It was early when Claverton awoke on the following morning; but, early
as it was, the occupant of the other bed had disappeared. He had
"shaken down" in Hicks' room, and the two had talked and smoked
themselves to sleep; and, early as it was, there were plenty of sounds
outside, which told of the day's doings having begun.
The most epicurean of late sleepers will find it hard to keep up his
usual luxurious habit in a frontier house. There is a something which
seems to preclude late lying--possibly the consciousness of exceptional
laziness, or a sneaking qualm over taking it easy in bed when every soul
on the place has long been astir; but even the most inveterate sluggard
will hardly find it in his conscience to roll over again, especially if
a companion's long since vacated conch is staring him reproachfully in
the face from the other side of the room.
Claverton, who was in no sense an epicurean, felt something of this, and
lost no time in turning out. The sun had risen, but was unable to
pierce the heavy mist which hang over the earth in opaque folds. He
found his host busy at the sheep kraals, the thorn-fence dividing which
had been broken through in the night, with the result of mixing the
flocks. Three Kafirs were hard at work sorting them out again, and the
dust flew in clouds as the flock rushed hither and thither within the
confined space--the ground rumbling under their hoofs.
"Pleasure of farming!" remarked the old man, with a smile, after
greetings had been exchanged. Both turned away their faces a minute as
a pungent and blinding cloud swept past them. "The rascals might have
avoided all this by simply putting a thorn tack or two in its place last
night. You can't trust them, you see--have to look to everything
yourself."
"Suppose so," replied Claverton, slipping out of his jacket. "I'm going
to give your fellows a hand. The brand, though, is rather indistinct.
Which come out?"
"All branded B, with the double ear mark."
"Right?" And he dived into the thick of the fun, with all the energy
and more than the dexterity of the Kafirs, who paused for a moment with
a stare of astonishment and a smothered "Whouw!" They did not know who
the strange _Baas_ was, but he was evidently no greenhorn.
Another hour's hard work and the flocks are separate again; but it is
rather too early to turn them out to grass. So the two stroll round to
the cattle kraal, whose denizens stand patiently and ruminatingly about
for the most part, though some are restless and on the move, recognising
with responsive "moo" the voices of their calves in the pen. Nearly all
the cows are of good breed--the serviceable and hardy cattle of the
country, crossed with imported stock, though now and again among them
can be descried the small head and straight back of an almost
thorough-bred Alderney. Milking is going on. There sits the old
cattle-herd beneath a wild young animal properly secured, milking away
and gossiping with his satellites as fast as he fills his pail--for
Kafirs are awful gossips. Then he turns the frightened young cow loose,
and, removing the foaming pail out of the way of a possible upset,
proceeds in search of a fresh victim. He salutes his master in passing,
and, with a rapid, keen glance at the stranger, extends his greeting to
him.
Mr Brathwaite is very proud of his choice and well-bred animals. He
knows every hoof of them like ABC, almost every hair; and as they walk
about among the beasts he entertains his companion with the history of
each, and where it came from, and the events of its career in life.
"Hullo! Who's this?" said Claverton suddenly, as two horsemen appeared
on the brow of the opposite hill. "One's Hicks, the other looks like,
uncommonly like, Jim."
"Yes, it is Jim," assented Mr Brathwaite. "What's brought him over
this morning, I wonder?" The said Jim was his eldest son. He was a
married man, and lived on a farm of his own some fifteen or sixteen
miles off. A few minutes more, and the two horsemen drew rein in front
of the cattle kraal.
"Hullo, Arthur!" sang out Jim, jumping to the ground. "Here we are
again! Hicks told me I should find _you_ here, of all people. Morning,
father! Have Ethel and Laura arrived yet?"
"I believe so. I saw Jeffreys' trap coming over the hill about an hour
ago, and he was to bring them. I was busy and couldn't go in then. My
brother's children, Arthur," he explained, noting a surprised look in
his guest's face. "They have come from Cape Town to stay a couple of
months while their father is away up the country."
"Come to enliven us up a bit," said jovial Jim. "Ethel will lead you a
life of it, or I'm a Trojan."
