Chapter Twenty Three.
Abe’s Diamond Mine.
We were still at the camp near the bush by the sea, and the week’s hunt was ended. The “boys” had gone off to a neighbouring kraal to dance and eat and drink throughout the night, and we were left in the great quiet of a South African evening. As usual, Long Jim had squeezed from his concertina all the melancholy airs he knew, and Amos Topper had trotted out all his well-worn arguments against the Ukolobola—the Kaffir system of selling girls into wedlock in exchange for cattle; a system which he warmly contended was the root of all the stock-thieving.
“A darned good system,” said Abe; “one that’s based on reason and justice; that’s so.”
“Hear the old boomer!” said Amos scornfully; “anyone would think he’d got a parcel o’ daughters to marry off fer cattle.”
“Go slow, Amos Topper, and maybe you won’t stumble. A good system, says I; and why? ’cos it’s lasted all these centuries—since and before Jacob he collected a heap o’ goats for his wife. See yer, when a white man marries a girl he don’t give nothin’ for her, but he asks her father how much he’s going to give the girl. That’s what a white man does, and lor’ lov’ yer, more often than not he swallows up all her money, and then beats her, the skunk. Now a black man is different. When he goes courtin’ he don’t ask the father how much the girl’s goin’ to bring to the hut—not he. What he does is to ask the father how much he wants for the girl. ‘Five cows,’ says the father ‘for the girl is nice an’ fat.’ Well, the young buck he’s got to get them five cows, and if he takes one outer a white man’s kraal that’s due to his impatience—it don’t prove the system is wrong. Well, the five cows is paid over, an’ the girl goes to the young buck. As usual, the pair has children—and the cows has calves. Maybe the husband beats his wife. What then; why, sir, the wife takes her children and goes back to her father. ‘I’ve come back,’ she says, ‘and I’m going to live on them cows and calves.’ The father he can’t say nothin’; ’cos why, ’cos he took those same cows in trust for his daughter ’gainst she should come, back to him on account of her husband’s bad treatment. That’s so. The Ukolobola is better’n a magistrate for keeping the peace ’twixt husband and wife. That’s why I say ’tis a good system, an’ a just system.”
“’Tis well known,” said Amos, “that Abe Pike’s got no cause to kick against Kaffir customs, because he keeps no cattle worth havin’—nor nothin’ else, for that matter.”
“By the way, Uncle Abe,” I said quickly, to prevent the coming storm; “you promised to tell us how it was you gave over searching for that diamond mine.”
“Meaning that bull elephant,” said Amos Topper, still aggressively; “and I do say this, of all the yarns I heard there’s none to beat that for downright contrariness to what is reasonable. Who ever heard of a bull elephant rampaging round with a red diamond stuck in his forehead?”
“Humph!” grunted Abe. “If we was to believe nothin’ you never yeard on we’d be a pack o’ blamed jackasses, and no mistake. Now, I tell you that same elephant is a-tramping around now over yonder in the Addo bush, with that same red diamond a-gleamin’ in his forehead, if so be the hide ain’t growed over it.”
“Why don’t you get a permit from Government and shoot him, then!”
“Not me: not Abe Pike. Oh, no! I tole you how he flattened out ole Harkins, an’ stove in my partner’s ribs, an’ laid out another chap what j’ined the company with a yeller horse, an’ skeered off that Port Elizabeth fellow what tried to ‘jump’ my claim. Well, that showed this yer walkin’ diamond mine were dangerous, but, lor’ bless yer, the schreik he gave me was somethin’ that sent the everlastin’ shivers up an’ down my backbone. I’ll tell you how ’twas. When the company was busted up I was the only chap what held shares, an’ as there was no market for ’em I calkerlated to do the prospectin’ myself. So I went on a reg’lar expedition into the bush with a new castin’ o’ bullets, a horn o’ powder, a tin box o’ caps—them being muzzle-loading days—an’ a kit o’ one sheepskin kaross, with a roll o’ tobacco, five pounds o’ coffee, an’ sugar, an’ as much Boer meal as I could buy, with a pot an’ cometje. I reckoned to shoot my own meat an’ pick up berries, besides gettin’ a square meal at a farmhouse now an’ ag’in. So I sot out into the Addo, an’ gettin’ to the middle of it, planted my kit in a holler tree. That was a Sunday. Then I scouted aroun’. Monday I seed nothin’. Tuesday I came on a family party o’ two tigers an’ their cubs. The ole woman, steppin’ on her toes, marched me off the premises, an’ I darsn’t shoot for fear o’ skeerin’ the elephant. I had to march back’ards, an’ the thorns they jest had a picnic with my shirt, I tell you; an’ I got sich a cramp in my stummick that I couldn’t hunt any more that day. Wednesday I came on elephant spoor—fresh spoor—and follered it for four hours without ever seein’ a patch o’ the animile. Thursday I came on spoor ag’in within twenty yards o’ where I camped. Yes, sirree; that crittur had come up as near as that, and he’d stood there for a long time, maybe watchin’ me. Well, I lit out on the tracks and follered ’em in an’ out an’ roun’ about all through the mornin’ into the afternoon, the tracks keeping so fresh that I kep’ on with the trigger at full cock. In the evenin’ the spoor led me right back to my holler tree, and blow me if that crittur hadn’t been overhauling my goods. Yes, that’s so. The kettle it were hung twenty feet from the ground. The kaross it were peppered all over with holes, where he’d drove his tusk through. The Boer meal were all eaten up, except for a sprinkle here and there; and the tobacco were chewed up and spat out. I dried it and smoked it, and it had a flavour of boots most terrible. Well, I tell you, this made me quei, but when I seed, arter looking more carefully, that this yer fool elephant were my diamon’ mine itself I jes’ picked up. ’Cos, what’s the loss of a few shillin’s worth of things when that diamon’ ’ud bring in enough to buy up a whole street full o’ grocers’ shops.”
“How did you know it was the elephant you wanted?”
