Happy New Year

50 Years of Conservation Acknowledged

The South African National Parks Honorary Rangers was recently awarded a prestigious national conservation award by WESSA for its contribution to conservation in our National Parks.
The award was motivated as follows: “For their amazing voluntary contribution towards the conservation of all of our National Parks. For over 50 years these men and women have given freely of their time, expertise and resources to ensure the integrity and endurance of our Parks system.”

Accepting the award National Executive Committee Chairman Mr. Janssen Davies said; “I was delighted to receive this award on behalf of the 1 300 volunteer SANParks Honorary Rangers. Our members have worked with great dedication and commitment to conservation and SANParks and the National Parks system over the last 50 years.”

The Honorary Rangers has 33 regions all over South Africa from Cape Agulhas in the South to Thohoyandou in the North. They work in all 21 of our National Parks to assist the parks and promote nature conservation and public education. They provide ordinary South Africans from all walks of life the opportunity to help promote and conserve our natural heritage.
Members of the public are encouraged to join the organisation and can get more information on their website at http://www.sanparksvolunteers.org/

Issued by:
SANParks Honorary Rangers

Safari 5th February Ending 8th February

5^th February – Guests departed from Nkambeni early morning on a Bush Walk until 10h15am, having a very exciting walk with the highlight being an African Rock Python eating a Common Grey Duiker.  Great photos were taken and everyone in the group returned happy and ready for a great breakfast.  After breakfast some guests departed for Johannesburg with our shuttle and new guests arrived on safari.  Dean and Mark then left down Napi and onto the H3 and S112 getting numerous sightings of Elephants , Rhino, Buffalo as well as some lions on the S111, more lions were found on James Stevenson Hamilton that had killed something but due to the grass being so long they could not make out exactly what they had killed.  Both Dean and Mark then made their way to Skukuza for lunch.  After lunch they took a drive down the Paul Kruger Gate road after hearing about a Leopard close to the Phabeni gate.  Along the way more Elephant, Buffalo and Rhino were spotted with lots of general game such as Impala, Zebra, Wildebeeste and Giraffe sightings .  We then were able to find the Leopard in a Sycamore Fig tree , but it was not such a great sighting until it eventually moved down the tree and gave us a better view.  After lots of photos and a great sighting we departed down Albasini for camp.

6^th February – Once again after breakfast it was back on the road going down Napi back onto the H3 with sightings once again of the Big 5.  We came across two female Lions with two younger males and watched how a young Elephant Bull tried to chase them away without any success, after this we made our way towards Skukuza with a lovely sighting of a female leopard walking along the road marking her territory, she then decided to climb into a jackalberry tree right next to our Open Safari vehicles, we then stopped off at Skukuza for a break before making our way back to Numbi gate to allow guests to depart back to Johannesburg and Mark to collect three new guests that had been picked up in Pretoria.  Mark collected the new guests from Verity and then departed back down Napi towards Skukuza for lunch with  a herd of Buffalo crossing the road near boulders.  There were many general game sightings along the way .  Lunch was enjoyed at Skukuza before departing down the Paul Kruger Gate road to Lake Panic bird hide for some great photo opportunities of birds.  After this we departed back to camp with sightings of Impala, and general game.

7^th February -  This morning Dean left the park with four guests and made his way to the Panorama Route and Mark continued the day with six guests.  The route he took for the day was as follows:  Numbi tar - circle road - Napi - doispan - watergat - napi - H3 - napi - back to camp. On numbi tar we had 3 large elephants with 2 calf's he then did Circle Road and found a large Buffalo Bull with many different sightings of Rhino during the day.  On Stevenson Hamilton road there was a fleeting sight of a female Leopard but she disappeared very quickly in the long grass.  We were then told of another Leopard sighting on Napi, so we went to have a look but he was nowhere to be found.  By then the general game-viewing had decreased due to the day being quite hot.  We continued back to Doispane and then found that Watergat was once again open after the heavy rains but very little was found on this road so we decided to go back on Napi again to look for the male Leopard and found him lying right next to the road.  After spending 10 minutes with him he got up and walked across the road next to our Open Safari Vehicle and then back into the bush.  After this we made our way onto the H3 where we got two male Lions lying next to the road Sleeping, this was a great sight to see and all the guests enjoyed their day before heading back to camp for the night.

8^th February -  Today is Marks last day in the Kruger National Park with his three Dutch Ladies before departing back to Nelspruit so that guests can return to Johannesburg, Till meet again next week with our next safari departing on the 12^th February have a great weekend!…..

On Safari with Mark 17 January 2013

17th January  -  Morning drive

Route:  Albaseni - shabeni loop - circle road - nkambeni

A very quiet morning was experienced this morning with 2 herds of elephant  on shabeni loop. Great sightings of some Kudu bulls and a troop of chackma  baboons playing on the rocks.  We returned to camp for lunch and also to  check on our sick man.  We departed once again in the afternoon for a drive,  still with one guest being man down with gastro. The Route driven was napi - H3 - S112 - S114 - napi - back to nkambeni. The first half of napi was quiet going north and coming back down south with  very little seen. On the H3 just before the S112 junction we picked up a mating set of lions.  We spent a good 30min with them. At Renoster koppies we picked up the  3 lionesses that were hunting late  yesterday afternoon. They must  of been successful as all of them were  panting heavily, with very full bellies. Brilliant rhino sighting with a crash all lying in a mud bath.

What a night was had by us all!  Mark ended up calling the ambulance and our  guest was taken to Medi Clinic in Nelspruit to be placed on a drip.  From  mid-night they said he could be discharged, but this is Africa with the  Kruger being on lockdown for the night so no getting in or out!  Fortunately  the hospital gave them a bed for the night and we were able to arrange a  transfer for them back to Nkambeni at 07h00am this morning.  Mark and his  other guests have departed on a morning drive and will return later to keep  you updated on sightings and the state of our patient who is now resting  comfortably with his wife at the camp.

South Africa: Skukuza, Kruger National Park

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 27)( Page 3 ) His Duty

"Go on!  Finish it!"  Tom muttered grimly; "I'll have you this time if I wait till morning!" So he stood at the window waiting and watching, until every sound had died away outside.  He listened intently: there was not a stir; there was nothing to be seen in the moonlit yard; nothing to be heard; not even a breath of air to rustle the leaves in the big fig tree. Then, in the same dead stillness the dim form of a dog appeared in the doorway, stepped softly out of the fowl-house, and stood in the deep shadow of the little porch.  Tom lifted the gun slowly and took careful aim.  When the smoke cleared away, the figure of the dog lay still, stretched out on the ground where it had stood; and Tom went back to bed, satisfied. The morning sun slanting across the yard shone in Tom's eyes as he pushed the reed gate open and made his way towards the fowl-house. Under the porch, where the sunlight touched it, something shone like burnished gold. He was stretched on his side--it might have been in sleep; but on the snow-white chest there was one red spot. And inside the fowl-house lay the kaffir dog- dead. Jock had done his duty.
                                                                                    The End.

