saw the\ncattle coming on in a mass, with his own red heifer leading.  He saw,\ntoo, his father stand alone, looking back, while the other burghers rode\nhard behind the cattle, and the Zulus poured along untiring.  Why did\nhis father stop?  Could he not see the warriors?\n\n\"Father,\" he screamed; \"ride!\"  He would have risen, but a heavy hand\nwas laid upon him.\n\n\"Remember the order,\" growled Stoffel--\"to keep ourselves hid.\"\n\n\"I will be still,\" said Piet, quietly.  Then he saw his father throw up\nhis gun and shoot, while another burgher halted and wheeled round with\nhis rifle ready.  With a rush the cattle swept by--the burghers after.\n\nNot one drew rein.  Not even the Commandant, who simply glanced at the\nthree forms as he went by, last of all, saying briefly, \"Shoot straight,\nand follow fast!\"\n\n\"Wait, little neef,\" said Andries, \"and don't fire anyhow, but single\nout your man.  Then load, mount, and gallop.\"\n\nPiet was calm now that he was called upon to act.  He dropped a warrior\nin his stride, loaded quickly, making the ramrod spring, and was waiting\nby his horse with the reins of the other two all ready for their riders.\n\n\"Good neef,\" said Andries, as he swung into the saddle, and having\nmomentarily checked the enemy's advance, they dashed after their\ncomrades.  A quarter of a mile further on they passed an ambush, where\nthree other burghers were lying in readiness, and then they dashed up to\nthe cattle with a whoop.  Young Piet, flushed with his act, looked for\napproval from his father, but the Commandant's gaze was fixed anxiously\nahead on a column of dark figures leaping like antelopes down Zunguin's\nside.  From the rear, too, came the loud slap of three rifles, and the\nangry war shout of the Hlobane warriors.\n\n\"They will head the cattle off,\" said Stoffel; \"and we will be caught\nbetween two fires.  Let us leave the cattle and ride to the left, when\nthey will let us go free.\"\n\n\"That is a bad word,\" said the Commandant, sternly.  \"We go back with\nthe cattle or not at all.\"\n\nThey rode, then, into a stretch of donga-worn country, where they had to\nslow up; and the cattle, no longer hard pressed, stood to get their\nwind, with their heads down and tongues lolling out.\n\nIt was only a brief rest; but the Zunguin warriors profited by it, and\ntheir fleetest men were already rounding the cattle to turn them up the\nhill.  There rang out the sharp crack of a rifle, and one of the black\nwarriors pitched forward on his face.\n\n\"Keep your fire,\" said the Commandant, sternly, as he looked round at\nhis son.  \"Was that you, Piet?  It was a good shot, my little one.\"\n\nPiet hung his head, and looked askance to see whether any of the men\nwere laughing at him, but they were never so far from laughter as then.\nSeveral were hedging away to the left, looking at the Commandant out of\nthe tail of their small eyes, ready for the bolt across the rolling\nplain to the Blood River.\n\n\"We must turn the cattle,\" said the leader.  \"Come, all together,\" and\nhe moved on up the hill.  But no one followed.\n\n\"If we are killed,\" said Oom Jan, slowly, \"our wives and children will\nsuffer more than if we return not with the cattle.\"\n\n\"Ja, ja! that is altogether true,\" said the others, eagerly.\n\nThe Commandant glanced back and saw that he was alone.\n\n\"Keep the Kaffirs back,\" he said, without any anger, \"and I will myself\nturn them.\"\n\nSo he urged on his great horse up the hill, while the others faced about\nand fired, not recklessly, but only when they were sure.\n\nYoung Piet looked after his father and feared, and urged his horse\nforward, and drew back as he saw dark figures crouching low along the\nhillside, and flitting swiftly from rock to rock.  Up the hill his\nfather went, menacing now one warrior, now another, with his rifle,\ngetting at last above the cattle, then with a roar he turned and swept\nthe herd before him down on to the rolling grass veld again.