Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick ( Chapter 15 )( Page 4 ) Paradise Camp

The following afternoon we set off with our guns and blankets, a little food for two days, and the tiger-trap; and by nightfall we had reached the foot of the Berg by paths and ways which you might think only a baboon could follow. It was moonlight, and we moved along through the heavily-timbered kloofs in single file behind the shadowy figure of the shrivelled old chief. His years seemed no handicap to him, as with long easy soft-footed strides he went on hour after hour.  The air was delightfully cool and sweet with the fresh smells of the woods; the damp carpet of moss and dead leaves dulled the sound of our more blundering steps; now and again through the thick canopy of evergreens we caught glimpses of the moon, and in odd places the light threw stumps or rocks into quaint relief or turned some tall bare trunk into a ghostly sentinel of the forest. We had crossed the last of the many mountain streams and reached open ground when the old chief stopped, and pointing to the face of a high krans--black and threatening in the shadow, as it seemed to overhang us--said that somewhere up there was a cave which was the tiger's home, and it was from this safe refuge that he raided the countryside. The kraal was not far off.  From the top of the spur we could look round, as from the pit of some vast coliseum, and see the huge wall of the Berg towering up above and half enclosing us, the whole arena roofed over by the star-spattered sky.  The brilliant moonlight picked out every ridge and hill, deepening the velvet black of the shadowed valleys, and on the rise before us there was the twinkling light of a small fire, and the sound of voices came to us, borne on the still night air, so clearly that words picked out here and there were repeated by our boys with grunting comments and chuckles of amusement. We started on again down an easy slope passing through some bush, and at the bottom came on level ground thinly covered with big shady trees and scattered undergrowth.  As we walked briskly through the flecked and dappled light and shade, we were startled by the sudden and furious rush of Jess and Jock off the path and away into the scrub on the left; and immediately after there was a grunting noise, a crashing and scrambling, and then one sharp clear yelp of pain from one of the dogs.  The old chief ran back behind us, shouting "Ingwa, ingwa!"  (Tiger, tiger).  We slipped our rifles round and stood facing front, unable to see anything and not knowing what to expect.  There were sounds of some sort in the bush--something like a faint scratching, and something like smothered sobbing grunts, but so indistinct as to be more ominous and disquieting than absolute silence. "He has killed the dogs," the old chief said, in a low voice. But as he said it there was a rustle in front, and something came out towards us.  The guns were up and levelled, instantly, but dropped again when we saw it was a dog; and Jess came back limping badly and stopping every few paces to shake her head and rub her mouth against her fore-paws.  She was in great pain and breathed out faint barely-audible whines from time to time. We waited for minutes, but Jock did not appear; and as the curious sounds still came from the bush we moved forward in open order, very slowly and with infinite caution.  As we got closer, scouting each bush and open space, the sounds grew clearer, and suddenly it came to me that it was the noise of a body being dragged and the grunting breathing of a dog.  I called sharply to Jock and the sound stopped; and taking a few paces forward then, I saw him in a moonlit space turning round and round on the pivot of his hind legs and swinging or dragging something much bigger than himself. Jim gave a yell and shot past me, plunging his assegai into the object and shouting "Porcupine, porcupine," at the top of his voice.  We were all round it in a couple of seconds, but I think the porcupine was as good as dead even before Jim had stabbed it.  Jock was still holding on grimly, tugging with all his might and always with the same movement of swinging it round him, or, of himself circling round it--perhaps that is the fairer description, for the porcupine was much the heavier.  He had it by the throat where the flesh is bare of quills, and had kept himself out of reach of the terrible spikes by pulling away all the time, just as he had done with the duiker and other buck to avoid their hind feet. This encounter with the porcupine gave us a better chance of getting the tiger than we ever expected--too good a chance to be neglected; so we cut the animal up and used the worthless parts to bait the big tiger-trap, having first dragged them across the veld for a good distance each way to leave a blood spoor which would lead the tiger up to the trap.  This, with the quantity of blood spread about in the fight, lying right in the track of his usual prowling ought to attract his attention, we thought; and we fastened the trap to a big tree, making an avenue of bushes up to the bait so that he would have to walk right over the trap hidden under the dead leaves, in order to get at the bait.  We hoped that, if it failed to hold, it would at least wound him badly enough to enable us to follow him up in the morning. In the bright light of the fire that night, as Jock lay beside me having his share of the porcupine steaks, I noticed something curious about his chest, and on looking closer found the whole of his white `shirt front' speckled with dots of blood; he had been pricked in dozens of places, and it was clear that it had been no walk-over for him; he must have had a pretty rough handling before he got the porcupine on the swing.  He was none the worse, however, and was the picture of contentment as he lay beside me in the ring facing the fire. But Jess was a puzzle.  From the time that she had come hobbling back to us, carrying her one foot in the air and stopping to rub her mouth on her paws, we had been trying to find out what was the matter.  The foot trouble was clear enough, for there was a quill fifteen inches long and as stiff and thick as a lead pencil still piercing the ball of her foot, with the needle-like point sticking out between her toes.  Fortunately it had not been driven far through and the hole was small, so that once it was drawn and the foot bandaged she got along fairly well.  It was not the foot that was troubling her; all through the evening she kept repeating the movement of her head, either rubbing it on her front legs or wiping her muzzle with the paws, much as a cat does when washing its face.  She would not touch food and could not lie still for five minutes; and we could do nothing to help her.