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 25)( Page 2 ) Our Last Hunt

I had on several occasions interrupted fights between angry rivals: once two splendid koodoo bulls were at it; a second time it was two sables, and the vicious and incredibly swift sweep of the scimitar horns still lives in memory, along with the wonderful nimbleness of the other fellow who dodged it; and another time they were blue wildebeeste; but some interruption had occurred each time, and I had no more than a glimpse of what might have been a rare scene to witness. I was determined not to spoil it this time: no doubt it was a fight, and probably they were fencing and circling for an opening, as there was no bump of heads or clash of horns and no tearing scramble of feet to indicate the real struggle.  I crept on through the rocks and found before me a tangle of thorns and dead wood, impossible to pass through in silence; it was better to work back again and try the other side of the rocks.  The way was clearer there, and I crept up to a rock four or five feet high, feeling certain from the sound that the fight would be in full view a few yards beyond.  With the rifle ready I raised myself slowly until my eyes were over the top of the rock.  Some twenty yards off, in an open flat of down-trodden grass, I saw a sable cow: she was standing with feet firmly and widely planted, looking fiercely in front of her, ducking her head in threatening manner every few seconds, and giving angry snorts; and behind, and huddled up against her, was her scared bewildered little red-brown calf. It seems stupid not to have guessed what it all meant; yet the fact is that for the few remaining seconds I was simply puzzled and fascinated by the behaviour of the two sables.  Then in the corner of my eye I saw, away on my right, another red-brown thing come into the open: it was Jock, casting about with nose to ground for my trail which he had over-run at the point where I had turned back near the deadwood on the other side of the rocks. What happened then was a matter of a second or two.  As I turned to look at him he raised his head, bristled up all over, and made one jump forward; then a long low yellowish thing moved in the unbeaten grass in front of the sable cow, raised its head sharply, and looked full into my eyes; and before I could move a finger it shot away in one streak-like bound.  A wild shot at the lioness, as I jumped up full height; a shout at Jock to come back; a scramble of black and brown on my left; and it was all over: I was standing in the open ground, breathless with excitement, and Jock, a few yards off, with hind legs crouched ready for a dash, looking back at me for leave to go! The spoor told the tale; there was the outer circle made by the lioness in the grass, broken in places where she had feinted to rush in and stopped before the lowered horns; and inside this there was the smaller circle, a tangle of trampled grass and spoor, where the brave mother had stood between her young and death. Any attempt to follow the lioness after that would have been waste of time.  We struck off in a new direction, and in crossing a stretch of level ground where the thorn-trees were well scattered and the grass fairly short my eye caught a movement in front that brought me to instant standstill.  It was as if the stem of a young thorn-tree had suddenly waved itself and settled back again, and it meant that some long horned buck, perhaps a koodoo or a sable bull, was lying down and had swung his head; and it meant also that he was comfortably settled, quite unconscious of danger.  I marked and watched the spot, or rather, the line, for the glimpse was too brief to tell more than the direction; but there was no other move.  The air was almost still, with just a faint drift from him to us, and I examined every stick and branch, every stump and ant-heap, every bush and tussock, without stirring a foot. But I could make out nothing: I could trace no outline and see no patch of colour, dark or light, to betray him. It was an incident very characteristic of Bushveld hunting.  There I stood minute after minute--not risking a move, which would be certain to reveal me--staring and searching for some big animal lying half asleep within eighty yards of me on ground that you would not call good cover for a rabbit.  We were in the sunlight: he lay somewhere beyond, where a few scattered thorn-trees threw dabs of shade, marbling with dappled shade and light the already mottled surface of earth and grass.  I was hopelessly beaten, but Jock could see him well enough; he crouched beside me with ears cocked, and his eyes, all ablaze, were fixed intently on the spot, except for an occasional swift look up to me to see what on earth was wrong and why the shot did not come; his hind legs were tucked under him and he was trembling with excitement.  Only those will realise it who have been through the tantalising humiliating experience.  There was nothing to be done but wait, leaving the buck to make the first move.

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 25)( Page 1 ) Our Last Hunt

We had not touched fresh meat for many days, as there had been no time for shooting; but I knew that game was plentiful across the river in the rough country between the Kaap and Crocodile, and I started off to make the best of the day's delay, little dreaming that it was to be the last time Jock and I would hunt together. Weeks had passed without a hunt, and Jock must have thought there was a sad falling away on the part of his master; he no longer expected anything; the rifle was never taken down now except for an odd shot from the outspan or to put some poor animal out of its misery.  Since the night with the lions, when he had been ignominiously cooped up, there had been nothing to stir his blood and make life worth living; and this morning as he saw me rise from breakfast and proceed to potter about the waggons in the way he had come to regard as inevitable, he looked on indifferently for a few minutes and then stretched out full length in the sun and went to sleep. I could not take him with me across the river, as the `fly' was said to be bad there, and it was no place to risk horse or dog.  The best of prospects would not have tempted me to take chance with him, but I hated ordering him to stay behind, as it hurt his dignity and sense of comradeship, so it seemed a happy accident that he was asleep and I could slip away unseen.  As the cattle were grazing along the river bank only a few hundred yards off, I took a turn that way to have a look at them, with natural but quite fruitless concern for their welfare, and a moment later met the herd boy running towards me and calling out excitedly something which I made out to be: "Crocodile!  Crocodile, Inkos!  A crocodile has taken one of the oxen." The waggon boys heard it also, and armed with assegais and sticks were on the bank almost as soon as I was; but there was no sign of crocodile or bullock.  The boy showed us the place where the weakened animal had gone down to drink--the hoof slides were plain enough--and told how, as it drank, the long black coffin-head had appeared out of the water.  He described stolidly how the big jaws had opened and gripped the bullock's nose; how he, a few yards away, had seen the struggle; how he had shouted and hurled his sticks and stones and tufts of grass, and feinted to rush down at it; and how, after a muffled bellow and a weak staggering effort to pull back, the poor beast had slid out into the deep water and disappeared.  It seemed to be a quite unnecessary addition to my troubles: misfortunes were coming thick and fast! Half an hour was wasted in watching and searching; but we saw no more of crocodile or bullock, and as there was nothing to be done I turned up stream to find a shallower and a safer crossing. At best it was not pleasant: the water was waist high and racing in narrow channels between and over boulders and loose slippery stones, and I was glad to get through without a tumble and a swim. The country was rough on the other side, and the old grass was high and dense, for no one went there in those days, and the grass stood unburnt from season to season.  Climbing over rocks and stony ground, crunching dry sticks underfoot, and driving a path through the rank tambooki grass, it seemed well-nigh hopeless to look for a shot; several times I heard buck start up and dash off only a few yards away, and it began to look as if the wiser course would be to turn back.  At last I got out of the valley into more level and more open ground, and came out upon a ledge or plateau a hundred yards or more wide, with a low ridge of rocks and some thorns on the far side--quite a likely spot.  I searched the open ground from my cover, and seeing nothing there crossed over to the rocks, threading my way silently between them and expecting to find another clear space beyond.  The snort of a buck brought me to a standstill among the rocks, and as I listened it was followed by another and another from the same quarter, delivered at irregular intervals; and each snort was accompanied by the sound of trampling feet, sometimes like stamps of anger and at other times seemingly a hasty movement.

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.'

This only happens in Africa!