\n\nAll would have been well if the burghers had stood fast a moment longer,\nbut seeing the cattle safe they galloped after, and the Zulus, fearing\nto be baulked of their prey, made their last effort.\n\n\"My Gott!\" cried the Commandant, \"why do you run?  Hold them back!\"  But\nthe men had got the madness of flight in their blood now, and nothing\nwould hold them, though the Zulus were now out on the plain and without\nshelter.  So once again he stood alone, checking the rush of the foe\nwith his menacing rifle before he galloped on.  Assegais whizzed by his\nhead; then his horse reared with a shrill scream of pain, and he was\nhurled headlong.\n\nWhen he presently sat up with a ringing in his head, he saw the Zulus\nstanding away off with the assegais poised, and he attempted to rise.\n\n\"My leg is broken,\" he muttered.\n\n\"Lay still, my father.  Oom Jan will come for you.\"\n\nThe big man looked round and saw his son standing behind, with his rifle\nready, facing the warriors, alone.  \"Oh, Heer!  Oh, Heer!\" he groaned.\n\"My son, why are you here?\"\n\n\"Oom Jan will come,\" muttered the boy, huskily.\n\n\"Anything but this,\" cried the big man.  Then he said sternly, \"Give me\nyour rifle, Piet, and run--run for your mother's sake.  Run, you are\nuntired and the Kaffirs have come miles.  Your rifle--quick!\"\n\nYoung Piet shook his head.  \"Oom Jan will come,\" he whispered.\n\nThe Zulus, silent with quivering nostrils and gleaming eyes, drew in\ncloser.\n\nThe veld echoed the sound of rapid hoof-beats.\n\nOld Piet Uys raised himself on his arm and looked over the veld.  He saw\nhis burghers coming; but they were far, and he faintly heard Oom Jim's\nvoice ring out in encouragement.\n\n\"Run, my little one,\" he repeated; \"run, I order you!  Your father tells\nyou,\" and the man looked sternly at his son.\n\nThe boy shook his head, his lips parted, but the words never came.  The\nnext instant his rifle spoke its last message, and the Zulus rushed in.\n\nThey found them both; the boy lying across his father's broad breast.\nAnd the little mother sat tearless through the night crying that \"The\nGroot Heer was good, but he had taken all--all,\" while Oom Jan wept like\na child.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.\n\nUNCLE ABE AND THE SNAKE.\n\nThe day was wet, the ploughing was over, and as we had an idle spell,\nwhat more natural than that most of us should find business at the\nstore? where we sat on bags and boxes, and smoked and talked, or\nsometimes sang beautifully to the wailing tunes from Long Jim's\nconcertina.  This day old Abe Pike, humped up on the counter, with his\nheels drumming against the side of it, was holding forth on the iniquity\nof Parliament, when a stranger entered, wringing wet, and Abe stopped to\ninvestigate his appearance.\n\n\"Don't let me interrupt you,\" said the stranger--a townsman evidently,\nfrom his dress and assurance.\n\n\"Take a seat,\" said Abe, pointing with his boot at a box of soap.  \"Not\nwalking, are yer?\" with a curious glance at the stranger's\nknickerbockers.  \"Going far?  Stopping here long?  Stranger, aren't\nyou?\"\n\n\"Well, yes,\" said the newcomer with a laugh.  \"I've come thirty miles\nsince breakfast.\"\n\n\"Grub early?\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon?  Oh, no; had breakfast at eight, left at nine.\"\n\n\"Phew!\" said Abe, \"thirty miles in four hours.  Must be a good horse\nyou've got.\"\n\n\"It is rather,\" said the stranger, with a curious smile.\n\n\"Hoss knocked up, I s'pose.  Been riding too hard?\"\n\n\"No, not at all.  He's good for another thirty miles before sunset,\" and\nhe gave us a wink.\n\nAbe looked gravely at the stranger for some seconds, while one by one,\non some excuse or other, we went outside to look at the stranger's\nhorse.  We found a new pattern bicycle in the shed--new to us--and we\nreturned to the room looking as much unconcerned as we could, but eager\nto get a rise out of Abe.