Jim Brathwaite was a fine, handsome fellow of thirty-five, over six feet
in height, strong as a bull and active as a leopard. His bronzed and
bearded countenance was stamped with that air of dashing intrepidity
with which a genial disposition usually goes hand in hand. He was a
quick-tempered man, and his native dependents stood in considerable awe
of him, for they knew--some of them to their cost--that he would stand
no nonsense. Of untiring energy, and with all his father's practical
common sense, he had prospered exceedingly in good times, and had
managed to hold his own against bad ones. Shrewd and clear-headed, he
was thoroughly well able to look after his own interests; and any one
given to sharp practice or rascality--whether cattle dealer or Dutchman,
Kafir or Hottentot--would have to get up very early indeed to reach the
blind side of him.
Claverton had been on very intimate terms with the Brathwaites some
years previously. They had been good friends to him in the earlier days
of his wandering life, and he had a warm regard for them. It was more
than pleasant, he thought, being among them again, laughing over many a
reminiscence evoked by the jest-loving Jim as they strolled towards the
house.
The long, low dining-room looked invitingly cool after the glare and
heat outside. Mrs Brathwaite, who was seated at the table, scolded
them playfully for keeping breakfast waiting. Beside her sat a girl--a
beautiful creature, with large blue eyes fringed with curling lashes,
and a sparkling, dimpled rosebud of a face made for capriciousness and
kisses. The masses of her golden hair, drawn back from the brows, were
allowed to fall in a rippling shower below her waist, and a fresh, cool
morning-dress set off her neat little figure to perfection.
"Arthur. This is my niece, Ethel," said Mrs Brathwaite.
Claverton started ever so slightly and bowed. He was wondering where on
earth this vision of loveliness had suddenly dropped from in this
out-of-the-way place. And Mr Brathwaite had said, "My brother's
_children_."
The girl shot one glance at him from under the curling lashes as she
acknowledged the introduction, and a gleam of merriment darted across
the bright face. Each had been trying to read off the other, and each
had detected the other in the act. She turned away to greet her cousin.
"Why, what in the world has brought _you_ here?" cried that jovial blade
in his hearty voice. "We weren't expecting you for ever so long.
Where's Laura?"
"The Union Company's steamer _Basuto_. Cobb and Co, and Mr Jeffreys'
trap. Laura's in the next room. One question at a time, please."
Jim roared with laughter as he took his seat at the table. Between
himself and Ethel much sparring took place whenever the pair got
together.
"Sharp as ever, by Jingo," he cried. "I say, Ethel, I wonder you
haven't been quodded for bribery and corruption. They say Uncle George
only gets returned by sending you round to tout for votes."
The point of this joke lay in the fact that her father was a fervid
politician and a member of the Legislative Assembly. Before Ethel could
retort, a diversion was created by the entrance of Mr Brathwaite and
his other niece. Laura was her sister's junior by a year, and as unlike
her as it was possible to be. She was a slight, graceful girl, with
dark hair and eyes, and as quiet and demure in manner as the other was
merry and impulsive; and though falling far short of her sister in
actual beauty, yet when interested her face would light up in a manner
that was very attractive. So thought, at any rate, our friend Hicks, on
whom, during her last visit at Seringa Vale, Laura had made an
impression. Not to put too fine a point upon it, Hicks was very hard
hit indeed.
"Really, those two are too bad," said Mrs Brathwaite. "Beginning to
fight before they have been five minutes together. Isn't it too bad of
them, Arthur?"
He appealed to, looked up just in time to catch Ethel's glance of
defiance which said as plainly as words: "You mind your own business."
She was not going to defer to the opinions of this stranger, and did not
see why he should be called upon to decide in the matter. No doubt he
had come out there with the notion that they were a mere set of
half-civilised, ignorant colonials whom it was his business to set
right. Those new arrivals from England always gave themselves such
airs, and expected to have everything their own way. That might do with
the old people and good-natured Jim, but it would not go down with her,
Ethel Brathwaite, aged nineteen, and she intended to let him know it.
She had taken a dislike to this new arrival, which he saw at once, and
the idea rather entertained him.
"Uncle, I declare Jim gets worse and worse as he grows older. Yes--
older, Jim, for you're quite grey since I saw you last, you know. How
are you, Mr Hicks?" she continued, as that tardy youth entered the
room. "Have you shot your twenty backs yet? You know we said last year
we should vote you out of our good opinion unless you could show as
twenty pairs of horns fairly killed by your own gun when next we met?"
"Well, not yet," was the answer, somewhat reluctantly given.