Rubber Doughnut



Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 19)( Page 7 ) Jocks Mistake

So that was the explanation of the koodoo's return to us!  The natives, a hunting party, had heard the shot and coming along in hopes of meat had met and headed off the wounded koodoo, turning her back almost on her own tracks.  There was satisfaction in having the puzzle solved, but the more practical point was that here was all the help I wanted; and the boys readily agreed to skin the animal and carry the four quarters to the camp for the gift of the rest. Then my trouble began with Jock.  He flew at the first of the kaffir dogs that sneaked up to sniff at the koodoo.  Shouting at him produced no effect whatever, and before I could get hold of him he had mauled the animal pretty badly.  After hauling him off I sat down in the shade, with him beside me; but there were many dogs, and a succession of affairs, and I, knowing nothing of his deafness, became thoroughly exasperated and  urprised by poor old Jock's behaviour. His instinct to defend our kills, which was always strong, was roused that day beyond control, and his hatred of kaffir dogs--an implacable one in any case--made a perfect fury of him; still, the sickening awful feeling that came over me as he lay limp and lifeless was too fresh, and it was not possible to be really angry; and after half a dozen of the dogs had been badly handled there was something so comical in the way they sheered off and eyed Jock that I could only laugh.  They sneaked behind bushes and tried to circumvent him in all sorts of ways, but fled precipitately as soon as he moved a step or lowered his head and humped his shoulders threateningly.  Even the kaffir owners, who had begun to look glum, broke into appreciative laughter and shouts of admiration for the white man's dog. Jock kept up an unbroken string of growls, not loud, of course, but I could feel them going all the while like a volcano's rumbling as my restraining hand rested on him, and when the boys came up to skin the koodoo I had to hold him down and shake him sharply.  The dog was mad with fight; he bristled all over; and no patting or talking produced more than a flicker of his ears.  The growling went on; the hair stood up; the tail was quite unresponsive; his jaws were set like a vice; and his eyes shone like two black diamonds.  He had actually struggled to get free of my hand when the boys began to skin, and they were so scared by his resolute attempt that they would not start until I put him down between my knees and held him. I was sitting against a tree only three or four yards from the koodoo, and the boys, who had lighted a fire in anticipation of early tit-bits which would grill while they worked, were getting along well with the skinning, when one of them saw fit to pause in order to hold forth in the native fashion on the glories of the chase and the might of the white man.  Jock's head lay on his paws and his mouth was shut like a rat trap; his growling grew louder as the bombastic nigger, all unconscious of the wicked watching eyes behind him, waved his blood-stained knife and warmed to his theme. "Great you thought yourself," proclaimed the orator, addressing the dead koodoo in a long rigmarole which was only partly understood by me but evidently much approved by the other boys as they stooped to their work, "Swift of foot and strong of limb.  But the white man came, and--there!" I could not make out the words with any certainty; but whatever the last word was, it was intended as a dramatic climax, and to lend additional force to his point the orator let fly a resounding kick on the koodoo's stomach. The effect was quite electrical!  Like an arrow from the bow Jock flew at him!  The warning shout came too late, and as  ock's teeth fastened in him behind the terrified boy gave a wild bound over the koodoo, carrying Jock like a streaming coat-tail behind him. The work was stopped and the natives drew off in grave consultation.  I thought that they had had enough of Jock for one day and that they would strike work and leave me, probably returning later on to steal the meat while I went for help from the waggons.  But it turned out that the consultation was purely medical, and in a few minutes I had an interesting exhibition of native doctoring.  They laid the late orator out face downwards, and one burly `brother' straddled him across the small of the back; then after a little preliminary examination of the four slits left by Jock's fangs, he proceeded to cauterise them with the glowing ends of sundry sticks which an assistant took from the fire and handed to him as required.  The victim flapped his hands on the ground and hallooed out "My babo!  My babo!" but he did not struggle; and the operator toasted away with methodical indifference. The orator stood it well! I took Jock away to the big tree near the pool: it was evident that he, too, had had enough of it for one day.

Jock Of The Bushveld by sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 17 )( Page 8 ) Buffalo Bushfire and Wild Dogs

They seemed to be passing half a mile away from us; but in the stillness of the night sound travels far, and one can only guess.  Again a little while and the cries sounded nearer and as if coming from one quarter--not moving round us as before; and a few minutes more, and it was certain they were still nearer and coming straight towards us.  We took our guns then, and I called Jock back to where we stood under the tree with our backs to the fire. The growing sounds came on out of the night where all was hidden with the weird crescendo effect of a coming flood; we could pick them out then--the louder harsher cries; the crashing through bush; the rush in grass; the sobbing gasps in front; and the hungry panting after.  The hunt came at us like a cyclone out of the stillness, and in the forefront of it there burst into the circle of light an impala ewe with open mouth and haunting hunted despairing eyes and wide spread ears; and the last staggering strides brought her in among us, tumbling at our feet. A kaffir jumped out with assegai aloft; but Teddy, with the spring of a tiger and a yell of rage, swung his rifle round and down on assegai arm and head, and dropped the boy in his tracks. "Go-sh!--Da-ll!  Cr-r-r-i-miny!  What the Hex are you up to?" and the fiery soft-hearted old boy was down on to his knees in a second, panting with anger and excitement, and threw his arms about the buck. The foremost of the pack followed hot foot close behind the  uck-- oblivious of fire and men, seeing nothing but the quarry--and at a distance of five yards a mixed volley of bullets and assegais tumbled it over.  Another followed, and again another: both fell where they had stopped, a dozen yards away, puzzled by the fire and the shooting; and still more and more came on, but, warned by the unexpected check in front, they stopped at the clearing's edge, until over twenty pairs of eyes reflecting the fire's light shone out at us in a rough semicircle. The shot guns came in better then; and more than half the pack went under that night before the others cleared off.  Perhaps they did not realise that the shots and flashes were not part of the camp fire from which they seemed to come; perhaps their system of never relinquishing a chase had not been tried against the white man before. One of the wild dogs, wounded by a shot, seemed to go mad with agony and raced straight into the clearing towards the fire, uttering the strangest maniac-like yaps.  Jock had all along been straining to go for them from where I had jammed him between my feet as I sat and fired, and the charge of this dog was more than he could bear: he shot out like a rocket, and the collision sent the two flying apart; but he was on to the wild dog again and had it by the throat before it could recover. Instantly the row of lights went out, as if switched off--they were no longer looking at us; there was a rustle and a sound of padded feet, and dim grey-looking forms gathered at the edge of the clearing nearest where Jock and the wounded dog fought.  I shouted to Jock to come back, and several of us ran out to help, just as another of the pack made a dash in.  It seemed certain that Jock, gripping and worrying his enemy's throat, had neither time nor thought for anything else; yet as the fresh dog came at him he let go his grip of the other, and jumped to meet the new-comer; in mid-spring Jock caught the other by the ear and the two spun completely round--their positions being reversed; then, with another wrench as he landed, he flung the attacker behind him and jumped back at the wounded one which had already turned to go. It looked like the clean and easy movement of a finished gymnast.  It was an affair of a few seconds only, for of course the instant we got a chance at the dogs, without the risk to Jock, both were shot; and he, struggling to get at the others, was haled back to the tree. While this was going on the impala stood with wide spread legs, dazed and helpless, between Teddy's feet, just as he had placed it.  Its breath came in broken choking sobs; the look of terror and despair had not yet faded from the staring eyes; the head swayed from side to side; the mouth hung open and the tongue lolled out; all told beyond the power of words the tale of desperate struggle and exhaustion.  It drank greedily from the dish that Teddy held for it--emptied it, and five minutes later drank it again and then lay down. For half an hour it lay there, slowly recovering; sometimes for spells of a few minutes it appeared to breathe normally once more; then the heavy open-mouthed panting would return again; and all the time Teddy kept on stroking or patting it gently and talking to it as if he were comforting a child, and every now and then bursting out with sudden gusty execrations, in his own particular style, of wild dogs and kaffirs.  At last it rose briskly, and standing between his knees looked about, taking no notice of Teddy's hands laid on either side and gently patting it.  No one moved or spoke.  Jock, at my feet, appeared most interested of all, but I am afraid his views differed considerably from ours on that occasion, and he must have been greatly puzzled; he remained watching intently with his head laid on his paws, his ears cocked, and his brown eyes fixed unblinkingly; and at each movement on the buck's part something stirred in him, drawing every muscle tense and ready for the spring--internal grips which were reflected in the twitching and stiffening of his neck and back; but each time as I laid a hand on him he slackened out again and subsided. We sat like statues as the impala walked out from its stall between Teddy's knees, and stood looking about wonderingly at the faces white and black, at the strange figures, and at the fire.  It stepped out quite quietly, much as it might have moved about here and there any peaceful morning in its usual haunts; the head swung about briskly, but unalarmed; and ears and eyes were turned this way and that in easy confidence and mild curiosity. With a few more steps it threaded its way close to one sitting figure and round a bucket; stepped daintily over Teddy's rifle; and passed the koodoo's head unnoticed. It seemed to us--even to us, and at the moment--like a scene in fairyland in which some spell held us while the beautiful wild thing strolled about unfrightened. A few yards away it stopped for perhaps a couple of minutes; its back was towards us and the fire; the silence was absolute; and it stood thus with eyes and ears for the bush alone.  There was a warning whisk of the white tail and it started off again--this time at a brisk trot--and we thought it had gone; but at the edge of the clearing it once more stood and listened.  Now and again the ears flickered and the head turned slightly one way or another, but no sound came from the bush; the out-thrust nose was raised with gentle tosses, but no taint reached it on the gentle breeze.  All was well! It looked slowly round, giving one long full gaze back at us which seemed to be "Good-bye, and--thank you!" and cantered out into the dark.