“How did I know! ’Cos I seed, that’s how, by the size of his hoofs and the plain writin’ that he’d only one tusk, same as my bull. That’s how! Friday I up and follered ag’in afore sunrise, and I tell yer I hadn’t gone mor’n half-an-hour before I diskivered that he were follerin’ me. Yes. I were standin’ to listen, and I yeard the rumbling of his stummick. I yeard it plain—and jes’ crawled along so’s not to crush so much as a dry leaf. I yeard that rumble ag’in—but blow me if I could see him, an’ I crawled an’ crawled, poking the big gun afore till the sweat it run down my back. There was the spoor and there was the rumble, but—there was no elephant. I began to feel shivery, and looked over my shoulder like a man does in the dark, and—by gosh!—I seed that red diamon’ gleamin’ out of the leaves behind me. An’ jes’ below it and on each side were two other gleamin’ objects—the eyes of the bull hisself. Well, he giv’ a scream, I rolled over—an’ the next I yeard he were thundering by, smashing down the trees and yelling out most horrible. Abe Pike didn’t stop there, I tell you. He jest sneaked off, and when he yeard the bull stand—which was plain to hear from the stillness—Abe he stopped to. I did that.”
“Why didn’t you go back and shoot him?”
“Sonny, you never had a railway engine runnin’ arter you, did you? Well, you try, and then settle with yourself whether your nerves would be worth much for a spell. No, sir; I didn’t go back to shoot him, but I found the biggest yellow-wood and I climbed up. That’s what I did, and that bull he found out. Yes, sir, he picked up my scent and he tree’d me. But, by gum, d’ye think he’d show hisself? No, gentlemen, he jes’ kep’ away in the thick o’ the bush, goin’ roun’ and roun’ an’ stopping sometimes for a blow. Once I saw the sparkle of the diamon’, when he was doin’ a spell o’ listenin’ and watchin’, and I pulled straight at it. I hit him hard, the ole cuss, an’ he fetched a yell an’ went smashin’ off. The sound o’ him runnin’ away did me good. I loaded up and picked up the blood-trail, and was goin’ so hot on that that I’m blowed if I didn’t a’most run inter him. I were slippin’ along, and from the corner of my eye I saw the point of his tusk on my left. The ole chap had turned on his spoor; but his tusk saved me, for I dodged roun’ a big tree and brought the gun up. D’ye think he’d charge? He jes’ slipped back by inches and stole away as silent as a hare, whiles I had my eyes gummed on the thick cover where he’d stood. He jes’ slipped away and made a circle to come on me from the rear. He did that, and if I hadn’t edged away to see better inter the cover he’d a nabbed me—for bymby I saw he’d gone, and on follering on the spoor I seed where he’d turned back. I tell you that gave me the creeps, and I made off for a small krantz near by where there’s a stream. I crawled inter a cave there and went off ter sleep, because of the tiredness in my bones; and Saturday mornin’ I woke up hungry an’ stiff in the j’ints, and I laid off for the camp. Blow me, if that blamed bull hadn’t been there ag’in. The kettle were clean gone this time, and all the other things was smashed to nothing—so there wasn’t a smell, let ’lone a mouthful. I were that savage I jes’ went hot-foot on the old boomer’s spoor ag’in, an’ this time he were travellin’. He went straight on for fifteen miles, over the ridge, inter a deep kloof—where he laid in grub—and then set off, nose on, for another five mile towards Alicedale, where he had a bathe in a pool. All this time I hadn’t seen even the flap of his ears, and I were still on his spoor, when I just flung myself inter a hump o’ grass and chawed on to a stick o’ biltong. Then I went to sleep, ’cos I couldn’t keep my eyes skinned, but the morning cold woke me in the small hours, and the fust thing I seed were a blazing eye looking at me outer the dark. It sparkled and flickered and blinked, with the red heart of it contractin’ an’ expandin’. In the drowsiness I lay there, thinkin’ ’twas the mornin’ star, when I yeard the rumble of a elephant’s inside, an’ I knew that ole bull were a standing over me; maybe had been standin’ there for hours waitin’ for me to wake so’s he could enjoy seein’ me shake.
“Afraid! Well, I think so. And the shakes went scooting up an’ down my backbone, an’ my heart nearly stopped and I could skasely breathe. Then I felt about for my gun with one hand, then with the other, and then with each foot; but, by gosh! the wepin weren’t there, an’ the cole chills were chasing each other up an’ down my bones, an’ the ole bull laafed in his stummick, while that busted red diamond glowered at me. I thought o’ poor ole Harkins flattened out, an’ I jest pulled the plug outer the powder-horn, then I got out the flint an’ steel, an’ lay there watching the outline of the ole cuss come clearer an’ clearer out of the darkness an’ saw the shine of his wicked little eyes. He laafed in his stummick ag’in, and the coil of his trunk came out. I got the flint ready over the powder, and the stir of my body made him suspicious. His big ears went out like sails, and he made a step forrard. Then I struck with the steel, an’ turned over on my back. He brought his trunk down ‘ker—whack,’ on my sitting place, rolling me over an’ over—and when I rubbed the dust outer my eyes I yeard him smashin’ through the trees. The puff and flame of the powder must ha’ skeered him bad, but I didn’t wait beyond a second to search for my gun, and I seed the stock one side of a tree and the barrel bent up a yard away. He had moved it away, and were waitin’ for me to wake. Then I lit out for the water an’ hid away. That was Saturday. On Sunday I took the back tracks, without a wepin or anythin’, and blow me ef that bull didn’t reg’lar hunt me. He did that, an’ in the afternoon he caught me up and druv me inter a big tree. I jes’ managed to reach the first bough when, ker-blunk, he came up ag’inst it an’ nearly shook me off. By gum! the way that bull went on was a caution. He let off steam through his nose, stamped his feet, dug his tusk in the ground, twisted his little tail, and butted that tree till its roots heaved up the ground. In his walk he wore down a circle as big as a cattle kraal, smashin’ all the trees down, and trampling the leaves and branches and trunks inter a mass. And every now and then he’d wheel round and come smash ag’inst my tree till he started the wound in his forehead where my bullet struck, an’ the blood poured down his face. I never seed such wickedness an’ temper, never, and I crawled up to the top branch, for the sight of him made me queer. All through that Sunday afternoon he kep’ up that smash-jamble, an’ in the night he fetched up some water outer his stummick an’ washed his face; then, with that diamon’ shinin’ red outer the dark, he stood there, still as a rock, keeping guard. That night I went empty in my head, an’ got back my senses in starts when I were slippin’. In the mornin’ I jest gave him my trousers.
“It was a inspiration, that’s what. A flash came inter my brain from the blue sky, an’ I gave him my trousers. Lor’, the scream he gave when he fell on ’em, trampled ’em, knelt on ’em, jabbed his tusk inter ’em, and then danced ’em outer sight through the mass o’ leaves into the yearth beneath. Then he kep’ on going away and comin’ back with a rush, till I got giddy, and fin’ly jest slithered to the ground. That time he didn’t come back, and I krept away outer the Addo bush, living on roots and leaves like a animile. That’s so. I got on a Wednesday to a Kaffir clearing, most like a wild beast, all kivered with ticks and sores.”
