Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 19)( Page 6 ) Jocks Mistake

The reason for Jock's persistent disobedience that day was not even suspected then; I put everything down to the kick; and he seemed to me to be `all wrong,' but indeed there was excuse enough for him. Nevertheless it was puzzling that at times he should ignore me in positively contemptuous fashion, and at others obey with all his old readiness: I neither knew he was deaf, nor realised that the habit of using certain signs and gestures when I spoke to him--and even of using them in place of orders when silence was imperative--had made him almost independent of the word of mouth.  From that day he depended wholly upon signs; for he never heard another sound. Jock came back with me and lay down; but he was not content.  Presently he rose again and remained standing with his back to me, looking steadily in the direction taken by the koodoo.  It was fine to see the indomitable spirit, but I did not mean to let him try again; the koodoo was as good as dead no doubt, yet a hundred koodoo would not have tempted me to risk taking him out: to rest him and get him back to the camp was the only thought.  I was feeling very soft about the dog then. And while I sat thus watching him and waiting for him to rest and recover, once more and almost within reach of me he started off again. But it was not as he had done before: this time he went with a spring and a rush, and with head lowered and meaning business.  In vain I called and followed: he outpaced me and left me in a few strides. The koodoo had gone along the right bank of the donga which, commencing just below the pool, extended half a mile or more down the flat valley. Jock's rush was magnificent, but it was puzzling, and his direction was even more so; for he made straight for the donga. I ran back for the rifle and followed, and he had already disappeared down the steep bank of the donga when, through the trees on the opposite side, I saw a koodoo cow moving along at a slow cramped walk.  The donga was a deep one with perpendicular sides, and in places even overhanging crumbling banks, and I reached it as Jock, slipping and struggling, worked his way up the other wall writhing and climbing through the tree roots exposed by the floods.  As he rushed out the koodoo saw him and turned; there was just a chance--a second of time: a foot of space-- before he got in the line of fire; and I took it.  One hind leg gave way, and in the short sidelong stagger that followed Jock jumped at the koodoo's throat and they went down together. It took me several minutes to get through the donga, and by that time the koodoo was dead and Jock was standing, wide-mouthed and panting, on guard at its head: the second shot had been enough. It was an unexpected and puzzling end; and, in a way, not a welcome one, as it meant delay in getting back.  After the morning's experience there was not much inclination for the skinning and cutting up of a big animal and I set to work gathering branches and grass to hide the carcase, meaning to send the boys back for it. But the day's experiences were not over yet: a low growl from Jock made me look sharply round, to see half a dozen kaffirs coming through the bush with a string of mongrel hounds at their heels.