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick ( Chapter 17 )( Page 7 ) Buffalo Bushfire and Wild Dogs

There was no more hunting for us: our feet had `gone in,' and we were well content to sleep and rest.  The burnt stubbly ends of the grass had pierced the baked leather of our boots many times; and Jock, too, had suffered badly and could hardly bear to set foot to the ground next day. The best we could hope for was to be sound enough to return to our own waggons in two or three days' time. The camp was under a very large wild fig tree, whose dense canopy gave us shade all through the day.  We had burnt the grass for some twenty or thirty yards round as a protection against bush fires; and as the trees and scrub were not thick just there it was possible to see in various directions rather further than one usually can in the Bushveld.  The big tree was a fair landmark by day, and at night we made a good fire, which owing to the position of the camp one could see from a considerable distance.  These precautions were for the benefit of strayed or belated members of the party; but I mention them because the position of the camp and the fire brought us a strange visitor the last night of our stay there. There were, I think, seven white men; and the moving spirit of the party--old Teddy Blacklow of Ballarat--was one of the old alluvial diggers, a warmhearted, impulsive, ever-young old boy, and a rare good sportsman.  That was Teddy, the `man in muddy moleskins,' who stretched out the hand of friendship when the Boy was down, and said "You come along o' me!" one of `God's sort.' Teddy's spirits were always up; his presence breathed a cheery optimism on the blankest day; his humour lighted everything; _his_ stories kept us going; and his language was a joy for ever.  In a community, in which such things savoured of eccentricity, Teddy was an abstainer and never swore; but if actual profanity was avoided, the dear old boy all unconsciously afforded strong support to those who hold that a man must find relief in vigorous expression.  To do this, without violating his principles, he invented words and phrases, meaningless in themselves but in general outline, so to say, resembling the worst in vogue; and the effect produced by them upon the sensitive was simply horrifying.  Teddy himself was blissfully unconscious of this, for his language, being scrupulously innocent, was deemed by him to be suited to all circumstances and to every company.  The inevitable consequence was that the first impression produced by him on the few women he ever met was that of an abandoned old reprobate whose scant veil of disguise only made the outrage of his language more marked.  Poor old Teddy!  Kindest and gentlest and dearest of souls!  How he would have stared at this, speechless with surprise; and how we used to laugh at what some one called his `glittering paro-fanities!'  Pity it is that they too must go; for one dare not reproduce the best of them. It was between eight and nine o'clock on the last day of our stay; Francis and I were fit again, and Jock's feet, thanks to care and washing and plenty of castor oil, no longer troubled him; we were examining our boots--re-soled now with raw hide in the rough but effective veld fashion; Teddy was holding forth about the day's chase whilst he cut away the pith of a koodoo's horns and scraped the skull; others were busy on their trophies too; and the kaffirs round their own fire were keeping up the simultaneous gabble characteristic of hunting boys after a good day and with plenty of meat in camp. I was sitting on a small camp stool critically examining a boot and wondering if the dried hide would grip well enough to permit of the top lacings being removed, and Jock was lying in front of me, carefully licking the last sore spot on one fore paw, when I saw his head switch up suddenly and his whole body set hard in a study of intense listening. Then he got up and trotted briskly off some ten or fifteen yards, and stood--a bright spot picked out by the glare of the camp fire--with his back towards me and his uneven ears topping him off. I walked out to him, and silence fell on the camp; all watched and listened.  At first we heard nothing but soon the call of a wild dog explained Jock's movements; the sound, however, did not come from the direction in which he was looking, but a good deal to the right; and as he instantly looked to this new quarter I concluded that this was not the dog he had previously heard, or else it must have moved rapidly. There was another wait, and then there followed calls from other quarters. There was nothing unusual in the presence of wild dogs: hyenas, jackals, wild dogs and all the smaller beasts of prey were heard nightly; what attracted attention in this case was the regular calling from different points.  The boys said the wild dogs were hunting something and calling to each other to indicate the direction of the hunt, so that those in front might turn the buck and by keeping it in a circle enable fresh or rested dogs to jump in from time to time and so, eventually, wear the poor hunted creature down.  This, according to the natives, is the system of the wild pack.  When they cannot find easy prey in the young, weak or wounded, and are forced by hunger to hunt hard, they first scatter widely over the chosen area where game is located, and then one buck is chosen--the easiest victim, a ewe with young for choice—and cutting it out from the herd, they follow that one and that alone with remorseless invincible persistency.  They begin the hunt knowing that it will last for hours--knowing too that in speed they have no chance against the buck--and when the intended victim is cut out from the herd one or two of the dogs--so the natives say--take up the chase and with long easy gallop keep it going, giving no moment's rest for breath; from time to time they give their weird peculiar call and others of the pack--posted afar--head the buck off to turn it back again; the fresh ones then take up the chase, and the first pair drop out to rest and wait, or follow slowly until their chance and turn come round again. There is something so hateful in the calculated pitiless method that one feels it a duty to kill the cruel brutes whenever a chance occurs. The hunt went on round us; sometimes near enough to hear the dogs' eager cries quite clearly; sometimes so far away that for a while nothing could be heard; and Jock moved from point to point in the outermost circle of the camp fire's light nearest to the chase. When at last hunters and hunted completed their wide circuit round the camp, and passed again the point where we had first heard them, the end seemed near; for there were no longer single calls widely separated, but the voices of the pack in hot close chase. 