\n\n\"That's a fine animal,\" said Long Jim; \"clean in the limbs, with plenty\nof grit, and full of fire.  Never turned a hair, too, what's more!\"\n\nAbe looked at Long Jim, who was trying to suppress a smile; then he\nrelit the pipe he had suffered to go out.\n\n\"Reminds me,\" he said, \"of that there hoss Topgallant, which carried me\none hundred miles twixt sun-up and sun-down.\"  Fixing his eyes on--the\nstranger, he launched into a long yarn about some impossible incident.\nHe was not, however, up to his usual form, being suspicious of our nods\nand winks, and the stranger was not astonished.\n\n\"It's a curious thing,\" he said, \"that people are slow to believe in\nthings which have not come under their own observation unless they read\nof them in print.  Now this very morning I met with an experience which\nmay seem to you incredible.\"\n\n\"Go ahead,\" said Long Jim.  \"If you've got a story, tell it, and we'd be\nthankful to you, after the stuff we've been obliged to swallow from Mr\nPike there.\"\n\n\"If I may say so,\" said the stranger, \"his story was fair, but it lacked\ncircumstance.  There is an art in building up a story which perhaps my\nfriend on the counter has missed.\"\n\n\"Fire away,\" said Abe, grimly.  \"I'm not too old to larn.\"\n\n\"Thank you.  Of course, you all know the long descent into Blaauw\nKrantz, and the sharp elbow bend in the wood near the bottom before the\nsteep fall into the river.  Of course.  Well, I have been in the habit\nof riding out on Saturday evenings to visit a farmhouse on this side,\nand, as a precautionary measure, I ring the bell continuously while\nriding down the slope.\"\n\nAbe arrested the narrative by a gesture--\"Whatjer carry a bell for?\" he\nasked, suspiciously.\n\n\"To warn people ahead.  You see,\" with a slight movement of the eyelids,\n\"I travel so fast that I am obliged to herald my approach.\"\n\n\"Better carry a trumpet,\" growled Abe.  \"Well, ring along.\"\n\n\"You are doubtless aware,\" continued the stranger, with a keen look at\nthe old man, \"that snakes are sensitive to the influence of music.\"\n\n\"I've marked that circumstance,\" said Abe, with a lingering on the word.\n\"Why there's a snake in our Chapel as beats time to the `Ole Hundred,'\nand many a time I've--\"\n\n\"Oh! shut up,\" said Long Jim.  \"You were saying, sir--\"\n\n\"My bell,\" continued the stranger, speaking more rapidly and keeping his\neye on Abe, \"has a most melodious tinkle, and on the second occasion of\nmy visit to the house I have mentioned I noticed just at the elbow bend\nwhat appeared to be the head and neck of a large snake thrust out from\nthe bush.  On my next visit I observed the same spot more carefully, and\nsaw that I had not been mistaken.  On three separate occasions that\nsnake was there, evidently attracted by the music of the bell.\"\n\n\"Why--\" began Abe.\n\n\"I understand what you mean,\" exclaimed the stranger.  \"Why did I not\nstop?  Because I was travelling too fast; and whenever I returned up the\nhill, going naturally slower, I could never see the slightest trace of\nthe snake.  To come to the climax, this morning I sounded the bell as\nusual, and on nearing the bend I saw that there were two snakes, and\nthat one of them, in order probably to hear the music more distinctly,\nhad glided partly into the road with his head raised about three feet.\nTo take the bend I was obliged to keep on the outer edge, which brought\nme closer to the snake than I could wish--and evidently too close for\nhis comfort--for as I whizzed by he lost his presence of mind, and,\ninstead of retreating, advanced, with the result that his head and neck\nwent through the spokes of the front wheel.\"\n\n\"Front wheel!\" said Abe with a snap.\n\n\"Certainly--the front wheel of the bicycle.\"\n\n\"A bysticle!\" ejaculated Abe, with a snort of disgust that would have\nsent us into an explosion of laughter if we had not been too much\nabsorbed in the story.