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قراءة كتاب Tales from the Veld
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an’ glaring around with hungry eyes. I spotted him!”
“The ram?”
“Ay, the ram. The very buck I’d had in my mind when I loaded the old gun. He stood away off the other side o’ the river, moving his ears, but still as a rock, and black as the bowl of this pipe, except where the white showed along his side. He seemed to be looking straight at me—an’ I sank by inches to the ground with my legs all o’ a shake. Then, on my falling, he stepped down to the water, and stood there admiring hisself—his sharp horns an’ fine legs—an’ on my belly, all empty as ’twas, I crawled, an’ crawled, an’ crawled. There was a bush this side the river, an’ I got it in line. At last I reached it, the sweat pouring off me, an’ slowly I rose up. The water was dripping from his muzzle as he threw his head up, an’ he turned to spring back, when, half-kneeling, I fired, an’ the next moment the old gun kicked me flat as a pancake.”
“And you missed him?”
“Never! I got him. I said I would, an’ I did. I got him, an’ a 9 pound barbel.”
“Uncle Abe!”
“I say a 9 pound barbel, tho’ he might a been 8 and a half pound, an’ a brace of pheasants.”
“Uncle Abe!”
“I zed so—an’ a hare an’, an’,” he went on quickly, “a porkipine.”
“Uncle Abe!”
“Well—what are you Abeing me for?”
“You got all those with one shot. Never!”
“I was there—you weren’t. ’Tis easy accounted for. When I pulled the trigger the fish leapt from the water in the line, and the bullet passed through him inter the buck. I tole you the gun kicked. Well, it flew out o’ my hands, an’ hit the hare square on the nose. To recover myself, I threw up my hands, an’ caught hold o’ the two pheasants jest startled outer the bush.”
“And the porcupine?”
“I sot down on the porkipine, an’ if you’d like to ’xamine my pants you’ll find where his quills went in. I was mighty sore, an’ I could ha’ spared him well from the bag. But ’twas a wonderful good shot. You’re not going?”
“Yes, I am. I’m afraid to stay with you.”
“Well, so long! I cut this yere forslag from the skin o’ that same buck.”
“Let me see—it’s nine years to the big drought.”
“That’s it.”
“That skin has kept well.”
“Oh, yes; ’twas a mighty tough skin.”
“Not so tough as your yarn, Uncle. So long!”
Chapter Three.
Uncle Abe, the Baboon, and the Tiger.
Abe Pike was one of those men who would walk ten miles to set a trap without a murmur, while he thought himself badly used if he were called upon to hoe a row in the mealie field. So when, for the third time within one week, a calf was killed by a tiger, and our attempts to shoot, poison, or trap the thief had failed, I rode over to Uncle Abe’s to secure his aid.
“I can’t do it,” he said, when I had stated my business.
“Too busy?”
“No; ’taint that, sonny, ’taint that—tho’ there’s a powerful heap o’ work to do on that shed.”
“I’ll put in a couple of days and help you finish it right off, as soon as the tiger is laid by the heels.”
“Thank ye kindly; but I’ve got to finish that there shed offun my own bat. It’s a job that wants doin’ keerfly.”
“Well, Uncle, I’ll plough up your old land by the hoek, and put in two muids of corn. How will that do?”
“’Twont do, my lad; that land’s full o’ charlock.”
“Then, Uncle, the day you show me the dead body of that tiger, the red heifer with the white patch on the hump is yours.”
He heaved a sigh, and knocked the bowl of his pipe on his thumb, but he did not accept the offer, though I knew he admired that heifer.
“Why, Uncle, what is the matter? You’re not ill?”
“’Tain’t that, either—not ’xactly—tho’ there’s such a thing as illness o’ the mind.”
“I’m very sorry,” as I unhitched the bridle and prepared to mount, “for I’ll have to go to Long Sam, and from the hairs I’ve seen I shouldn’t be surprised if this is a black tiger.”
This was the last shot—Abe Pike had not yet trapped a black tiger, and Long Sam was his rival in bush lore.
“That settles it,” he said, with a groan.
“Come along then,” I said, with a smile at my success in breaking through his obstinacy.
Abe rose up and laid his gnarled hand on the mane of the horse. “’Tis the same one,” he muttered, “the same one, sure.”
“Why, of course; you know the old horse, Black Dick.”
“Black Nick,” he said slowly, and, drawing his hand across his forehead; “my boy, you’ll never trap that animile; he’s a witch tiger.”
“A witch tiger?”
“That’s so: he’s given a lodging to some ole Kaffir. Abe Pike ain’t going arter any black tigers, not he.”
“What are you driving at now, you old buffer?”
“Buffer, is it; well—well—buffer—oh, yes, of course; an’ me that has passed through sich a three weeks as ud have scared many another into his grave.”
I felt remorse at the thought that for three weeks I had not called on the lonely old man, and concluded that he was paying me out for this neglect.
“I am very sorry,” I said eagerly, “I have not been over; but the truth is the work has been very heavy. It must have been very lonely.”
“I’ve had kempany.”
“Oh, I see; and perhaps they’ve engaged your services?”
“That’s it. On ’count o’ ’em that’s been callin’ here I can’t go catching any black tigers.”
“I should like to know who it is has set you against doing a service for a neighbour?”
“There’s kempany an’ kempany. This yer kempany ud turn your hair white.”
“Ah!” I said, sniffing a story.
“Yes, ’twould that. There were some baboons away over by the big kloof. A family party—ole man, wives, middle-aged, an’ pickaninnies. They came there for the Kaffir plum crop, an’ were mighty lively, not to say noisy, three weeks ago, when they began to drop. I yeared ’em dropping off.”
“Off the trees?”
“No; offun this mortal spear. As they dropped off in the dark, the others howled an’ whooped like mad. It was a tiger that did the droppin’.”
“A tiger?”
“You hold on to him. At last the ole man were left alone, an’ he had a mighty anxious time looking all around at onct, while he hunted for grubs for fear the enemy ’ud spring on him. He used to come over yonder in the lands for kempany. I’ve sot here on the door-step an’ he sot over there, glaring at me from his little grey eyes. Arter a time we got to know each other, an’ I found out he went to sleep on the roof