"As you are strong, be merciful," put in Claverton, thereby drawing down
upon himself another indignant glance.
Our friend Hicks, like many a greater man, had his weaknesses. One of
these was a passion for sport. He would lay himself out to the most
arduous labours in the heat of the day, and forego many an hour of
well-earned rest at night, in the pursuit of his favourite pastime. Not
that his efforts were always crowned with the success they deserved--
indeed, it was the exception rather than the rule if they were so--but
the mere pleasure of having his gun in his hand, expecting,
Micawber-like, something to turn up, satisfied him. When he first came
to Seringa Vale he had been in the habit of starting off in quest of
game at times when by no possibility could he have obtained a shot, and
under such circumstances had been known to empty his gun at such small
fry as spreuws or meercats rather than not discharge it at all. But
whatever he let off his gun at, it didn't make the least difference to
the object under fire. He never hit anything, and much good-humoured
chaff was habitually indulged in at his expense. "He couldn't hit a
house, couldn't Hicks," Mr Brathwaite was wont to observe jocosely,
"unless he were put inside and all the doors and shutters barred up."
Which witticism Jim would supplement by two or three of his own. But
the subject of this rallying was the very essence of good humour. He
didn't mind any amount of chaff, and devoted himself to the pursuit of
_ferae naturae_ with a perseverance which was literally as laid down by
the copy-books--its own reward.
"I move that we all go down and look at the ostriches," suggested Ethel,
ever anxious to be on the move.
"Who seconds that?" said Jim, looking around. "Now, then, Arthur!"
"As junior member my innate modesty forbids," was the reply.
"That is meant satirically, Mr Claverton," cried Ethel. "You deserve
to be voted out of the expedition, and if you don't apologise you shall
be."
"Then I withdraw the innate modesty. What--that not enough? Then
there's nothing for it but a pistol or a pipe. Of the two evils here
goes for the pipe. Hicks, we haven't blown our cloud this morning." He
saw how the land lay.
"Er--well, you see--er--that is--er--I mean," stammered Hicks, who,
good-natured fellow, shrank from refusing outright. "Er--the fact is,
I've got to go down and feed the ostriches some time, so I may as well
go now."
"Well, I am surprised at _you_, Mr Hicks," said Ethel. "So the
pleasure of our company counts as nothing. You deserve to be put on the
stool of repentance too."
"But really that's just what I meant--er--that is, I mean--it does, you
know--but--" stuttered the unlucky youth, putting his foot in it deeper
and deeper.
Laura had fled into another room under the pretext of finding her hat,
whence a stifled sob of suppressed laughter was audible now and again.
The originator of this turn of affairs was imperturbably sticking a
penknife through and through a piece of card, and contemplating the
actors in it as if he were unconscious of anything humorous in the
situation, though in reality he was repressing, with an effort, an
overpowering desire to go outside and roar for five minutes.
"Good-bye, Mr Claverton," said Ethel, with a mock bow, and emphasising
the first word. She was rather disappointed at his ready acquiescence
in her ostracism of him, as it upset a little scheme of vengeance she
had been forming.
"Say rather `Au reservoir,' for your way, I believe, lies past the dam."
"Oh-h!" burst from the whole party at the villainy of the pun, as they
left him.
"I'm afraid your friend is a dreadful firebrand; Ethel and he will fight
awfully," said Laura to Hicks as they walked down to the large
enclosure. These two had fallen behind, and Hicks was in the seventh
heaven of delight. The mischief of it was that the arrangement would be
of such short duration. Some twenty yards in front Ethel was keeping
her aunt and Jim in fits of laughter.
"Let me carry that for you," said Hicks, pouncing upon a tiny apology
for a basket which was in her hand.
"No, no; you've got quite enough to carry," she replied, referring to a
large colander containing the daily ration of maize for the ostriches,
and which formed his burden on the occasion.
"Not a bit of it. Look, I can carry it easily. Do let me," he went on
in his eagerness.
"Take care, or you'll drop the other," said she.
The warning was just one shade too late. Down came the colander, its
contents promptly burying themselves in the long grass. The salvage
which Hicks managed to effect was but a very small fraction of the
original portion.
"There now, I've spilt all the mealies," said he, ruefully, eyeing the
scattered grain. He was not thinking of its intrinsic value, but that
the necessity of going back for more would do him out of the two or
three hundred yards left to him of his walk with Laura.