“And what became of the diamond?”
“Well, the Abe Pike Diamon’ Mining Company went to smash. That diamond’s still in the Addo bush, and if any o’ you would like to float the company I’m not sure but I wouldn’t jine you again. I guess that ole bull’s a hundred an’ fifty years old, an’ maybe he’s not so blamed active. So long!”
Chapter Twenty Four.
How Abe lost his Water Barrel.
Abe Pike was laying a new floor to his shed. He had at last, after many years, brought that wonderful structure to some semblance of a covered shelter, and now he was stamping down the red earth taken from ant-hills. This earth makes a firm floor, as it binds well and grows harder from use.
“Yes, sonny,” said the old man, “when animiles or insecks take a work in hand they do it better’n men. See this yer earth. Well, every grain of it’s been worked up by the jaws of a ant, and covered with a nateral mortar. It’s been all milled month in and month out, mostly after a fall o’ rain, each tiny pellet mined out o’ the smoking ground and carried by the little chaps way up the tunnels out inter the sunlight and glued to its place on the risin’ mound. An’ in the buildin’ of the dome them critturs don’t forget the chopped straw, and when they’ve carried their temple high above the groun’ they don’t forget, too, to narrow the circle till they come to the finishin’ peak. Yes, sir, I tell you, there’s more wonder in one of em ord’nary ant-hills than there is in the biggest cathedral ever built, an’ yet here I be spreading the remains of such works over the floor of this yer shed.”
“But ants always keep to the same designs, Abe.”
“Not they. In diffrent countries they have diffrent kinds o’ hills; but when they find the sort that’s best fitted for the climate they sticks to it, which is morn men do. No, sonny; the animiles an’ the insecks know what they start out to learn without goin’ to school for sixteen years, same as some young ones do that I know of, and then can’t tell a field of wheat from a barley crop. As for me, I’ve had no schooling; but I know how to do what I want to do.”
“How long have you been over this shed, Abe?”
“Lemme see. I laid the fust pole at the time of the big drought, maybe thirty years ago.”
“And when it’s finished?”
“Finished!” Abe left off stamping the red earth, and looked around with a strange expression. “I ain’t goin’ to finish it, sonny; no, what’s the use? When I begun that shed Abe Pike were a young man, and I seed under the roof of it when the work were done sacks o’ yellow wheat, piled up. The lands were young, I had a team o’ young oxen, there were young cows in the kraal, a good flock o’ sheep, an’ a crop of hopes in my head. That were thirty years ago, sonny, an’ the shed ain’t finished yet, and the cows is dead, the lands are poor, and Abe Pike don’t hope no more. I ain’t goin’ to finish this yer shed, not me; it’s all that holds me together. There’s a man buried in this yer shed.”
“What!”
“Yes, lad, that’s so. Young Abe is here—in the four corners, and under the ground, an’ in the roof, and the sides. Yes, young Abe hisself, an’ his sorrows, an’ his hopes, an’ his pride and laziness. I’ve worked him in these thirty years in loneliness, with the sound of the sea groanin’ in the air, an’ the hills lookin’ on, and the sky stretched abuv, workin’ him in slowly with nery an eye to watch, and what’s lef of him is this yer sun-dried karkus that’s standing afore you. That’s all.”
Abe Pike straightened himself and looked round at the drab veld, the grey hills, and the dark of the kloof where the forest trees were massed. Then he rested his hands on the handle of his stamper, and, so standing, gazed with a vacant expression before him, and watching him I seemed to see a long line of shadowy reflections of him, standing so with the same fixed look fastened on the empty veld. The hollow booming of the great waves solemnly breaking in endless succession alone broke the heavy silence.
“Did ever anything come out of the sea, Abe?” I asked, idly, as I gazed, like him, in a sort of spell, scarcely knowing what I meant.
“A many things,” said he, without moving. “Yes, sonny,” he continued, after a long pause; “a many, many things. When the evenin’ wind comes off the sea, and I been a-sittin’ outside the door, listenin’ to the waves and the different voices of ’em all blendin’, with now and ag’in a mighty bass note from the biggest of the seven brothers, as he rolled his shining crest—I’ve seed things come over the randt yonder, seed ’em come an’ melt away, often an’ often.”
“What things?”
“All manner o’ things, sonny; but I allow you won’t see ’em, as you ain’t had the trainin’. Night after night, year in year out, you must sit alone listenin’ in the stillness, and maybe you’ll year the voices I year an’ see what I see. But you couldn’t go through it—no, sonny! I bin frightened many a time so that I’ve got up and fetched the gun to make a noise—yes, that’s so; for there’s some things you can’t see, only feel, an’ they hard to bear. I seed a little boy once. Maybe he was young Abe Pike afore I knew him. A little chap with brown legs an’ curly hair an’ big eyes. He came drifting over the randt outer the sea, when its waves was jes’ murmuring sof and low, and I yeard him laugh as I watched him come, thinking he were a wild fowl. He lighted over there where that railed-in moss is a-growin’—see how green it is in the dry of the yearth. That’s where his little naked feet touched the ground, and where he stood eyeing me with his big eyes and a sort o’ dew on his forehead where the curls came down. Then he laughed, and with his head on one side he came up to my knee an’ looked up at me. Yes, a little chap; an’ he came outer the sea to ole Abe Pike, sitting lonely out there on the door-step. Maybe if I’d a married I might a’ had a son like that, for he seemed to b’long to me, as he eyed me with a smile. Only onct he came, only onct; but, sonny, I feel the touch of his hands now, an’ by that touch I know I will meet him ag’in. He may a bin young Abe afore I knew him come back to see what I’d made o’ him, an’ but for the smile on his face I’d think he were grieved to see what a blamed failure I’d made outer him. Many a time I watched for him. Yes, sonny; I’ve sat in the quiet of the afternoon, listenin’ to the sea, and when I year the murmuring same as then I look for that little chap to come floatin’ up over the randt, an’ I keep the moss there wet when I have to go without water to drink in the drought. You ain’t laughing?”
“No, Abe, no. One of these wretched flies has got into my eye.”