\n\n\"Of course, the revolution of the wheel swung the remainder of the body\nclear of the bush, and the tail whizzed by my head.  To my fear and\nhorror, the next instant my left wrist was seized as in a grasp of iron\nby the tail.  The head, after one or two sickening thuds on the hard\nroad, which must have temporarily stunned the creature, slipped out on\nthe left side, when the momentum of the wheel immediately strung the\nentire body straight out behind me, where it streamed with all its\ntwenty pounds weight acting as a brake.\"\n\n\"A brake?\" said Long Jim.\n\n\"Yes, sir.  As the tail seized my wrist, the curve of it took a bend\nalso round the handle bar.  To that circumstance I owe my life.  The\nslackening in the speed of the machine, over which I had lost control,\nowing to the dead weight of the serpent, prevented what would most\ncertainly have been a fatal smash among the boulders in the river bed.\nAs it was, the bicycle narrowly missed a large rock, and ran straight\ninto deep water, where it was, of course, brought to a stop.  You notice\nthat my clothes are wringing wet still.  I was, of course, thrown out of\nthe saddle by the jerk of the sudden stoppage, but as my wrist was\nmanacled to the handle bar I was in danger of suffocation by drowning.\"\n\nThe stranger paused, and Abe observed him with an admiring glance.\n\n\"How did you escape?\" asked Long Jim.\n\n\"Why, sir, owing to the gratitude of that serpent.  The cold bath\nrevived him, and when he realised the situation, he swam ashore and drew\nme out with the machine.  Yes, gentlemen, I assure you that was the\ncase.  Then he unwound his tail and moved his wounded head, while\nregarding me with a bright, but rather disconcerting, stare.  I realised\nin a flash what he was waiting for, and I rang the bell for five\nminutes, when he slowly moved off into the wood, looking very sick from\nthe severe bashing.  I do not ask you to believe the story, gentlemen,\nbut I am convinced that if the next time you come down Blaauw Krantz on\na bicycle you ring your bell you will credit me with keeping to the\nexact facts.\"\n\n\"That beats your yarns, Abe Pike,\" said Si Amos, who had often been the\nbutt of the old man; \"beats them to smithers.\"\n\n\"Jest does, and no mistake,\" said Long Jim.\n\n\"Why, Abe couldn't tell a story like that, with `circumstance' in it, to\nsave his life,\" said a third.\n\nAbe shook his head sadly, and left the store, the stranger bidding him\ngood-bye very politely, then turning to join in the laugh.  He was a\nvery pleasant young fellow, and he received our open flattery with a\nquite affable air.\n\nOld Abe, however, had not retired vanquished from the scene.  When we\ntrooped out of the store we saw him lost in solemn contemplation of the\nstranger's bicycle.\n\n\"A good horse, is it not?\" said the stranger slyly.  \"Like to mount?\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Abe, \"allow an old man to shake hands with you.  I'm\nthankful for your offer, but I won't mount now.\"  The boys laughed.\n\"No, sir, not now; but, if you're coming down Blaauw Krantz next\nSaturday week I'll meet you at the top and ride down.\"\n\n\"Can you manage a bicycle?\"\n\n\"I can't now; but I'll larn.  Is it a go?\"\n\n\"Let him,\" said Long Jim, \"and we'll all be at the bottom to pick him\nup.\"\n\nThe stranger at last consented, very reluctantly; and it was agreed that\non the day named we should be at the \"drift\".  Abe disappeared for\nseveral days, returning at the end of that time with several scratches\non his hands and a decided stiffness in his legs.  He would say nothing\nto satisfy our curiosity beyond the simple remark that he had been\n\"Larning to steer a lightning wheel-barrer down a hill.\"\n\nOn the appointed day, having satisfied ourselves that Abe Pike meant to\nstick to his contract, we all rode off to the \"drift\" to await the\ndescent and pick up the pieces.