Tales from the Veld Part 11

"Well, Uncle, that black tiger is still alive."

"Hum! I don't know that the black tiger is good for this purpose. What do you say?"

"I know nothing about it; but, if any tiger is good, I should say a black tiger, by reason of his greater strength, should suit best, and, if you remember, you said you had a plan for trapping him. I believe he's still in the big kloof."

"Yes, he's there. That ole man baboon's been aroun' here, and maybe he's got some notion of showing me where the black fellow takes his snooze. I'll jes' think over it."

"If you want any help I can bring along some dogs and a couple of guns?"

"Dogs, eh! Seems to me that tiger's too smart for dogs. He chawed up one of yours. I don't want no dogs, sonny, and if this tiger is to be downed, he's got to be downed by cunning. You leave him to me."

After the lapse of a week I rode over to see how the old man had succeeded, and found him peacefully employed boiling down wax berries for the manufacture of candles for his own lighting--the rheumatism, apparently, having been vanquished.

"Hallo! Abe," I said, taking a look round the room, "where's the tiger skin?"

"I speck it's on the tiger."

"So your plan didn't succeed?" Abe solemnly skimmed a ladle full of melted wax from the water, and poured it into a bamboo mould.

"Berries is terrible skerce this season. Time was when a body could gather a bagful in a day from the bushes above the beach; but now--lor', everything's different now. This very earth's agoing downhill--it's getting played out."

"Are you mixing any tiger fat with that wax, Uncle, to bind it?"

"Maybe goose fat would be better, sonny; have you got any to spare?"

"That tiger must be a cunning beast if he's got the better of you, Uncle!"

He shook his head gravely. "He's no tiger. He's jes' a ole witch prowling aroun', that's what he is."

"Eh?"

"Yes. You believe me, that's what ole Black Sam is. I worked out a plan to catch him, supposin' I could find where he put up in the daytime, and what path he took on setting out in the night, for you know these critturs in the woods don't go along anyhow, but follow paths jes'

as you or me would, and some of these paths they're more fond of than others. Well, I kep' watch on that ole man baboon, and when I see him strolling along outside the kloof I up and follered him. He knew, bless you, what I was after, and the way he led me into the dark of that kloof was a caution; so silent he went, and so careful to take the proper track. Bymby he stopped and pointed--yes, pointed with his finger at the ground--then he jumped for a bough, and there he sat grinning an'

working his eyebrows. Well, blow me, ef there wer'n't a spoor of the tiger where he pointed, and squinting along through the underbush I see a clean walk which the tiger had made--the sides of the trees worn smooth and the ground jes' trodden down. That was enough. So I went home and made a pill of meat, with enough poison in it to kill a museum full of stuffed critturs. Nex' morning I went down, and if that baboon hadn't a almost stopped me by force I'd a run bang into that tiger."

"Was he dead?"

"Dead! Thunderation! he was jes' lying full-stretched for a spring from a tree branch jes' above where I laid that pill, awaiting for me to come along. The baboon jes' invited me to climb a tree, and looking through the leaves, I spotted that black devil, with his tail a-switching and a-jerking. I jes' climbed down, and slipped off like a shadder, with my heart in my boots. Well, I did some thinking. You know cats is fond of certain smells, so is dogs--only dogs is not so dainty as cats. It's jes' the same with a tiger, and he's got a nose for a partickler herb which he rubs his head into. I dug up one of these year herbs, and I fixed it up fine, jes' over the spring of a big man trap. Then, it being near dusk, I climbed into a yeller wood, and waited for Black Sam to walk up and put his foot into the jaws of that trap; but the dark came before he did, and then I wasn't going to trust myself in the wood--so there I stuck, with the stiffness in all my bones, till the morning. By gum! it were skeery work, sittin' up there with the wind moaning over the tree, and sounds of creeping things all aroun'. Then, blame me! the first thing I clapped eyes on in the morning was that black crittur standing there in the path, staring at that scent bush 'sif it were somethin' to be suspicious about instead of a nice smellin'

bottle. There he stood like a dark shadder, working his nose for maybe half an hour, when he walked all around, finally sitting down on his tail with a pucker between his eyes jes'sif he were thinking. Yes, he sat there working his brain; then up he stood, looked about for a spell--then, I'm hanged, if he didn't pick up a dry stick in his mouth and poke it at that bush."

"What's that?"