"Your friend would say `it's of no use crying over spilt mealies.'
Never mind, we can go back and get some more."
"What!" he exclaimed, delightfully. "Do you mean to say you'll go all
the way back with me? But really I can't let you take all that
trouble," he added, with reluctant compunction.
"I mean to say I'll go _all_ the way back with you, and I intend `to
take _all_ that trouble' with or with out permission," she replied,
looking up at him with a saucy gleam in her eyes.
Close to the storeroom they came upon Claverton. He was sitting on the
disselboom of a tent-waggon smoking a pipe, and meditatively shying
pebbles at an itinerant scarabaeus, which was wandering aimlessly about
on a sun-baked open patch of ground about seven yards off.
"Well, has your sister thought better of it, and removed the ban?" asked
he, as the two came up.
"No, she hasn't," answered Laura, "but I see you're penitent, so I will
do so on her behalf. You may come down with us," she added, demurely.
She knew he would do nothing of the sort, so could safely indulge the
temptation to mischief.
Poor Hicks was on thorns. "Yes, come along, Claverton," he chimed in,
mechanically, in the plenitude of his self-abnegation fondly imagining
that his doleful tones were the acme of cordiality.
"Well, I think I will," pretended Claverton, making a feint at moving.
Hicks' countenance fell, and Laura turned away convulsed. "Don't know,
though; think I'll join you later. I must go in and get a fresh fill;
my pipe's gone out," and he sauntered away to Hicks' great relief, as he
and Laura started off to rejoin the others at the ostrich camp.
The male bird was very savage, and no sooner did he descry the party,
than he came bearing down upon them from the far end of the enclosure.
"What a grand fellow!" exclaimed Ethel, putting out her hand to stroke
the long serpentine neck of the huge biped, who, so far from
appreciating the caress, resented it by pressing the stone wall with his
hard breast-bone as though he would overthrow it, and making the
splinters fly with a vicious kick or two, in his futile longing to get
at and smash the whole party. And standing there in all the bravery of
his jet-black array, the snowy plumes of his wings dazzling white in the
sun as he waved them in wrathful challenge, he certainly merited to the
full the encomium passed upon him. Hicks emptied the contents of the
colander, which brought the hen bird running down to take her share--a
mild-eyed, grey, unobtrusive-looking creature. She stood timidly
pecking on the outside of the "spread," every now and again running off
some twenty yards as her tyrannical lord made at her, with a sonorous
hiss, aiming a savage kick at her with his pointed toe.
"Oh, you odious wretch," cried Ethel, apostrophising the bird. "Mr
Hicks, can't we give the poor hen some all to herself?"
"Behold the way of the world," said a voice behind her. "Every man for
himself and--but I won't finish the saw."
She turned, and there was Claverton. A cherrywood pipe was in his
mouth, and with one hand thrust carelessly into the pocket of a loose
shooting-coat, he stood regarding her from beneath his broad-brimmed
hat, looking the very personification of coolness and unconcern.
The sight of him angered her, but a thrill of malicious satisfaction
shot through her, as she thought of the rude shock she would inflict
upon that provoking imperturbability before he was an hour older.
"So you come down from the stool of repentance without permission," she
said, severely.
"Couldn't stop away any longer," he replied, without removing his
careless glance from her face. "Besides, your sister absolved me in
your name."
"Then you may stay," she said, graciously, turning to look at the
ostriches. The male bird was about fifty yards off, reluctant to leave
the spot, and rolling his fiery eye towards them with a frequency that
showed he had not quite given up all hopes of making mincemeat of some
one of the party that day.
"Mr Claverton," suddenly exclaimed Ethel, even more graciously. "Do
get me those red flowers over there, the ones on the long stalks."
"With pleasure," he answered, coming to her side. "Indicate them."
"There they are, those under that bush."
She pointed out ten or a dozen wiry-looking stalks with a few red
blossoms that would not have overburdened one of them, but were
injudiciously distributed amongst the group, which sprouted amid the
undergrowth in a small clump of thorn-bushes right in the enclosure. To
reach it about seventy yards of open ground, destitute of all cover save
for a single mimosa bush growing half-way, must needs be traversed.
"Hold on, let's get the bird away first," said Jim, moving off with that
intent.