\n\nThe stranger kept up his side of the agreement; and, as it turned out,\nhe gave up his machine into the shaky control of Uncle Abe, after much\nadvice upon the art of steering round a corner on a slope.\n\nPrecisely at noon we heard, far up the hill, coming out of the dense\nwood which hid the road and the curve from our view, the silver tinkle\nof a bell rung continuously.  Clear and sharp the sound came to us as we\nwaited in silence, for the space of a minute, growing louder, till\nsuddenly it ceased.  After waiting a minute we all mounted and galloped\nup.  At the great elbow bend we saw the stranger tearing down on foot,\nbut there was no sign of Abe or of the machine.\n\nOn the road, however, there was the track of the wheel in the dust--a\ntrack that faded away up the road, but stopped short at the bend.\n\n\"Where the blazes!\" said Long Jim, looking around and up into the sky.\n\n\"What's that in the trees?\" said Si, pointing down into the forest below\nthe bend.\n\n\"It's my cycle!\" gasped the stranger, as he came up.  \"What a mad fool I\nwas to let him ride.\"\n\n\"Damn your cycle!\" said Jim; \"where's the old man?\"\n\nWe peered over the edge, and saw him in a thicket blinking up at us.\n\nWe had him out and up in no time, while two men climbed the tree to\nrecover the machine, the stranger dancing about as if he were on hot\nbricks.\n\n\"Is it injured?\" he kept on crying.\n\n\"Injured be blowed,\" growled Si Amos; \"it'll be injured sharp enough if\nthe old man's hurt.\"\n\n\"Who said I was hurt,\" said Abe suddenly, sitting up and feeling his\nbody.  \"I'm all right; but, boys, my sakes, you'll never b'lieve me,\nnever!\"\n\n\"What's happened?  Are you all right?  Sure?\"\n\nAbe slowly rose and felt himself.  \"Yes.  You listen,\" he said,\nsolemnly.  \"The stranger's right about them snakes--dead right.\"\n\n\"It's no time to joke,\" said the stranger, looking ruefully at the bent\nspokes and twisted handle bar.\n\n\"You're right there; no man would joke who's jest escaped from death.\nNo, sir; I tell you, jes' as I came to this yer bend I looked out for\nthe snake, but instead of the snake I seed--and my heart jumped into my\nthroat at the sight--a thick rope stretched right across the road from\nthe bank on this side to the tree on the other, raised about two feet\nfrom the level.  The next instant I went smash into it.\"\n\n\"Who could have done that trick?\" said Long Jim, with a dangerous look.\n\n\"The snake,\" said Abe, with a croak.\n\n\"The snake!\"\n\n\"Yessir.  I seed the glisten of his scales jes' as I went flying into\nthe bush.\"\n\n\"The snake!\" said the stranger.  \"Absurd!  Rot!\"\n\n\"It were the snake--the friend of the crittur you hurt,\" said Abe with a\ngroan.  \"You see as I allow he were determined to have revenge, and when\nhe heard the bell he hitched his jaw to that root hanging down the bank,\nand he stretched his tail round the bough of that tree on the other\nside.  A twenty-foot rock snake he were.  I guess he's got the\nstomach-ache from the hit I give him.\"\n\nFor a moment there was intense silence as the boys grasped the\nsituation, then they laughed till they sat down.\n\n\"Whatjer laughing at?\" said Abe, solemnly, though his lips twitched\neither with fun or pain.\n\nThe stranger smiled sadly, then he laughed too.  \"Old man,\" he said,\n\"let us shake again.  You have beaten me.  I confess I was lying, and\nyou have taken a strong measure to punish me.\"\n\n\"You was lying!\" said Abe, opening his eyes and looking the picture of\nastonishment.  \"Then why did that durned snake upset me?\"\n\nThen he fell back in a swoon, for he had been sore hurt--and we carried\nhim to the nearest homestead, while Si Amos rode furiously for a Doctor,\nand Long Jim went about on tip-toe from the room to the door and back in\na state of restless anxiety.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\nThe End.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n<pre id=\"pg-footer\">","title":"Tales from the Veld","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":67318}