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When we opened our scorched eyes the ground in front of us was all black, with only here and there odd lights and torches dotted about-- like tapers on a pall; and on ahead, beyond the trellis work of bare scorched trees, the wall of flame swept on. Then down on the wings of the wind came the other fire; and before it fled every living thing.  Heaven only knows what passed us in those few minutes when a broken stream of terrified creatures dashed by, hardly swerving to avoid us.  There is no coherent picture left of that scene-- just a medley of impressions linked up by flashes of unforgettable vividness.  A herd of koodoo came crashing by; I know there was a herd, but only the first and last will come to mind--the space between seems blurred.  The clear impressions are of the koodoo bull in front, with nose out-thrust, eyes shut against the bush, and great horns laid back upon the withers, as he swept along opening the way for his herd; and then, as they vanished, the big ears, ewe neck, and tilting hind quarters of the last cow--between them nothing but a mass of moving grey! The wildebeeste went by in Indian-file, uniform in shape, colour and horns; and strangely uniform in their mechanical action, lowered heads, and fiercely determined rush. A rietbuck ram stopped close to us, looked back wide-eyed and anxious, and whistled shrilly, and then cantered on with head erect and white tail flapping; but its mate neither answered nor came by.  A terrified hare with its ears laid flat scuttled past within a yard of Francis and did not seem to see him.  Above us scared birds swept or fluttered down wind; while others again came up swirling and swinging about, darting boldly through the smoke to catch the insects driven before the fire. But what comes back with the suggestion of infinitely pathetic helplessness is the picture of a beetle.  We stood on the edge of our burn, waiting for the ground to cool, and at my feet a pair of tock-tockie beetles, hump backed and bandy-legged, came toiling slowly and earnestly along; they reached the edge of our burn, touched the warm ash, and turned patiently aside--to walk round it! A school of chattering monkeys raced out on to the blackened flat, and screamed shrilly with terror as the hot earth and cinders burnt their feet. Porcupine, ant-bear, meerkat!  They are vague, so vague that nothing is left but the shadow of their passing; but there is one other thing—seen in a flash as brief as the others, for a second or two only, but never to be forgotten!  Out of the yellow grass, high up in the waving tops, came sailing down on us the swaying head and glittering eyes of a black mamba--swiftest, most vicious, most deadly of snakes.  Francis and I were not five yards apart and it passed between us, giving a quick chilly beady look at each--pitiless, and hateful--and one hiss as the slithering tongue shot out: that was all, and it sailed past with strange effortless movement.  How much of the body was on the ground propelling it, I cannot even guess; but we had to look upwards to see the head as the snake passed between us. The scorching breath of the fire drove us before it on to the baked ground, inches deep in ashes and glowing cinders, where we kept marking time to ease our blistering feet; our hats were pulled down to screen our necks as we stood with our backs to the coming flames; our flannel shirts were so hot that we kept shifting our shoulders for relief. Jock, who had no screen and whose feet had no protection, was in my arms; and we strove to shield ourselves from the furnace-blast with the branches we had used to beat out the fire round the big tree which was our main shelter. The heat was awful!  Live brands were flying past all the time, and some struck us; myriads of sparks fell round and on us, burning numberless small holes in our clothing, and dotting blisters on our backs; great sheets of flame leaped out from the driving glare, and, detached by many yards from their source, were visible for quite a space in front of us. Then, just at its maddest and fiercest there came a gasp and sob, and the fire devil died behind us as it reached the black bare ground.  Our burn divided it as an island splits the flood, and it swept along our flanks in two great walls of living leaping roaring flame. Two hundred yards away there was a bare yellow place in a world of inky black, and to that haven we ran.  It was strange to look about and see the naked country all round us, where but a few minutes earlier the tall grass had shut us in; but the big bare ant-heap was untouched, and there we flung ourselves down, utterly done. Faint from heat and exhaustion--scorched and blistered, face and arms, back and feet; weary and footsore, and with boots burnt through—we reached camp long after dark, glad to be alive. We had forgotten the wounded buffalo; he seemed part of another life!

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jungle of trees, bush, bramble and the tallest rankest grass.  I have ridden in that valley many times since then through grass standing several feet above my head.  It was desperately hard work, but we did want to get the buffalo; and although the place was full of game and we put up koodoo, wildebeeste, rietbuck, bushbuck, and duiker, we held to the wounded buffalo's spoor, neglecting all else. Just before ascending the terrace we had heard the curious far-travelling sound of kaffirs calling to each other from a distance, but, except for a passing comment, paid no heed to it and passed on; later we heard it again and again, and at last, when we happened to pause in a more open portion of the bush after we had gone half-way along the terrace, the calling became so frequent and came from so many quarters that we stopped to take note.  Francis, who spoke Zulu like one of themselves, at last made out a word or two which gave the clue. "They're after the wounded buffalo!" he said.  "Come on, man, before they get their dogs, or we'll never see him again." Knowing then that the buffalo was a long way ahead, we scrambled on as fast as we could whilst holding to his track; but it was very hot and very rough and, to add to our troubles, smoke from a grass fire came driving into our faces. "Niggers burning on the slopes; confound them!"  Francis growled. They habitually fire the grass in patches during the summer and autumn, as soon as it is dry enough to burn, in order to get young grass for the winter or the early spring, and although the smoke worried us there did not seem to be anything unusual about the fire.  But ten minutes later we stopped again; the smoke was perceptibly thicker; birds were flying past us down wind, with numbers of locusts and other insects; two or three times we heard buck and other animals break back; and all were going the same way.  Then the same thought struck us both--it was stamped in our faces: this was no ordinary mountain grass fire; it was the bush. Francis was a quiet fellow, one of the sort it is well not to rouse. His grave is in the Bushveld where his unbeaten record among intrepid lion-hunters was made, and where he fell in the war, leaving another and greater record to his name.  The blood rose slowly to his face, until it was bricky red, and he looked an ugly customer as he said: "The black brutes have fired the valley to burn him out.  Come on quick. We must get out of this on to the slopes!" We did not know then that there were no slopes--only a precipitous face of rock with dense jungle to the foot of it; and after we had spent a quarter of an hour in that effort, we found our way blocked by the krans and a tangle of undergrowth much worse than that in the middle of the terrace.  The noise made by the wind in the trees and our struggling through the grass and bush had prevented our hearing the fire at first, but now its ever growing roar drowned all sounds.  Ordinarily, there would have been no real difficulty in avoiding a bush fire; but, pinned in between the river and the precipice and with miles of dense bush behind us, it was not at all pleasant. Had we turned back even then and made for the poort it is possible we might have travelled faster than the fire, but it would have been rough work indeed; moreover, that would have been going back--and we did want to get the buffalo--so we decided to make one more try, towards the river this time.  It was not much of a try, however, and we had gone no further than the middle of the terrace again when it became alarmingly clear that this fire meant business. The wind increased greatly, as it always does once a bush fire gets a start; the air was thick with smoke, and full of flying things; in the bush and grass about us there was a constant scurrying; the terror of tampede was in the very atmosphere.  A few words of consultation decided us, and we started to burn a patch for standing room and protection. The hot sun and strong wind had long evaporated all the dew and moisture from the grass, but the sap was still up, and the fire--our fire—seemed cruelly long in catching on.  With bunches of dry grass for brands we started burns in twenty places over a length of a hundred yards, and each little flame licked up, spread a little, and then hesitated or died out: it seemed as if ours would never take, while the other came on with roars and leaps, sweeping clouds of sparks and ash over us in the dense rolling mass of smoke. At last a fierce rush of wind struck down on us, and in a few seconds each little flame became a living demon of destruction; another minute, and the stretch before us was a field of swaying flame.  There was a sudden roar and crackle, as of musketry, and the whole mass seemed lifted into the air in one blazing sheet: it simply leaped into life and swept everything before it.

