Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick ( Chapter 15 )( Page 2 ) Paradise Camp

To see them side by side was enough: every line in his golden brindled coat had its counterpart in her dull markings; his jaw was hers, with a difference, every whit as determined but without the savage look; his eyes were hers--brown to black as the moods changed--yet not fretful and cross, but serenely observant, when quiet, and black, hot and angry, like hers, when roused--yet without the look of relentless cruelty; his ears were hers--and yet how different, not shifting, flickering and ever on the move, nor flattened back with the look of most uncertain temper, but sure in their movements and faithful reflectors of more sober moods and more balanced temper, and so often cocked--one full and one half-- with a look of genuinely friendly interest which, when he put his head on one side, seemed to change in a curiously comical way into an expression of quiet amusement. The work kept us close to camp and we gave no thought to shooting; yet Jess and Jock had some good sport together.  We gave them courses for breathers after Oribi in the open, but these fleetest of little antelopes left them out of sight in very few minutes.  Bushbuck too were plentiful enough, but so wily in keeping to the dark woods and deep kloofs that unless we organised a drive the only chance one got was to stalk them in the early morning as they fed on the fringes of the bush. I often wondered how the dogs would have fared with those desperate fighters that have injured and killed more dogs and more men than any other buck, save perhaps the Sable. Once they caught an ant-bear in the open, and there was a rough-and-tumble; we had no weapons--not even sticks--with us, and the dogs had it all to themselves.  The clumsy creature could do nothing with them; his powerful digging claws looked dangerous, but the dogs never gave him a chance; he tried hard to reach his hole, but they caught him as he somersaulted to dodge them, and, one in front and one behind, worried the life out of him. Once they killed a tiger-cat.  We heard the rush and the row, and scrambled down through the tangled woods as fast as we could, but they fought on, tumbling and rolling downhill before us, and when we came up to them it was all over and they were tugging and tearing at the lifeless black and white body, Jess at the throat and Jock at the stomach.  The cat was as big as either of them and armed with most formidable claws, which it had used to some purpose, for both dogs were torn and bleeding freely in several places.  Still they thoroughly enjoyed it and searched the place afresh every time we passed it, as regularly as a boy looks about where he once picked up a sixpence. Then the dainty little klipspringers led them many a crazy dance along the crags and ledges of the mountain face, jumping from rock to rock with the utmost ease and certainty and looking down with calm curiosity at the clumsy scrambling dogs as they vainly tried to follow.  The dassies too--watchful, silent and rubber-footed--played hide-and-seek with them in the cracks and crevices; but the dogs had no chance there. Often there were races after baboons.  There were thousands of them along the Berg, but except when a few were found in the open, we always called the dogs in.  Among a troop of baboons the best of dogs would have no show at all.  Ugly, savage and treacherous as they are, they have at least one quality which compels admiration--they stand by each other.  If one is attacked or wounded the others will often turn back and help, and they will literally tear a dog to pieces.  Even against one full-grown male a dog has little or no chance; for they are very powerful, quick as lightning, and fierce fighters.  Their enormous jaws and teeth outmatch a dog's, and with four `hands' to help them the advantage is altogether too great.  Their method of fighting is to hold the dog with all four feet and tear pieces out of him with their teeth.  We knew the danger well, for there was a fighting baboon at a wayside place not far from us--a savage brute, owned by a still greater savage. It was kept chained up to a pole with its house on the top of the pole; and what the owner considered to be a good joke was to entice dogs up, either to attack the baboon or at least to come sniffing about within reach of it, and then see them worried to death.  The excuse was always the same: "Your dog attacked the baboon.  I can't help it."  Sometimes the dogs were rescued by their owners; but many were killed.  To its native cunning this brute added all the tricks that experience had taught, sometimes hiding up in its box to induce the dog to come sniffing close up; sometimes grubbing in the sand for food, pretending not to see the intruder until he was well within reach; sometimes running back in feigned alarm to draw him on.  Once it got a grip the baboon threw itself on its side or back and, with all four feet holding the dog off, tore lumps out of the helpless animal.  A plucky dog that would try to make a fight of it had no chance; the only hope was to get away, if possible. Not every baboon is a fighter like this, but in almost every troop there will be at least one terrible old fellow, and the biggest, strongest and fiercest always dominate and lead the others; and their hostility and audacity are such that they will loiter behind the retreating troop and face a man on foot or on horseback, slowly and reluctantly giving way, or sometimes moving along abreast, a hostile escort, giving loud roars of defiance and hoarse challenges as though ready on the least provocation or excuse to charge.  It is not a pleasant position for an unarmed man, as at the first move or call from the leader the whole troop would come charging down again.  It is not actual danger that impresses one, but the uncanny effect of the short defiant roars, the savage half-human look of the repulsive creatures, their still more human methods of facial expression and threatening attitudes, their tactics in encircling their object and using cover to approach and peer out cautiously from behind it, and their evident co-operation and obedience to the leader's directions and example. One day while at work in the woods there came to us a grizzled worn-looking old kaffir, whose head ring of polished black wax attested his dignity as a kehla.  He carried an old musket and was attended by two youngsters armed with throwing-sticks and a hunting assegai each. He appeared to be a `somebody' in a small way, and we knew at a glance that he had not come for nothing.