“I made a boat for the little chap, ’gainst he came again, and a fishin’ line, and a reed pipe. We could ’a played many games together, him and me, but he only came onct.” Abe turned his face to the sea and stared wistfully. He was not yarning now, and I wondered at him.
“Yes,” he said; “I could a showed him many a bird’s nest if he’d a come, but maybe the white woman has kep’ him away. She’s bin here off an’ on for maybe six years. She came outer the sea, too, footin’ her way through the air—comin’ like a cloud or one o’ these big sea-birds that sails on the wind without a flap of his long, narrer wings. White, my sonny!—I never seed anythin’ so white, not even the sails o’ a ship with the sun on, or the inside o’ one o’ them shells folk use for tooth powder. She comes on me all o’ a sudden, and all I see is the gleam o’ her eyes—then she’s gone, leavin’ me here with my heart beatin’. Maybe she looks after the little ones, for when she comes there’s a queer noise in the waves over yonder ’s if a heap o’ girls were at play. Oh, yes; many things come outer the sea besides fish an’ otter an’ sich like—many things, sonny; an’ when I’m buildin’ this yer shed I stop workin’ to look for their comin’. Of late I bin expectin’ somethin’ mor’n ord’nary, but it ain’t come. Yes, I bin waitin’ for that little chap to take me by the hand. Got any tabak?”
I handed over the pouch, and saw that Abe had come out of the spell that had been on him.
“That water bar’l o’ mine’s all broken up.”
“How was that?”
“I’ll tell you how it happened. The dry weather druv the field-rats to the bar’l for water, which they fetched out by dipping their tails in. Many a time I seed ’em at it, an’ it weren’t long before a ringhals spotted the performance; so what’s he do but get inter the water, tail fust, through the bung, and watch for the rats to come an’ drink. My! He guv me a schreik when I went for a drink an’ saw his eyes gleamin’ up outer the green bough I poked in the hole to cool the water an’ prevent it shakin’ out. I lef him there, for I couldn’t see how to fetch him out; but, whiles I were sittin’ quiet in the evenin’, waitin’ for him to crawl out, up came along a percession of rats, with a ole grey-whiskered chap leading. He took a look at me, movin’ his nose, but I kep’ still, and he reared hisself against the bar’l. Next rat he run up, and the next over the two of ’em, till the third got over the swell of the bar’l and scooted to the bung-hole, backed round and popped in his tail, unsuspicious of that vicious crittur inside. Nex’ minit that rat were hollering out blue murder, for the snake grabbed him by the tail, and the other rats, they jes’ lit out for hum. Well, that snake he let go, but the rat he jes’ curled up and fell down in a kickin’ fit. Then the ringhals crawled out—the ugly five feet length o’ livin’ death—and there and then gorged the rat. Well, I let him be. Snakes is bad, and rats is bad. I let him be, and three days arter there were the blamed ringhals in my bar’l again. Blow me, if the same performance didn’t happen over ag’in, and some days arter I seed that partickler tribe o’ rats was gettin’ smaller, and, believe me, sonny, that ringhals had guv the news to another snake, for one evenin’ I seed two o’ their wicked-lookin’ heads jes’ inside the bung on the twigs. I were watchin’ for the tragedy—same as us’al—when—same as us’al—up come that ole grey chap on his own hook. He came to the bar’l, and sat up on his behind legs like a hare, twiddling his moustaches and twisting his nose. Then he backed off, and give a whopping spring, which landed him on a swell of the bar’l. Well, he weren’t takin’ any water, he weren’t; oh, no! He jes’ walked on his hind legs and took a peep inter the bung-hole. I guess he seed something, for he turned a back sumersault, jes’ as a vicious head came with a hiss at him. Well, I tell you that ole chap he scooted off, squeaking like a forty-shillin’ kettle. I sat there laughin’ at the skeer of that ’ere rat, but, by gum! I soon dropped grinnin’, for up along came the ole feller ag’in with a ’ole lot o’ rats behind him. When they drew near he gave them the word to stop, whiles he examined the bar’l all round. Then he spoke a few words, and the entire gang they went to the lower side of the bar’l and began to scratch away the yearth. Yes, sir, that’s what they done. They scratched away the yearth. Then the ole chap guv another word, an’ they got roun’ on the top side o’ the bar’l. Then they begun to shuv.”
“Nonsense!”
“I tell you; them rats they jist put their backs ag’in the bar’l and shuved for all they were worth; but ’twarn’t no go. They was too light. D’ye think they guv up the job—not they! The ole chap led ’em roun’ the bottom side, and they set to scraping more yearth away till the bar’l were almost undermined. Then roun’ they came ag’in, all squeaking, and one of the snakes popped his head out ter see what the noise were about. Nex’ minute he’d a’ bin among ’em, but the ’ole parcel o’ rats, maybe one hundred, guv another mighty shuv, and ’fore I could start up to prevent it that bar’l gave a list over, and then started. Once it started it jes’ flew down the slope, and went to pieces at the bottom with a smash. The snake that were hangin’ out were flattened dead, and the way them rats fell on his body were a caution. They were tearin’ it to pieces when, bilin’ with rage an’ hissin’ most furious, up came the other riptile. The rats then scooted—that’s so!”
Chapter Twenty Five.
Abe Pike Scouting.
“Yes!” said Abe, one afternoon, after he had been helping threshin’ wheat; “these newfangled machines bin smashing up all the good old customs that were the salt of country life. This yer thresher of yours may get through the sheaves with a lot of dust an’ rattle an’ smoke, but give me the old floor, an’ the oxen tramping out the ear, an’ the neighbours coming to the supper. Oh, yes! the old customs they brought the people together and made ’em soshiable and talk. Lor’ bless you, there ain’t no talking nowadays—only grunting.”
“Is that so?” said I, as I brushed the dust from my eyes.
“It are. No one talks now, ’cos of these yer machines, which does everything. Why, blow me! you can shoot a man with these new guns without ever seeing him.”
“I don’t know that it is any more satisfaction for the man shot to die with the knowledge that he knows who shot him.”
“Well, I do know. Take these yer talking machines I year on. What’s the good squeaking through a machine to a man, or maybe a girl, in the nex’ street when you can’t see the eyes of her, or the shape of her lips, or the expression, without which talking’s no account. Look here, sonny, you listen to what I tell you; these yer machines goin’ to turn out people same as pins, all o’ one pattern.”
“You’re a great talker yourself, Abe?”