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They work on Nature's lines.  Look at the ostrich--the cock, black and handsome, so strikingly different from the commonplace grey hen! Considering that for periods of six weeks at a stretch they are anchored to one spot hatching the eggs, turn and turn about, it seems that one or other must be an easy victim for the beast of prey, since the same background cannot possibly suit both.  But they know that too; so the grey hen sits by day, and the black cock by night!  And the ostrich is not the fool it is thought to be--burying its head in the sand!  Knowing how the long stem of a neck will catch the eye, it lays it flat on the ground, as other birds do, when danger threatens the nest or brood, and concealment is better than flight.  That tame chicks will do this in a bare paddock is only a laughable assertion of instinct. Look at the zebra!  There is nothing more striking, nothing that arrests the eye more sharply--in the Zoo--than this vivid contrast of colour; yet in the bush the wavy stripes of black and white, are a protection, enabling him to hide at will. I have seen a wildebeeste effectually hidden by a single blighted branch; a koodoo bull, by a few twisty sticks; a crouching lion, by a wisp of feathery grass no higher than one's knee, no bigger than a vase of flowers!  Yet, the marvel of it is always fresh. After a couple of hundred yards of that sort of going, we changed our plan, taking to the creek again and making occasional cross-cuts to the trail, to be sure he was still ahead.  It was certain then that the buffalo was following the herd and making for the poort, and as he had not stopped once on our account we took to the creek after the fourth crosscut and made what pace we could to reach the narrow gorge where we reckoned to pick up the spoor again. There are, however, few short cuts--and no certainties--in hunting; when we reached the poort there was no trace to be found of the wounded buffalo; the rest of the herd had passed in, but we failed to find blood or other trace of the wounded one, and Jock was clearly as much at fault as we were. We had overshot the mark and there was nothing for it but to hark back to the last blood spoor and, by following it up, find out what had happened.  This took over an hour, for we spoored him then with the utmost caution, being convinced that the buffalo, if not dead, was badly wounded and lying in wait for us. We came on his `stand,' in a well-chosen spot, where the game path took a sharp turn round some heavy bushes.  The buffalo had stood, not where one would naturally expect it--in the dense cover which seemed just suited for his purpose--but among lighter bush on the _opposite_ side and about twenty yards nearer to us.  There was no room for doubt about his hostile intentions; and when we recalled how we had instantly picked out the thick bush on the left--to the exclusion of everything else—as the spot to be watched, his selection of more open ground on the other side, and nearer to us, seemed so fiendishly clever that it made one feel cold and creepy.  One hesitates to say it was deliberately planned; yet--plan, instinct or accident--there was the fact. The marks showed us he was badly hit; but there was no limb broken, and no doubt he was good for some hours yet.  We followed along the spoor, more cautiously than ever; and when we reached the sharp turn beyond the thick bush we found that the path was only a few yards from the stream, so that on our way up the bed of the creek we had passed within twenty yards of where the buffalo was waiting for us.  No doubt he had heard us then as we walked past, and had winded us later on when we got ahead of him into the poort.  What had he made of it?  What had he done?  Had he followed up to attack us?  Was he waiting somewhere near?  Or had he broken away into the bush on finding himself headed off?  These were some of the questions we asked ourselves as we crept along. Well! what he had done did not answer our questions.  On reaching the poort again we found his spoor, freshly made since we had been there, and he had walked right along through the gorge without stopping again, and gone into the kloof beyond.  Whether he had followed us up when we got ahead of him--hoping to stalk us from behind; or had gone ahead, expecting to meet us coming down wind to look for him; or, when he heard us pass down stream again--and, it may be, thought we had given up pursuit--had simply walked on after the herd, were questions never answered. A breeze had risen since morning, and as we approached the hills it grew stronger: in the poort itself it was far too strong for our purpose—the wind coming through the narrow opening like a forced draught.  The herd would not stand there, and it was not probable that the wounded animal would stop until he joined the others or reached a more sheltered place. We were keen on the chase, and as he had about an hour's start of us and it was already midday, there was no time to waste. Inside the poort the kloof opened out into a big valley away to our left--our left being the right bank of the stream--and bordering the valley on that side there were many miles of timbered kloofs and green slopes, with a few kaffir kraals visible in the distance; but to the right the formation was quite different, and rather peculiar.  The stream--known to the natives as Hlamba-Nyati, or Buffalo's Bathing Place--had in the course of time shortened its course to the poort by eating into the left bank, thus leaving a high, and in most places, inaccessible terrace above it on the left side and a wide stretch of flat alluvium on the right.  This terrace was bounded on one side by the steep bank of the creek and walled in on the other side by the precipitous kranses of the mountains. At the top end it opened out like a fan which died away in a frayed edge in the numberless small kloofs and spurs fringing the amphitheatre of the hills.  The shape was in fact something like the human arm and hand with the fingers outspread.  The elbow was the poort, the arm the terrace--except that the terrace was irregularly curved--and the fingers the small kloofs in the mountains.  No doubt the haunts of the buffalo were away in the `fingers,' and we worked steadily along the spoor in that direction.

