Tales from the Veld Part 6

CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE JACKAL AND THE WREN.

"Now, Bolo! let us hear something from you."

The old Kaffir took a pinch of snuff, and began about the jackal and the netikee, the smallest of all South African birds, and a member of the wren family.

"The jackal one day was boasting. Said he, 'When we go on the hunt all the animals are still. We--the lion and I--we rule the forest. When we growl the trees shiver, when we roar the earth shakes, when we strike the biggest goes down before us. Even the elephant turns out of our path.' So he shook his tail and loped off to tell the lion that a fat eland was drinking at the vlei. Then up stood the lion, and crawled on his stomach to the shelter of a rock, while the jackal went round beyond. 'Look out, eland,' said the jackal; 'here comes the lion.' So the eland ran, and he ran straight for the lion, who rose through the air and broke the eland's neck. The lion ate, and the jackal sat on his tail, licking his chops and whimpering. But the lion ate, and ate-- first the hind legs, then the stomach, and the jackal ran up to take a bite. 'Wait,' grunted the lion, and the jackal sat on his tail and howled. Bymby the lion went off to the vlei to drink, and the jackal snap at the carcase, but before he gets a mouthful down swoop the ring crows and the aasvogels. 'Away,' said the jackal, 'away--this food is mine and the lion's.'

"'Tell the lion we are obliged to him for giving us a meal,' said the chief aasvogel, and with his big wing he hit the jackal, ker-bluff--long side the head, and the black crow dig him in the back. So the jackal run away, and jump, and howl."

"'Why don't you roar?' said the netikee.

"The jackal looked up, and there he sees the netikee on a thorn tree.

"'Growl,' says the netikee; 'growl, and the tree will shake me off,' and he laughed.

"'What are you laughing at?'

"'At you.'

"'Why,' said the jackal, looking back over his shoulder at the bag of bones that the birds had cleaned.

"''Cos you're afraid of the birds, though the elephant gets out of your way and you can strike down the biggest,' and the netikee laughs again.

"'Who's afraid?' said the jackal.

"'You are.'

"'What! me!'

"'Yes, you! I make my nest from your fur.'

"The jackal he bite, and snap, and howl, and then he say he'd only wished he had a chance of a fight with the birds.

"'What's that spot I see in the sky?' said the netikee, looking up.

"The jackal look up and see the eagle swooping down, and he bolt into the earth. Bymby he poke his head out. 'Is he gone?' he said. 'You see, me and the eagle had a dispute over a lamb which I took away from him, and I thought he would feel uncomfortable if he saw me. What did he say?'

"'The eagle said he willing to fight if the lion leads the animals; but he's not going to demean himself against any jackal trash.'

"The jackal grinned. 'Well,' said he, 'the lion won't fight, he's just been feeding, and the eagle needn't trouble about it. You get all the partridges, the pheasants, ducks, knorhaan, guinea fowl--the more the merrier, and I'll bring the red cats, the muishonden, the wild dogs, the tiger-cat, and we'll meet here to-morrow.'

"The netikee flip his tail about, and say, 'Yes, he's willing to have a battle,' and the jackal with a grin he run off to call all his friends to a big feast off the birds. The netikee just bunch up his feathers, tuck his head under his wing, and go to sleep. Next morning before sunrise he fly to the bush, and he hear the jackal making a plan.

"'You keep your eye on my tail,' said the jackal. 'Watch my tail,' said the jackal, 'I will hold it up straight like a banner, and you must follow it into the thick of the fight.'

"The netikee flew away off to a honey-tree, and he had a word with the bees: then he fly back to the thorn bush with a clump of bees with him.

"Bymby here comes the jackal with his bushy tail held up straight like a banner, and behind him come a green-eyed, silent, swift, cruel pack of wild-cats, red cats, grey cats, and wild dogs.

"'There they come,' said the nekitee; 'see the jackal, with his tail up.

Stick his tail, creep into his hair, and make him yell.' So the netikee left his perch and flew to meet the animals all by himself, for they could not see the bees; but the bees they swarmed into the big bushy tail, and the next minute there was the jackal scooting off across the veld with his tail between his legs. Next thing you know the animals is all scuttling home.