“I’m not talking when I ain’t got nothin’ to say. When I seed the Colonel of the 94th up by Pluto’s Vale—‘Who the blazes are you,’ he said, ‘and where the devil you come from?’—I weren’t saying much, but I took a pull at his black bottle. He were one of the ole sort were the Colonel—grey an’ peppery, an’ stiff in the upper lip ’s if his face bin fixed in a iron mask. That’s the sort of man he were. ‘The Kaffirs is laying a trap for you,’ I said to him. ‘They darn’t do it,’ he said. ‘Lay a trap for the 94th! I never yeard o’ sich blamed impertinence,’ he said, twisting his grey moustaches, an’ glaring at me’s if I’d insulted him. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘if yure too proud to take advice, go an’ walk inter the trap like a blunderin’ porkipine, an’ you’ll get stuck full o’ assegais,’ I said. ‘You’re too free with your tongue,’ he said, gettin’ red in the face; so I walked out, but bymby he came over to where I sot by the fire, an’ he sot down ’longside o’ me. He talked an’ I ate, but at last he up an’ came to the point. ‘Can you scout?’ he said. ‘Mejum,’ says I. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I’ve got a mejum scout with me. What I want is a fust-class scout.’ Well, sonny, I jes’ lit my pipe and took a puff. He looked at me under his eyebrows. ‘My scout tells me the Kaffirs have retreated,’ he said. ‘Soh!’ says I, and went on smoking. ‘Yes,’ says he, gettin’ angry aller a sudden, ‘and you’ve been giving me false news for the sake of getting a reward.’ Well, I jes’ pulled up my sleeve and showed him where I’d been stabbed. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, and riz up to go back to his tent. ‘Colonel,’ says I, laying hold of his sash, ‘if you want me to scout I’ll scout, and you can send a man along with me.’ ‘Leave to-morrer,’ he said, ‘if you feel well enough;’ and he marched off jes’ as stiff an’ unconcerned ’s if he’d asked me to supper. Soon after a young chap came up to my fire. ‘I’ve received orders to go on scout duty with you,’ he said, eyeing me up an’ down ’s if I’d been some kur’ous kind o’ inseck. ‘When do we start?’ says I. ‘Oh, furst thing in the morning, if you’re awake.’ ‘Oh!’ says I, ‘so’s the Kaffirs can see us?’ ‘There ain’t no Kaffirs,’ says he; ‘’t any rate I ain’t seen any.’ ‘I’m startin’ at midnight,’ I says, and with that turned over to sleep. Well, at midnight I woke up and prepared to leave, thinking that young fellow wouldn’t be about. But, blow me, there he were, sitting by the fire watching me. ‘I’m ready,’ he said, standin’ up. ‘What for?’ ‘Why, to scout, of course’ ‘Orright,’ says I; ‘take off that sword then, and that white hat, and that red coat. You ain’t anxious for the Kaffirs to see us furst, are you?’ He jes’ opened his mouth to cheek me; then he ran off, and bymby he came back without them things, with a grey shirt and soft hat. ‘Is that right?’ he said, fetching a grin. I jes’ nodded, an’ off we stepped inter the dark of the night. Slipping by the sentries without givin’ ’em good evenin’, we marched along outer the side of the valley where the camp were pitched to where it narrowed into a poort, between big krantzes, with a kloof running down on the left side. By sunrise we were on the divide between the poort and the nex’ valley, jest about where the road led over the neck ahead of the troops. We took cover and looked around. ‘There’s a Kaffir,’ said I, ‘over yonder on that rock above the far krantz, watching the camp.’ The young chap fetched a laugh. ‘That Kaffir,’ said he, ‘is a vidette, and there’s a whole string of ’em on the heights. None of the enemy can get inter the poort without being seen.’ Well, this was up against me, an’ I kep’ quiet, looking away down inter the next valley where the road track twisted along the steep aside of the thick bush. ‘That’s the place for an ambush,’ said the young chap, ‘down in that ravine. If there are any Kaffirs about they will be there. Let us go down.’ I jes’ sot there watchin’, an’ bymby he began to fidget; then he up an’ tole me that if I would not scout, he would. ‘There’s no Kaffirs in the far valley,’ I said. ‘I’m tired of you,’ he said, in one o’ them sort o’ drawn tones that always reminds me o’ a sword glinting out o’ the scabbard; ‘I came out to scout, not to lie in cover; you may stay here by yourself; I’m going inter the valley below.’ I nearly got angry, but then I thought what’s the use, so I jest explained matters. ‘There’s no Kaffirs down there,’ says I, ‘but there is Kaffirs down here in the poort in that big kloof, an’, what’s more, them pickets o’ yours will be assegaied before long. I’ll tell you why. See them birds flying over that kloof? They’ve been startled, an’, what’s more, when they settled jest now they started off ag’in on a new flight, an’, what’s more, I seed a jackal an’ a ram slip away over the rise. That’s good enough for me, an’ when it’s dark I’ll slip back to the camp to tell the Colonel.’ ‘Are you sure?’ he said, lookin’ at me hard. ‘Certain,’ I said. ‘Then,’ said he, ‘we must go back to the Colonel at once.’
“‘You might start to go back,’ I said, ‘but you’d never reach half way. Where’s the picket?’ I said. He took a look at the krantz where we’d seen the figgur of a man, and he seed the poor beggar was gone. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘he’s been assegaied!’
“‘My God!’ he said, ‘can’t we do anything to save the others?’
“‘It’s no go,’ said I, pulling out my pipe. ‘Haven’t you got any heart?’ he said, fiercely, then he began to move off. Well, that wouldn’t do, so I pulled him back. ‘Keep still,’ says I; ‘the pickets must look after themselves; we’ve got to save the camp.’ Well, blow me, that made him worse, and he struggled to get free, saying the 94th didn’t want to be saved from any Kaffirs, and all that—but I jes’ hung onter him, an’ while we were struggling in a holler behind a rock, up there came the sound of a bugle. ‘Hark!’ he said, lettin’ go his hold; ‘the regiment has struck camp—that’s the order to advance.’ ‘The blamed fool,’ I said, ‘he’ll march straight inter the trap.’ ‘Soh,’ says he, then he made a bolt, saying as he ran, ‘I must warn them.’ I seed it were no use, an’ I let him go. By gosh! he jes’ bounded down from rock to rock, without taking any cover, straight for the track that ran down the poort past the kloof to the regiment. At the same time I seed a black figure running down the slope from where the picket had been, then another an’ another, all of ’em crouchin’. Of course, there were Kaffirs there, an’ in course they seed him, an’ they were runnin’ down to stop him.”