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My eyes were strained and burning from the intensity of the effort to see; but except the calf I could not make out a living thing: the glare of the yellow grass in which we stood, and the sun-splotched darkness beyond it beat me. At last, in the corner of my eye, I saw Francis's rifle rise, as slowly--almost--as the mercury in a warmed thermometer.  There was a long pause, and then came the shot and wild snorts of alarm and rage.  A dozen huge black forms started into life for a second and as quickly vanished--scattering and crashing through the jungle.  The first clear impression was that of Jock, who after one swift run forward for a few yards stood ready to spring off in pursuit, looking back at me and waiting for the word to go; but at the sign of my raised hand, opened with palm towards him, he subsided slowly and lay down flat with his head resting on his paws. "Did you see?" asked Francis.  "Not till you fired.  I heard it strike. What was it?" "Hanged if I know!  I heard it too.  It was one of the big uns; but bull or cow I don't know." "Where did you get it?" "Well, I couldn't make out more than a black patch in the bush.  It moved once, but I couldn't see how it was standing--end on or across. It may be hit anywhere.  I took for the middle of the patch and let drive.  Bit risky, eh?" "Seems like taking chances." "Well, it was no use waiting: we came for this!" and then he added with a careless laugh, "They always clear from the first shot if you get 'em at close quarters, but the fun'll begin now.  Expect he'll lay for us in the track somewhere." That is the way of the wounded buffalo--we all knew that; and old Rocky's advice came to mind with a good deal of point: "Keep cool and shoot straight--or stay right home;" and Jock's expectant watchful look smote me with another memory--"It was my dawg!" A few yards from where the buffalo had stood we picked up the blood spoor.  There was not very much of it, but we saw from the marks on the bushes here and there, and more distinctly on some grass further on, that the wound was pretty high up and on the right side.  Crossing a small stretch of more open bush we reached the dense growth along the banks of the stream, and as this continued up into the kloof it was clear we had a tough job before us. Animals when badly wounded nearly always leave the herd, and very often go down wind so as to be able to scent and avoid their pursuers.  This fellow had followed the herd up wind, and that rather puzzled us. A wounded buffalo in thick bush is considered to be about as nasty a customer as any one may desire to tackle; for, its vindictive indomitable courage and extraordinary cunning are a very formidable combination, as a long list of fatalities bears witness.  Its favourite device--so old hunters will tell you--is to make off down wind when hit, and after going for some distance, come back again in a semicircle to intersect its own spoor, and there under good cover lie in wait for those who may follow up. This makes the sport quite as interesting as need be, for the chances are more nearly even than they generally are in hunting.  The buffalo chooses the ground that suits its purpose of ambushing its enemy, and naturally selects a spot where concealment is possible; but, making every allowance for this, it seems little short of a miracle that the huge black beast is able to hide itself so effectually that it can charge from a distance of a dozen yards on to those who are searching for it. The secret of it seems to lie in two things: first, absolute stillness; and second, breaking up the colour.  No wild animal, except those protected by distance and open country, will stand against a background of light or of uniform colour, nor will it as a rule allow its own shape to form an unbroken patch against its chosen background.

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Jock went in front: it was best so, and quite safe, for, whilst certain to spot anything long before we could, there was not the least risk of his rushing it or making any noise.  The slightest whisper of a "Hst" from me would have brought him to a breathless standstill at any moment; but even this was not likely to be needed, for he kept as close a watch on my face as I did on him. There was, of course, no difficulty whatever in following the spoor; the animals were as big as cattle, and their trail through the rank grass was as plain as a road: our difficulty was to get near enough to see them without being heard.  Under the down-trodden grass there were plenty of dry sticks to step on, any of which would have been as fatal to our chances as a pistol shot, and even the unavoidable rustle of the grass might betray, us while the buffalo themselves remained hidden. Thus our progress was very slow, a particularly troublesome impediment being the grass stems thrown down across the trail by the animals crossing and re-crossing each others' spoor and stopping to crop a mouthful here and there or perhaps to play.  The tambookie grass in these parts has a stem thicker than a lead pencil, more like young bamboo than grass; and these stems thrown cross-ways by storms or game make an entanglement through which the foot cannot be forced: it means high stepping all the time. We expected to follow the spoor for several miles before coming on the buffalo--probably right into the kloof towards which it appeared to lead--but were, nevertheless, quite prepared to drop on to them at any moment, knowing well how game will loiter on their way when undisturbed and vary their time and course, instinctively avoiding the too regular habits which would make them an easy prey. Jock moved steadily along the trodden track, sliding easily through the grass or jumping softly and noiselessly over impediments, and we followed, looking ahead as far as the winding course of the trail permitted. To right and left of us stood the screen of tall grass, bush and trees. Once Jock stopped, throwing up his nose, and stood for some seconds while we held our breath; but having satisfied himself that there was nothing of immediate consequence, he moved on again--rather more slowly, as it appeared to us.  I looked at Francis's face; it was pale and set like marble, and his watchful grey eyes were large and wide like an antelope's, as though opened out to take in everything; and those moments of intense interest and expectation were the best part of a memorable day. There was something near: we felt it!  Jock was going more carefully than ever, with his head up most of the time; and the feeling of expectation grew stronger and stronger until it amounted to absolute certainty.  Then Jock stopped, stopped in mid-stride, not with his nose up ranging for scent, but with head erect, ears cocked, and tail poised--dead still: he was looking at something. We had reached the end of the grass where the bush and trees of the mountain slope had choked it out, and before us there was fairly thick bush mottled with black shadows and patches of bright sunlight in which it was most difficult to see anything.  There we stood like statues, the dog in front with the two men abreast behind him, and all peering intently.  Twice Jock slowly turned his head and looked into my eyes, and I felt keenly the sense of hopeless inferiority.  "There it is, what are you going to do?" was what the first look seemed to say; and the second: "Well, what are you waiting for?" How long we stood thus it is, not possible to say: time is no measure of such things, and to me it seemed unending suspense; but we stood our ground scarcely breathing, knowing that something was there, because he saw it and told us so, and knowing that as soon as we moved it would be gone.  Then close to the ground there was a movement--something swung, and the full picture flashed upon us.  It was a buffalo calf standing in the shade of a big bush with its back towards us, and it was the swishing of the tail that had betrayed it.  We dared not breathe a word or pass a look--a face turned might have caught some glint of light and shown us up; so we stood like statues each knowing that the other was looking for the herd and would fire when he got a chance at one of the full-grown animals.

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The summer slipped away--the full-pulsed ripeness; of the year; beauty and passion; sunshine and storm; long spells of peace and gentleness, of springing life and radiant glory; short intervals of reckless tempest and destructive storm!  Among the massed evergreens of the woods there stood out here and there bright spots of colour, the careless dabs from Nature's artist hand; yellow and brown, orange and crimson, all vividly distinct, yet all in perfect harmony.  The rivers, fed from the replenished mountains' stores, ran full but clear; the days were bright; the nights were cold; the grass was rank and seeding; and it was time to go. Once more the Bushveld beckoned us away. We picked a spot where grass and water were good, and waited for the rivers to fall; and it was while loitering there that a small hunting party from the fields making for the Sabi came across us and camped for the night.  In the morning two of our party joined them for a few days to try for something big. It was too early in the season for really good sport.  The rank tropical grass--six to eight feet high in most places, twelve to fourteen in some--was too green to burn yet, and the stout stems and heavy seed heads made walking as difficult as in a field of tangled sugar cane; for long stretches it was not possible to see five yards, and the dew in the early mornings was so heavy that after a hundred yards of such going one was drenched to the skin. We were forced into the more open parts--the higher, stonier, more barren ground where just then the bigger game was by no means plentiful. On the third day two of us started out to try a new quarter in the hilly country rising towards the Berg.  My companion, Francis, was an experienced hunter and his idea was that we should find the big game, not on the hot humid flats or the stony rises, but still higher up on the breezy hill tops or in the cool shady kloofs running towards the mountains.  We passed a quantity of smaller game that morning, and several times heard the stampede of big animals--wildebeeste and waterbuck, as we found by the spoor--but it was absolutely impossible to see them.  The dew was so heavy that even our hats were soaking wet, and times out of number we had to stop to wipe the water out of our eyes in order to see our way; a complete ducking would not have made the least difference. Jock fared better than we did, finding openings and game tracks at his own level, which were of no use to us; he also knew better than we did what was going on ahead, and it was tantalising in the extreme to see him slow down and stand with his nose thrown up, giving quick soft sniffs and ranging his head from side to side, when he knew there was something quite close, and knew too that a few more toiling steps in that rank grass would be followed by a rush of something which we would never see. Once we heard a foot stamp not twenty yards off, and stood for a couple of minutes on tip-toe trying to pierce the screen of grass in front, absolutely certain that eyes and ears were turned on us in death-like silence waiting for the last little proof of the intruder that would satisfy their owners and start them off before we could get a glimpse. The silence must have made them suspicious, for at some signal unknown to us the troop broke away and we had the mortification to see something, which we had ignored as a branch, tilt slowly back and disappear: there was no mistaking the koodoo bull's horns once they moved! After two hours of this we struck a stream, and there we made somewhat better pace and less noise, often taking to the bed of the creek for easier going.  There, too, we found plenty of drinking-places and plenty of fresh spoor of the bigger game, and as the hills began to rise in view above the bush and trees, we found what Francis was looking for. Something caught his eye on the far side of the stream, and he waded in. I followed and when half-way through; saw the contented look on his face and caught his words: "Buffalo!  I thought so!" We sat down then to think it out.  The spoor told of a troop of a dozen to sixteen animals--bulls, cows, and calves; and it was that morning's spoor: even in the soft moist ground at the stream's edge the water had not yet oozed into most of the prints.  Fortunately there was a light breeze from the hills, and as it seemed probable that in any case they would make that way for the hot part of the day we decided to follow for some distance on the track and then make for the likeliest poort in the hills. The buffalo had come up from the low country in the night on a course striking the creek diagonally in the drinking-place; their departing spoor went off at a slight tangent from the stream--the two trails making a very wide angle at the drinking-place and confirming the idea that after their night's feed in the rich grass lower down they were making for the hills again in the morning and had touched at the stream to drink. Jock seemed to gather from our whispered conversation and silent movements that there was work to hand, and his eyes moved from one face to the other as we talked, much as a child watches the faces in a conversation it cannot quite follow.  When we got up and began to move along the trail, he gave one of his little sideways bounds, as if he half thought of throwing a somersault and restrained himself; and then with several approving waggings of his tail settled down at once to business.

