Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 20)( Page 1 ) Jantje

There was no hunting for several days after the affair with the koodoo cow.  Jock looked worse the following day than he had done since recovering consciousness: his head and neck swelled up so that chewing was impossible and he could only lap a little soup or milk, and could hardly bend his neck at all. On the morning of the second day Jim Makokel' came up with his hostile-looking swagger and a cross worried look on his face, and in a half-angry and wholly disgusted tone jerked out at me, "The dog is deaf. I say so!  Me!  Makokela!  Jock is deaf.  He does not hear when you speak.  Deaf! yes, deaf!" Jim's tone grew fiercer as he warmed up; he seemed to hold me responsible.  The moment the boy spoke I knew it was true--it was the only possible explanation of many little things; nevertheless I jumped up hurriedly to try him in a dozen ways, hoping to find that he could hear something.  Jim was right; he was really stone deaf.  It was pathetic to find how each little subterfuge that drew his eyes from me left him out of reach: it seemed as if a link had broken between us and I had lost my hold.  That was wrong, however!  In a few days he began to realise the loss of hearing; and after that, feeling so much greater dependence on sight, his watchfulness increased so that nothing escaped him.  None of those who saw him in that year, when he was at his very best, could bring themselves to believe that he was deaf.  With me it made differences both ways: something lost, and something gained.  If he could hear nothing, he saw more; the language of signs developed; and taking it all round I believe the sense of mutual dependence for success and of mutual understanding was greater than ever. Snowball went on to the retired list at the end of the next trip. Joey the Smith stood at the forge one day, trimming a red-hot horse-shoe, when I rode up and dropping the reins over Snowball's head, sang out "Morning, Joey!" Joey placed the chisel on the shoe with nice calculation of the amount he wanted to snip off; his assistant boy swung the big hammer, and an inch cube of red-hot iron dropped off.  Then Joey looked up with, what seemed to me, a conflict of innocent surprise and stifled amusement in his face.  The boy also turned to look, and--the insignificant incident is curiously unforgettable--trod upon the piece of hot iron.  "Look where you're standing," said Joey reproachfully, as the smoke and smell of burning skin-welt rose up; and the boy with a grunt of disgust, such as we might give at a burned boot, looked to see what damage had been done to his `unders.'  It gave me an even better idea of a nigger's feet than those thorn digging operations when we had to cut through a solid whitish welt a third of an inch thick. Joey grinned openly at the boy; but he was thinking of Snowball. "I wonder you had the heart, Joey, I do indeed!"  I said, shaking my head at him. "You would have him, lad, there was no refusin' you!  You arst so nice and wanted him so bad!" "But how could you bear to part with him, Joey?  It must have been like selling one of the family." "'Es, Boy, 'es!  We are a bit stoopid--our lot!  Is he still such a fool, or has he improved any with you?" "Joey, I've learned him--full up to the teeth.  If he stops longer he will become wicked, like me; and you would not be the ruin of an innocent young thing trying to earn a living honestly, if he can?" "Come round behind the shop, Boy.  I got a pony'll suit you proper!"  He gave a hearty laugh, and added "You can always get what you arsk for--if it ain't worth having.  Moril!  Don't arsk!  I never offered you Snowball.  This one's different.  You can have him at cost price; and that's an old twelve month account!  Ten pounds.  He's worth four of it! Salted _an'_ shootin'!  Shake!" and I gripped his grimy old fist gladly, knowing it was jonnick and `a square deal.'