“And what did you do?”
“What did I do? Well I jes’ sat an’ looked, an’ bymby I edged away over the randt away from the Kaffirs. Then I sot off at a run round to get to the back of the krantze where the picket had been killed.”
“You didn’t know he had been killed.”
“Well, according to all that was goin’ on he oughter bin killed, and ’t any rate I made round that way—but if you’re going to talk to me like that I’ll jes’ shut up. I’m gwine to supper now.”
Chapter Twenty Six.
End of the Scouting.
The next morning Abe was stamping mealies with a wooden pestle in a wooden mortar made from a tree trunk. It was a piece of unusual labour on his part, and I complimented him on his early industry.
“Industry be blowed—it’s my teeth! They’re worn down, and not equal to chewing hard mealies. You take pattern by me, sonny, and keep your teeth. Lor’ love yer, when I sees young boys and gals with half their teeth missin’, I’m jest thinkin’ that there’s no ignorance like that of the civilised man. Take me, or take an ord’nary raw Kaffir turned sixty, and look at his mouth. Teeth as white and soun’ as a animile’s—’cos why?—’cos he ain’t loadin’ his inside with all sorts o’ hots an’ colds, an’ sweets, and thingammies painted yeller an’ red—an’ ’cos he polishes up his grinders with a bit o’ wood and heaps o’ water. Toothache—man wasn’t born to have toothache—o’ course not; nor to have his jawbone broken with steel pincers; but there, he ain’t got sense to know when he’s well off, and so he starts undermining his teeth from the day he’s old enough to chew toffee.”
“I’ve known a Kaffir to have toothache.”
“And I’ve known a Kaffir to drink off a bottle of Worcester sauce. But why? ’Cos some blamed white man invented the sauce to help out his finicking appetite, and if the Kaffir’s fool enough to drink white man’s mixtures, why there’s an end to him. When you start to civilise a Kaffir you give him toothache, and fill him as full o’ wickedness an’ sickness as a white man. That’s so!”
“I didn’t know you were such an admirer of Kaffirs.”
“Ghoisters! You’re like a ramrod; you can’t see your way unless it’s straight. I’m not in love with the black because his teeth is good.”
Abe scooped up the broken maize, and proceeded to make his morning pap, after which he lit his pipe and was at peace.
“What was the end of your scouting, Abe?”
“I ain’t scouting.”
“I mean at Pluto’s Vale, when the young officer left you.”
“Is that so! Lemme see. I left him running like a blind hoss at a precipice, straight for the path by the kloof which I reckoned were full o’ Kaffirs, and with three chaps runnin’ down to cut him off. That weren’t me. No! I jest skipped round back o’ the krantz opposite the kloof, an’ crawled up to where I’d seen the vidette. It were as I thought Stone dead he were, with his face to the sky and his arms stretched out, assegaied through the back and then turned over by them as stabbed him—and who who was sneaking down the hill to do the same for my partner. I jest peeped over the rock—and far down the valley to the lef I see the regiment on the march, with the waggons in the centre and the Colonel riding ahead’s if he were going on parade. Sonny, them rooibaaitjes can fight, but they’re foolish. They’re too stiff in the lip to ask questions, and too proud to learn. That’s so! There were the Colonel marching his men straight into the tightest kind o’ fix without waiting for me to report the lay o’ the land. I looked down below, and there were that young chap booming along like a rock rolled from the top, leaping like a buck, an’ jes’ ahead o’ him, in a turn in the road, crouchin’ behin’ bushes, was them three red Kaffirs waitin’ to stab him. A hundred paces he had to cover afore he came up to the fust of ’em, and I seed in a flash he were a gone coon, unless somethin’ happened. I tell you, sonny, I did some quick thinking while he were running them hundred paces. S’pose I fired! The report would jes’ boom from side to side o’ that valley and wake up every darned Kaffir in the kloof—s’posing Kaffirs was there. The Kaffirs would be on the watch, the Colonel would hear, an’ rush up his men, leaving his waggons unprotected. Then there’d be a awful kind of a mess—s’posing the Kaffirs was in that kloof. I thunked all that, and that young chap had gone half-way. If I fired he couldn’t a pulled up in time, so I jest fetched a yell in Kaffir. From the bottom o’ my throat I fetched up one of them deep Kaffir shouts. ‘Look out!’ I yelled; ‘the soldiers—run!’ The words fell on them Kaffirs like the lash of a whip. The three of them jumped to their feet, run across the road, an’ slipped inter the kloof. The young chap seed ’em cross his track, and pulled up, then I’m darned if he didn’t keep on again. Well, I give him another chance. I cried to him in English to keep to his left, but he jes’ lifted his hand and kep’ on. Nex’ moment he were running along the fringe of the kloof where the dark wood came down to the road, and then he gave a lurch, and rolled over an’ over, his gun flying from his hand. I could hear the tinkle of the metal against the stones. The roll carried him to a rock, and over that he went with a splash inter a pool o’ water, and as he went in a Kaffir darted from the kloof with his shield and assegai. I knew then the kloof were full of Kaffirs, for none of the other three carried a shield. All this yer happened in a breath almost, and then I ran along the krantz to where a corner of it stood out bold, an’ standing there I shouted to the regiment, which lay outstretched down below, the head of it no further than 300 paces from the beginning of the kloof on that side. The Colonel were riding ahead, then followed the pioneers, with their axes and spades sheathed in shiny black leather, and on their chests big black beards, behind them a company of the 94th with the bayonets glittering like running fire, back o’ them the band, and ahind them the waggons in the long line, and far behind, a full mile from the Colonel, the balance of the regiment. Sonny! in ten minutes the hull biling of ’em would ’a been in the narrer of the valley without room to turn, and they’d a bin assegaied to a man, I tell you! But Abe Pike were there; and I tell you he gave a shout that went ekering down that valley from side to side. ‘Halt!’ I said. The Colonel he pulled up. I seed him shade his eyes with his hand as he took a look, and I seed some of the soldiers point up at me. The Colonel he shook his reins, and rode on. ‘Halt!’ I said; but he jes’ kep’ on, calm as possible. ‘You blamed fool,’ I shouted; ‘stop! There’s Kaffirs ahead.’ He pulled up, and turned in his saddle. ‘Ninety-fourth,’ he said—and his voice came up clear—‘halt!’ All along that mile o’ men and oxen the order ran down, and the moving column came to a stand. ‘Number 1 company,’ he said, ‘leading files from your left, two paces to the right. Rear ranks, two paces to your front.’ The leading company jest stretched out like a concertina, across the road. ‘Prepare to fire,’ he said, and down came that shining stretch o’ bayonets to the level. Then I’m darned if the Colonel didn’t walk his horse round the turn in the road till he came to the kloof, and seed the track wind up through the narrer poort up to the ridge beyond, with me on his right far above him. He seed nothin’, of course; ’cos why, he couldn’t see through the dark o’ the woods on his left; but there was hundreds of black eyes glaring at him through the leaves. He looked up at me, as if to say, ‘Where are the Kaffirs?’ ‘They’re in the bush,’ I shouted; then I slid down the krantz by a monkey tow, and after making my way through the tumbled mass of boulders and thorn scrub at the base, started to run down, when I yeard the beat of the drum, and the next minute seed the pioneers come round the bend, then the first company, and nex’ the band, with the Colonel ’twixt the pioneers and the company. The old fire-eater were determined to get inter the trap after all, and when I reached him he were half-way by the kloof. ‘For God’s sake,’ I said, putting my hand on the bridle, ‘stop the waggons, and get your men outer this. Turn back!’ I said. He were jest going to rap me over the head for mutinous conduct, or some sich nonsense, when the Kaffir yell rang out. They couldn’t wait any longer. Whew! My gum, sonny! talk o’ yellin’ an’ cussin’ an’ gruntin’. Them red Kaffirs were into us. They jumped this way, and that, their eyes rollin’ in their heads, their assegais whizzing and kerries flying, with a noise like a flight o’ partridges. Then the rifles snapped out, and the big drum boomed onct. Only onct. Then I seed the drummer throw up his sticks an’ roll over, drum up, man up, turn an’ turn. I didn’t know which way to turn at first; then I seed a Kaffir raising his kerrie to smash the Colonel, who were lying on the ground, and I shot him. I helped the Colonel up, and he roared out ‘Bayonets.’ The soldiers were too mixed up to use their bayonets. I seed five of them—one after another—assegaied. The Kaffirs, they jes’ grabbed the poor Johnny by the belt, pulled him outer the thick of the jam, and then assegaied him. I seed how things would go if the soldiers couldn’t get ground to fight, so I jumped for the drum, and, cutting it free from the poor drummer chap, I banged on it and marched across the stream to the far slope. Some of the fellers seed me and follered. ‘Steady,’ says I, ‘take your man—fire.’ Well, they did jes’ so, and I banged the drum. The ole Colonel he got the pioneers with him—there was eight of them—and, my gum!—they jest swished their way through the Kaffirs with their axes. Then up come some more men, follering the drum, and we peppered the Kaffirs till they were obliged to get back inter the wood. Then the Colonel he looked for the wounded. There were nary one, but seventeen men lay dead. ‘There’s one here,’ says I, and led the place to where the young officer had tumbled in the water. There he were among the rushes, bleeding to death from an assegai wound, and one of them pioneers, his arms all bloody, lifted the young chap up and carried him to the waggons. I guessed it were time to go before them Kaffirs got up steam—so I banged the ole drum and marched back. ‘Where you going?’ says the Colonel. ‘Back to the camp,’ I says. ‘That ain’t the way,’ he says; ‘we camp over the ridge to-night,’ pointing the other way. ‘The Kaffirs will never let the waggons through,’ I said. ‘The Kaffirs is beaten,’ he says; and just then a young Kaffir leapt outer the bush and rammed his assegai into the big drum. ‘I have done it,’ he cried and I seed it were Sandili hisself. I tole you how Sandili he said he would bust the drum, and by gosh! he bust it. He was back inter the wood in a wink, and then he shouted how he had killed the white man’s war-god, and from all parts of the kloof the Kaffirs they began shouting. You could hear ’em comin’. The Colonel he looked round and said ‘Retire!’ So he had to turn back after all. He shelled the kloof all that afternoon; and the Kaffirs they just moved on.”
“And what did the Colonel say to you?”
“He said he’d half a mind to tie me up for givin’ orders to the regiment, and he went on most horrible; then when he cooled down he give me a huntin’ knife, with five blades and a corkscrew, and said he would mention me in despatches. I dunno whether he did; ’t any rate I never were called to account again, so I guess he were only skeering me. Well, so long!”
Chapter Twenty Seven.
Abe and the Tiger Trap.
I had got a new tiger trap, and was displaying its beauties to some members of our Cat Club—not that this was the official name, which in full dress proclaimed itself as the Round Hill Society for the Destruction of Vermin. The mouth of the trap had a span of fifteen inches, and the steel spring almost required the weight of a twelve-stone man to flatten it down to the catch. There was a stout chain to the shank end, which could be secured to a log, and the iron lips had no teeth.
“There’s a power of grip in the toothless gums of that ’ere grinning mouth,” said old Abe Pike, who was President of the Club, by virtue of which office it was his right to point out the spots for the setting of traps. “I don’t hole with teeth nohow.”
“Quite so,” remarked Amos Topper, sourly; “your tongue’s long enough to get a clinch round anything. What I say is, give me a trap with teeth a inch long that will drive through a tiger’s shin-bone.”
“Yes; and maybe cut the foot of him right off, and leave ole dot-and-carry-three to go limpin’ away growlin’ vengeance. You ain’t got no exper’ence, Amos; and talking about tongues, if you shut your teeth down tight you might pass for a wise man.”
Amos opened his mouth wide for a retort, but nothing came out but a cloud of smoke and a grunt.
“I shot a trapped tiger once,” said Long Jim, “that was caught only by his toe. Yes, sir, by his toe! and the danged crittur jes’ lay there and took the bullet ’thout even standing up. He jes’ hissed like a room full o’ kettles.”
“Ever been caught in a trap?” asked Abe quietly.
“I ain’t had any occasion to,” said Jim severely.
“Well, I have!”
“Gwine after anybody’s pumpkins?” asked Amos, thinking this was a good opportunity to work in his belated retort.
“Some folk’s talk,” said Abe slowly, “is like burrs—never wanted and allus spoilin’ good material, with this difference on the side of the burr-weed—that you can root up the weed when you find it.”
“It would take a better man than you to dig me up,” said Amos, shaking himself.
“We ain’t discussin’ weeds,” said Abe, looking his lanky opponent up and down; “we’re discussin’ the points o’ traps—especially teeth. I bin caught, an’ that’s why I’m sot against teeth.”