"That's why the netikee is so perky."

"Jes' like little men," says Abe Pike.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

ABE PIKE AND THE HONEY-BIRD.

In the night we heard the loud barking of a baboon, and next morning Uncle Abe, accompanied by the witch-doctor, Bolo, started back for his solitary homestead, saying that he had received a call from his familiar. This I regarded as an excuse, and judged that the two old men were bent, like boys, on some fishing excursion. Strangely enough, however, the black tiger disappeared at the same time, leaving the live stock free from his ravages--though human thieves as mischievous were afoot, and during the week paid a visit in the night to the cattle kraal, "lifting" a fine cow with a young heifer calf.

The spoor led away towards the dense bush of the Fish River to the east, and setting a knowing old dog upon the scent, I followed on horseback.

The thief I judged had probably five hours' start, and allowing for the feeble strength of the calf, I reckoned he was from six to ten miles ahead, when, if surprised by day-light at any distance from the cover of the bush, he would probably turn into a kloof. At intervals of about a mile I came on spots which, from the numerous hoof marks, indicated that the thief had stopped to let the calf rest and take milk, then, after the third such resting, he went right ahead at a sharp pace directly towards the big kloof on Abe Pike's farm. If the beasts had been driven in there I made sure of recovering them, but I presently noticed that the spoor led away along a ridge to the left, skirting the kloof, and descending to a wide wooded valley which ran into the bush. I followed without much hope into the valley, to find the spoor obliterated by the tracks of a troop of cattle which had been on the move since sunrise.

After questioning the native herd without success, I turned back towards Pike's house, reaching it just as he came out from his breakfast. He took a long glance at me and my horse.

"Soh," he said, "been spooring a stock thief, eh? You've got to get up early to catch that sort--earlier than bedtime. I seed you go over the brow of that rand yonder with a dog nosing on in front, and I said to myself, 'Abe Pike, there's the young baas with the hope springing up in him that he's got the glory of catching a cattle thief.' The young has got all the hope and the old all the experience, and I'd swaap a whole lot of experience for a glimmer of hope."

All this time he had been attending to the horse, rubbing its back and legs with a wisp of straw.

"Who said I had been after a cattle thief?

"What are words, sonny; words is nothing--nothing but a slower way of saying a thing you have already made plain enough by your actions. Says I, 'Abe Pike, the young baas has lost a beast, maybe a cow and calf, and bymby he'll be looking as black as thunder and as hungry as a mule.'"

"Uncle Abe, you know something about this robbery. It is true I have lost a cow and calf. Have you seen them?"

"What! me? Where is they? You know well if Abe Pike had seen them they'd a been right here waiting for you. No, lad; but I saw you follering straight on the spoor, and if there'd been several beasts some on 'em would have broke from the track, making the spooring bend and twist. So I reckoned there were only one beast, maybe a cow and calf.

There's a dough cookie under the coals and some good honey, with a couple of fresh aigs and a roast mealie, not to say a cup of as good coffee as you can get. Help yourself, lad; help yourself."

I sat down to this simple fare--after raking the "cookie" from the fire-place, whence it came baking hot with wood cinders embedded in its steaming crust; while Abe leant against the door-post, pulling reflectively at his pipe.

"What has become of Bolo?" I asked.

"He quitted last night. No, he ain't gone off with your cow. He was skeered."

I nodded an inquiry, being engaged with the mealie cob, the eating of which occupies the mouth too fully for speech.

"Old Bolo were skeered. Try some of that honey--it's real good. None of your euphorbia juice in it to burn your mouth out, but just ripe sweetness from the hill flowers and sugar bushes."

The old man held his pipe away, and his lips were drawn in as I placed a piece of gleaming yellow comb on my plate.

"Yes," he chuckled, "old Bolo were skeered, and he lit out for home.

You see, him and me were sitting away yonder, under the tree in the shade, talking about things, when up comes a honey-bird.

'Chet-chet-chet-chee!' he said, sitting up there in the branches, with his head on one side and then the other as he fussed about with his news. 'Chet-chet-chet-chee!' he said--which is his way of saying as how he'd found a honey-tree and wanted someone to go shares with him.