"Yes, sir. He jes' sprung the trap. Of course, soon's he poked the bush the spring give, and the jaws flew together with a snap that bit clean through the stick. Then that there witch reached for the bush with his claw, and fetched a grin that spread all over his face like a gash in a water-melon. Then he smelt that trap all over and began to switch his tail, and with a growl in his stummick off he went slinking on my trail, taking long strides with his ears flattened. Luckily he went on the long trail leading from the house, and soon's he'd gone I lit out for the top of the krantz, where I could see the veld right up to my door."

"Well?"

"Well, after a time, I saw him crossing the veld, making himself small when he was on the level, and running when he got in a holler. Right up near the house he went and hid himself in a clump of wild cotton, waiting and watching for me to come out o' the door. I tell you he stopped there till the sun was right over head, then suddenly he ran right up to the house and looked in at the winder. I never was so glad at being not at home to a visitor. He walked all round the house and got on the roof; then he came back, full lick, having made up his mind I was in the kloof. Yes, then I made a bee line for home, and shut myself in."

"And that ends it?"

"No, sonny, it's the beginning of the chapter. He's jes' scheming to get me; but the ole baboon's on the watch and maybe I'll have the black skin yet."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

BUFFALO BULL AND THE SHORTHORN.

In one of the kloofs near the Fish River, an old buffalo bull had taken up his quarters, and, like all solitary males, he was suspicious and savage.

"And I don't wonder at it," said Abe Pike, when discussing the bull's points. "Trouble sours the best of us, and he's had his share of trouble--what with his struggles as a youngster to get a footing in the herd, and his struggles, when he became leader, to guard his position against enemies without in the shape of tigers and hunters, an' against enemies within in the shape of younger bulls, not to speak of the jealousy of his wives; and then on top of all this, the trouble of being driven from the family when his powers were failing, maybe by a own son of his. Yes, sir, that lonely animile, for all he's so savage, an'

a'most knocked the life outer me, has my sympathy in his proud old age.

Proud he is, you believe me. He might a stayed with the herd ef so be he choose to behave himself and foller with the calves, but once a king always a king. Ef he can't rule in the herd, he'll rule all alone in that kloof--nursing his pride and his memories--and going scatter-- dash--on sight for any critters mad enough to enter his domain."

"Did you run against him, Uncle?"

"Well--I'd put it the other way--that he run against me. I tole you often how he fit and killed my _rooi bonte_ bull, Red Prince, that old red and white chap with a cross of shorthorn that was so masterful you couldn't keep him in any kraal if he wanted to move out I've seen him fix his horns under a heavy pole that took two men to place across the gate, and jest hoist it as tho' it were a straw, and if he set out to go into the mealie patch why he'd go in, an' there was an end of it, bellowing all the time fit to drown the roar of the sea."

"Did the old solitary kill your bull?"

"You know that, sonny, for you saw his body with the rip that went to his heart. I yeared ole Prince bellow one morning, and, lookin' over the veld, I saw him away off yonder on the ridge slowly moving, with his big head swaying from side to side, and as I watched him he would, every now and again, stop to paw the ground and toss his horns. I thought, maybe, there was some stray cattle beyond, and I set off after him with the sjambok. After he topped the ridge I could still hear the rumble of his challenge, and when I reached the divide there he was down below raking up the earth with his hoof, but there was no sign of a horn or hide beside him. I ran down to him, and at the sound of my running he turned his head, showing the red of his eyes. He blew through his nostrils at me, and he looked that wicked that I dodged away behind a big rock, and soon's I peeped out I saw he was looking at the kloof with his ears p.r.i.c.ked forward. So I scanned the edge of the wood, which was about fifty paces off, and there, poking out of the shadows, was the head of that buffel, his black muzzle held high, and the sharp curved tips of his horns showing above the great ma.s.s of bone on his forehead.

The foam was dripping from his muzzle. I saw, then, that red crittur of mine had got the scent of the buffel, and here he had come to do battle out of the love of a fight. I called to the old fool to come back, but, with another dig of his hoof and a shake of his head, he went forward with that slow, steady stride of a crittur that knows no fear. From the wood there came a menacing growl, and at the hoa.r.s.e rumble of it the red bull sunk his crest and let out a beller that went rolling over the kloof. Then the old solitary stepped out, big and black, with white scars showing on his shoulders and his head held high and threatenin'.