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick ( Chapter 16 )( Page 4 ) The tiger and Baboon

Our route lay along the side of the spur, skirting the rocky backbone and winding between occasional boulders, clumps of trees and bush, and we had moved on only a little way when a loud "Waugh" from a baboon on the mountain behind made us stop to look back.  The hoarse shout was repeated several times, and each time more loudly and emphatically; it seemed like the warning call of a sentry who had seen us.  Moved by curiosity we turned aside on to the ridge itself, and from the top of a big rock scanned the almost precipitous face opposite.  The spur on which we stood was divided from the Berg itself only by a deep but narrow kloof or ravine, and every detail of the mountain side stood out in the clear evening air, but against the many-coloured rocks the grey figure of a baboon was not easy to find as long as it remained still, and although from time to time the barking roar was repeated, we were still scanning the opposite hill when one of the boys pointed down the slope immediately below us and called out, "There, there, Baas!" The troop of baboons had evidently been quite close to us--hidden from us only by the little line of rocks--and on getting warning from their sentry on the mountain had stolen quietly away and were then disappearing into the timbered depth of the ravine.  We sat still to watch them come out on the opposite side a few minutes later and clamber up the rocky face, for they are always worth watching; but while we watched, the stillness was broken by an agonised scream--horribly human in its expression of terror--followed by roars, barks, bellows and screams from scores of voices in every key; and the crackle of breaking sticks and the rattle of stones added to the medley of sound as the baboons raced out of the wood and up the bare rocky slope. "What is it?" "What's the matter?" "There's something after them." "Look, look! there they come:" burst from one and another of us as we watched the extraordinary scene.  The cries from below seemed to waken the whole mountain; great booming "waughs" came from different places far apart and ever so high up the face of the Berg; each big roar seemed to act like a trumpet-call and bring forth a multitude of others; and the air rang with bewildering shouts and echoes volleying round the kloofs and faces of the Berg.  The strange thing was that the baboons did not continue their terrified scramble up the mountain, but, once out of the bush, they turned and rallied.  Forming an irregular semicircle they faced down hill, thrusting their heads forward with sudden jerks as though to launch their cries with greater vehemence, and feinting to charge; they showered loose earth, stones and debris of all sorts down with awkward underhand scrapes of their fore-paws, and gradually but surely descended to within a dozen yards of the bush's edge. "Baas, Baas, the tiger!  Look, the tiger!  There, there on the rock below!" Jim shot the words out in vehement gusts, choky with excitement; and true enough, there the tiger was.  The long spotted body was crouched on a flat rock just below the baboons; he was broadside to us, with his fore-quarters slightly raised and his face turned towards the baboons; with wide-opened mouth he snarled savagely at the advancing line, and with right paw raised made threatening dabs in their direction.  His left paw pinned down the body of a baboon. The voices from the mountain boomed louder and nearer as, clattering and scrambling down the face, came more and more baboons: there must have been hundreds of them; the semicircle grew thicker and blacker, more and more threatening, foot by foot closer.  The tiger raised himself a little more and took swift looks from side to side across the advancing front, and then his nerve went, and with one spring he shot from the rock into the bush. There was an instant forward rush of the half-moon, and the rock was covered with roaring baboons, swarming over their rescued comrade; and a moment later the crowd scrambled up the slope again, taking the tiger's victim with them.  In that seething rabble I could pick out nothing, but all the kaffirs maintained they could see the mauled one dragged along by its arms by two others, much as a child might be helped uphill. We were still looking excitedly about--trying to make out what the baboons were doing, watching the others still coming down the Berg, and peering anxiously for a sight of the tiger--when once more Jim's voice gave us a shock. "Where are the dogs?" he asked; and the question turned us cold.  If they had gone after the baboons they were as good as dead already-- nothing could save them.  Calling was useless: nothing could be heard in the roar and din that the enraged animals still kept up.  We watched the other side of the ravine with something more than anxiety, and when Jock's reddish-looking form broke through the bracken near to the tiger's rock, I felt like shutting my eyes till all was over.  We saw him move close under the rock and then disappear.  We watched for some seconds--it may have been a minute, but it seemed an eternity--and then, feeling the utter futility of waiting there, jumped off the rock and ran down the slope in the hope that the dogs would hear us call from there. From where the slope was steepest we looked down into the bed of the stream at the bottom of the ravine, and the two dogs were there: they were moving cautiously down the wide stony watercourse just as we had seen them move in the morning, their noses thrown up and heads turning slowly from side to side.  We knew what was coming; there was no time to reach them through the bush below; the cries of the baboons made calling useless; and the three of us sat down with rifles levelled ready to fire at the first sight.  With gun gripped and breath hard held, watching intently every bush and tree and rock, every spot of light and shade, we sat--not daring to move.  Then, over the edge of a big rock overlooking the two dogs, appeared something round; and, smoothly yet swiftly and with a snake-like movement, the long spotted body followed the head and, flattened against the rock, crept stealthily forward until the tiger looked straight down upon Jess and Jock. The three rifles cracked like one, and with a howl of rage and pain the tiger shot out over the dogs' heads, raced along the stony bed, and suddenly plunging its nose into the ground, pitched over--dead. It was shot through the heart, and down the ribs on each side were the scraped marks of the trap.