Hendrik breathed freely, though he puffed and panted a long time after
getting upon his perch. His mind was at ease, however, for he saw at
once that the rhinoceros could not reach him. The most it could do was
to get its ugly snout over the edge of the rock, and that only by
raising itself upon its hind-legs. This it actually did, blowing with
rage, and projecting its broad muzzle as close as it could to the feet
of the hunter, as if to seize him with its elongated and prehensile
lips.
It did so only once. Hendrik was as angry as the rhinoceros, and with
juster cause; and now, feeling confident of the security of his
position, he bent forward, and with all his might repeatedly kicked the
thick lips of the brute with the heels of his heavy boots.
The rhinoceros danced about, uttering cries of rage and pain; but,
despite the brutal impetuosity of its nature, it no longer attempted to
scale the cliff, but contented itself with rushing to and fro at its
base, evidently determined to _lay siege_ to the hunter.
Hendrik had now time to contemplate this singular animal. To his
surprise he perceived that it was a new species--that is, one he had
never seen before, although he had heard of it.
Hendrik knew--for Hans had told him long ago--that there were at least
four species of the rhinoceros inhabiting the countries of South Africa
between the Tropic and the Cape, and that probably a fifth existed to
the north of this line. Of the four, two were _white_ rhinoceroses, and
two _black_. The white ones were called respectively "kobaoba" and
"muchocho," the black ones "borele" and "keitloa." The white species
were both larger than the black ones, but of milder disposition. Their
food was principally grass, while the borele and keitloa browse upon the
tender shoots and leaves of bushes. The white ones are "unicorns," that
is, their anterior horn is largely developed--in the muchocho being
sometimes three feet in length, and in the kobaoba still longer--while
the posterior horn is simply a knob or bony protuberance. There are
many other points of distinction between the white and black species,
both in form, colour, and habits.
Now, as the one that had attacked Hendrik was a _black_ rhinoceros, and
was _not_ the borele--for this was the kind they had encountered while
hunting the gnoo--it must be the keitloa. That it was not the borele
Hendrik saw by its horns. In the latter the front horn only is
developed to any considerable length--never so long as in the white
ones--whereas, like with them, the posterior horn is little more than a
pointed knob, though longer or shorter in different individuals. Now,
the rhinoceros before Hendrik's eyes had two thick strong horns upon its
snout, each one being full fifteen inches in length, and of course
nearly equal. The neck, too, was longer, and the lip more pointed and
prehensile than in the borele for Hendrik knew the latter well, as it is
one of the most common animals upon the frontier.
Hendrik's assailant was the keitloa. Although less is known of this
species than either the muchocho or borele--because its district lies
farther to the north--yet Hendrik had heard something of its character
from Hans, as well as from old hunters. He had heard that it is even
more fierce and dangerous than the borele and is more dreaded by the
natives. In districts where it is common, the people fear it more than
any other animal--not even excepting the lion or the grim buffalo!
Hendrik had heard this about the keitloa, and no longer wondered at its
having attacked him in the savage and unprovoked manner it had done. He
only thanked his stars that there existed that little ledge of rock upon
which he now stood, and from which he could look down and contemplate
those terrible horns with a feeling of complacency which, five minutes
before, he had not enjoyed. He almost laughed at the odd situation he
found himself in.
"What a place for Hans!" he said in soliloquy. "Capital place for him
to study the natural history of this clumsy brute!"
At this moment, as if echoing his thoughts, the keitloa began to exhibit
before him one of its peculiar habits.
There stood a good-sized bush right in front, having a number of
separate stems growing from one root, the whole forming a little clump
of itself. Against this bush the rhinoceros commenced battling,--now
charging it from one side, now from another,--dashing at it
headforemost, breaking the branches with his horns, and trampling them
under his thick clumsy limbs--all the while, by his menacing look and
movements, appearing as if he was fighting with some enemy in earnest!
Whether in earnest or not, he continued to go on in this way for more
than half-an-hour, until every stem and branch were barked, broken, and
crushed to mummy among his feet, and not till then did he desist from
his furious attacks.
The whole thing had such a ludicrous air about it that it recalled to
Hendrik's mind the story of Don Quixote and the windmill, and set him
laughing outright. His merriment, however, was not of long duration,
for he now began to perceive that the fury of the keitloa was as
long-lived as it was terrible. The glances that the animal from time to
time cast upon the hunter told the latter that he had to deal with an
implacable enemy.
As soon as the creature had finished its battle with the bush, it walked
back towards the cliff, and stood with its head erect and its small
lurid eyes gleaming upon the hunter. It appeared to know he was its
prisoner, and had resolved upon keeping him there. Its whole manner
satisfied Hendrik that such was its intention, and he began once more to
feel uneasy about the result.
When another hour had passed, and still the keitloa kept watching him
from below, he became more than uneasy--he became alarmed.
He had been suffering from thirst ever since they commenced hunting the
blesbok--he was now almost choking. He would have given any thing for
one cup of water.
The hot sun--for it was yet only noon--scorched him as he stood against
that bare burning rock. He suffered torture from heat as well as
thirst.
He suffered, too, from suspense. How long might his implacable sentinel
keep watch upon him? Until the keitloa should leave the spot, there was
not the slightest hope of his escaping. To have returned to the plain
would be certain death. It would have been death but for the timely
proximity of that friendly rock. No hope to escape from its broiling
surface so long as the fierce brute remained below.
Would Hans and the others believe him lost, and follow upon his spoor?
They might, but not till the next day. They would not think of him
being lost before night came, as it was no unusual thing for one of them
to be off alone from morning till night. How would he endure the
terrible thirst that was raging within him? How would he suffer it
until they should arrive?
Besides, it might rain during the night. His spoor would then be
completely obliterated. They would not be able to follow it, and then,
what might be his fate?
These and many other reflections passed through his mind as he stood
upon the ledge, regarding his fierce jailer with looks of anger and
impatience.
But the keitloa cared not for that. He still remained upon the ground,
now pacing to and fro by the bottom of the cliff, and now standing
still, with head erect, his small dark orbs scintillating with a look of
untiring vengeance.