There the two of them stood face to face with twenty yards between, their ears twitching and the tails jerking against their sides, Red Prince looking heavier with a mightier neck, the crest arching like the neck of a horse, and the dewlap hanging down between his wide knees.

Bigger and stronger he looked than the buffel, but my heart went weak within me for him when I saw the wild gleam of the buffel eyes, and dwelt on the pile of rugged bone that spanned his forehead. Slowly they walked up to each other, muttering deep threats, then their horns clashed, and their foreheads were pressed closer and closer to the strain of heaving quarters. A minute they stood so, the breathing coming heavily, so that the dust below was blown about--then my old red chap turned the buffalo right round, and with a snort and a sidelong blow, he ripped a long red streak in the black thigh. The buffel sprang a step aside, then his tail went up over his back, and he rushed forward. Right round on his pins as nimble as a yearling the old red went, and catching the buffel between the forelegs, he heaved him up and sent him with a thud on to his side. If he had only known, poor old chap, he would never have let his enemy reach his feet again, but he curled his nose up and jest stood there watching the black devil gather himself together. The buffel was up--phew--and then, with a savage roar, his eyes gleaming like a tiger's, he jest leapt at the big red body standing there so proud, and the next moment--'twas done so quick-- I saw the blood running from his side. I wept, lad, at the sight.

There stood the buffel, with his muzzle up--and the foam dripping from it--watching the red bull, whose legs were planted wide apart to steady himself. While the life was flowing from that terrible wound in his side the old chap shook his head again. So they stood silent, eyeing one another, then Prince lurched forward--dead--and the buffel went up and smelt him, with his back toward me. I had moved round the rock to watch the fight, and as I stood there tremblin' from the excitement, that old black devil suddenly whipped round, and with a most hair-rising roar, came straight at me. The outer curve of his horn caught me on the shoulder, and sent me spinning till I tripped over a rock, and when he turned I squeezed tight against the shelter of the stone. Then that ole brute came and stood by with his nose a few inches off, and his bloodshot eyes glaring at me, and every minute or so he'd try to chop me with a hoof, or hook me out with his horns. And three times he trotted off to smell the red bull--the which times I'd try to squeeze closer to the rock, and then at the third time he cleared off to the left at a gallop."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

THE END OF THE TIGER.

I had been busy all day 'branding' the young cattle, and returning hot, dusty, and tired to the house, found Abe Pike comfortably seated in the cane chair, with the veldschoens of his outspread feet resting on the top bar of the verandah rail, and his lined face looking up at the thatched roof, whence came the loud zing of a bluebottle fly caught in the meshes of a spider web. A jar of my Transvaal tobacco was on the ground by his side, and a large jug of b.u.t.termilk near it.

"Don't disturb yourself, Uncle!"

"I'm not agoing to. Mind how you step, else you'll obset that b.u.t.termilk--not that it would matter much, for it ain't been rightly made. Should ha' been kep' in a calabash with a drop of old milk in the bottom, to flavour it with a taste of biled leather and smoke that belongs to the proper article. But all the old arts is dying out, and insects and beasts is the only critturs that keep up the old customs.

Conservatism is a law of nature--among men who have broken away from nature it's a blind, unreasonin' protest against change. Conservatism is the preserving wisdom of the aged, the salt of experience, and change is born of the rashness of youth. I'm a Conservative--I'm old. I should be presarved for the edification and guidance of the young. Give me the b.u.t.termilk."

As he would not move, I tilted his chair over by kicking the legs away, and pa.s.sed over his rec.u.mbent body to the bedroom. After a wash down I found him still outspread on the ground, his long legs hooked over the chair, and his head resting on his arm, while the glow of his pipe showed that he was still calmly smoking.

"What's brought you over here, Uncle?"

"Well, I 'spect I walked. Have you ever observed, sonny, that the human body is so built that it will fit itself to any position? This is comfortable and the tobacco is fair to middlin', fair to middlin', with a touch of sulphur in it."

I sat down on the stone steps to listen to the most delightful of all sounds--those made by the domestic animals and birds settling to rest; while from the deep black of the sky the stars shot out with a sudden blaze, and the cool night wind came softly whispering through the acacias.

Uncle Abe gathered himself up, and bunched upon the rail, his back bent like a sickle to keep his balance. "What's acrost over yonder?" he said.