“When did it happen, Abe?”
“Well, I’ll tell you. You know ole Hill’s garden, which held more different kinds o’ fruit-trees than I have seed in the whole country. There were a thick quince hedge down one side, and the wild pigs had made a path through it big enough to let a stoopin’ man through. Well, I were going short cut to the house one night, and I remembered this yer pig-track.”
“You always had a weakness for fruit, Abe!” remarked Amos.
“I remembered this yer track, and, follering the hedge down, I felt where the path had been worn, and, parting the quince luikeys with my hand, made a stoop forrard. My gum!—there were a click, and a yell which I ripped out, and nex’ thing I knowed somethin’ got me sore fast by the right leg in the thin of the ankle. It were a tiger trap—that’s what, and sot with teeth. Lor’ love yer! I can feel the pain of it in my leg now when I think of it, though it were over twenty-seven year ago. One iron fang scramped my shin-bone, and the back one druv clean through the flesh, while the sides of the mouth pressed in so that the blood were stopped, and the foot seemed to belong to someone else. I tell you all the blood in my body jes’ run down to the tight place to find out what the trouble was, and came rushing back with the news up to my head with a touch of fire all along. Then that held-fast leg began to throb and throb, and a hundred thousand little hammers began a-hammering all up my backbone, while cold spasms went quivering through me and outer the top of my head. I jes’ let go yell on yell, until a faintness came over me, and the sound leg which had been all on a tremble gave way, and I sot down. The wrench were terrible, and I jes’ grit my teeth, and held on till the weakness went off, when I shifted the trap a bit.”
“Why didn’t you ease the spring?”
“Why don’t a bird fly when its wing’s broken? Ease the spring! Jes’ you put your foot in this yer trap, and see if you can get the spring down with thirty pound o’ iron at the end of your foot and your muscles all turned to water—to liquid fire—with the pain of the hold. All I could do was to rub my knee and yell and bite at the quince leaves, and dig my fingers inter the flesh. After a time I found my voice ain’t got no carrying power; it came out in a hoarse whisper, and I seed if the people at the house hadn’t yeard my first call they wouldn’t catch any cry for help I could give now; so I jes’ groaned for comfort, same’s if I were a trapped tiger growling through the night. My head were tossing about from side to side like the pendulum of a clock, and one of these side swings I noticed the glare of something bright close by. I jes’ noticed it as if ’twere something of no account; for, if all the stars in heaven had taken to swinging at the ends of golden threads it wouldn’t have mattered to me as much as the flame of a tallow candle sputtering in a horn lantern. Well, each time I swung my head I seed these yer bright spots without seeing them—if you know what I mean?—when I were held still for a moment by a sound. I looked, and I saw then that they were eyes staring at me, which blinked as I stared, and turned away, then sought my face ag’in, and, narrering to a thin green slit, so looked at me. What do ye think it were?”
“A pig, of course, waiting for you to move,” said Topper.
“You can tell a pig by his grunt,” said Abe, pointedly. “Who ever seed a pig with green eyes flaming through half-closed lids? It were a tiger,” and Abe took his pipe out and impressively spat at a black-beetle that was fussily moving on a ball of earth with its hindlegs.
“A tiger?”
“Yes, sirrees! It were that—sitting down on his hams like a big dog within two yards of me. No, I were not skeered, for the burning pain in my head and the throbbing in my shin-bone didn’t give room for fear of that kind—and the tiger, he seemed to know what were up, for after a while he stretched himself out on his stummick, and yawned till I could see the gleam of his teeth. Well, I went on groanin’ and tossin’ my head, and rubbin’ my knee-cap, and chewin’ up the quince leaves, every now and then taking a look at the big crittur lying stretched in the dark with his eyes opening and shutting like’s if you moved the slide over a bull’s-eye lantern when he rolled over on his back and reached out a claw for me, like a kitten playing with a leaf. He hooked a claw inter the trousers of my well leg, and the jerk on it gave him a schreik, for he let out a growl and jumped away, looking back at me over his shoulder. Then he slunk away, but bymby when I looked ag’in he were standing up against the fence with his nose jes’ peeping round, and his near eye squintin’ at me through a hole in the leaves. That give me a queer feeling—for the beggar’d come up so sly, and I lit out a yell this time which stuck in my throat. The pain made me feel faint inside, an’ I jes’ closed my eyes. Soon’s the tiger saw I wern’t looking he jes’ poked his nose up ag’in the trap, and I yeard him licking the iron where the blood had run. Then I felt on my sound leg the pressure of his body, and yeard the snarly purr of him. Then he began licking at my trousers where the trap held fast, and I opened my eyes. The weight of his body held my leg down, and one of his paws were right into my weskit; and, blow me, if he didn’t begin shovin’ it inter my body, and opening and shutting his claws like a pleased cat, while the jar of his purring ran up through my bones, and his big tongue were rasping at my trousers. A sort o’ stupor, don’t-care-what-he-does feeling come over me, and with it the burning in the pain left my brain, and the hammering at my bones dropped away inter jes’ a sort of tired feeling. Nex’ minute I felt his tongue on my flesh—for he’d worn a hole right through them cord tweeds I were wearin’. At the taste of the blood then he purred louder than ever, and shuved his paw quicker and harder into my stummick, until I gasped for breath. Then he drew fresh blood, and his purr went inter a savage growl, while, the weight of his body lightened on my leg. I tell you, that growl brought back my luv for life in a moment. I saw that crittur would in his eagerness take a bite at my leg—then the game would be up. What d’ye think I did?”
“Began to jaw,” said Topper; “and he bolted with his tail down.”
“Jobbed him with a knife back of the head,” suggested Long Jim.
“No; what I did was a cirkimstance which only one man would think of, and that’s ole Abe Pike. I jes’ took out my ole pipe, wriggled a length of straw down the stem till it were black with nicotine, then laid it across his tongue. My! You should ’a seen him. He shook his head, tried to wipe his tongue with his paws, then give a roar, and make lightning tracks for the nearest water. His growl set the dogs going tremenjus, then I yeard ole man Hill whistlin’ ’em, and I fetched a yell that brung him up at the double. By gum! In being saved I were nearly killed!”
“How was that?”
“Why, them dogs took me for the tiger, and they tore the coat offin me, beside some skin, ’fore ole Bill see who were in the trap and took me out. That’s why I say I’m dead sot against traps with teeth.”