"Never mind the bird, Jim, he won't interfere with me," quietly answered
Claverton; and without even pocketing his pipe he climbed deliberately
over the wall.
"Don't go, Arthur. Good gracious, he'll be killed!" cried Mrs
Brathwaite, in dire trepidation. "Ethel, how could you?"
"No he won't, auntie; you'll see him run in a minute as for dear life.
I wanted to make him run," she added in a low tone, with a mischievous,
scornful laugh.
I know of no more perfect exemplification of the old adage about
familiarity breeding contempt than the case of the fall-grown male
ostrich. In his wild state the most timid and wary of creatures, he is
up and away the moment you appear on the skyline, and fleetness and
endurance must be the character of your mount if you hope to overtake
him. In a state of domesticity, however, his aggressiveness and
pugnacity know no bounds. He will charge anything or everything,
resistance only adding to his blind ferocity--and when it is understood
that a single stroke of his sharp horny toe--for he kicks down, not
out--will shatter a man's skull, not to mention the possibility of a
broken limb, it will not be difficult for the reader to realise that
this gigantic fowl is a particularly awkward customer to deal with. Of
course the bird is easily killed, or disabled, a very moderate blow from
a stick being sufficient to break its leg. But it must be remembered
that the creature is, so to say, worth its weight in gold, and any one
would think more than, twice before slaying so valuable a possession,
even in self-defence. So it is manifest that the expedition upon which
Claverton had now embarked was by no means free from the element of
peril.
Once over the wall he walked coolly forward, seeming altogether to
ignore his foe's existence. The ostrich, however, was by no means
disposed to take matters so quietly, for before he had gone fifteen
paces it bore down upon him with a savage hiss; but a couple of light
bounds brought him to the small bash above mentioned, where he was safe
for the moment. For the moment, because it was only a question which of
the two would tire first, and they dodged each other round the
precarious shelter which was only half-way to his destination.
Soon, however, besieger and besieged alike came to a complete
standstill, and the situation began to wax rather monotonous. Then the
ostrich, withdrawing a couple of yards, dropped down on its shanks, and
contorting its neck, and at the same time fluttering its wings in
defiance, produced a curious drumming noise, of which grotesque
challenge its human antagonist took not the slightest notice, but waited
on as calmly as ever. Suddenly it sprang up, and uttering its
trumpet-like hiss, dashed right through the bush at him; then, while it
was still blundering among the thorns, Claverton started off upon the
remainder of his journey. This he could have accomplished with ease and
safety, but that above all he intended to do it quietly. He knew why
Ethel had sent him in there as well as she did herself, and that astute
young lady should not have the pleasure of seeing him routed, or
enjoying a laugh at his expense. Consequently he had not covered more
than half the distance that remained to him, at a quick but easy walk,
when the ostrich, now simply infuriate by reason of a few pricks from
the sharp mimosa thorns, which had penetrated even its tough hide, was
upon him. And very huge and formidable looked the ferocious bird, as,
rearing itself up to its full height, its jetty plumage erect and
bristling, its eye glaring, and its fiery red bill wide open, it rushed
upon Claverton, hissing like a fiend. No cover was at hand; there he
stood in the open, completely at the mercy of his savage assailant.
In vain Jim and Hicks ran into the enclosure shouting, to draw off the
creature's attention; it manifested a fell fixity of purpose, from which
it was not to be turned aside by any such puerile tricks. Mrs
Brathwaite grew pale, and averted her head; even Ethel now saw that she
had carried her practical joke rather too far; but still her gaze was
riveted upon the combatants with a strange, eager fascination.
But Claverton's coolness always stood him in good stead. He suddenly
advanced a couple of paces, thus forestalling the attack, and seizing
his powerful antagonist by the lower part of the neck, swung himself
nimbly aside, just managing to avoid a kick that would probably have
ripped him up, and held on firmly to the creature's throat, half choking
it. It plunged and stamped, its great feet going all the time like
sledge-hammers, and to hold on was just as much as he could do, for it
was as powerful as a horse. But hold on he did as for dear life; then,
watching his opportunity, he flung himself off, and before the bird,
half-dazed, had recovered from the effects of the choking it had
received, he stood safe within the friendly shelter of the clump of
bush, somewhat used up, but uninjured, except that his right hand was
torn and bleeding from contact with the bird's claw. His pursuer,
indisposed to venture again among thorns, walked quickly up and down
before the entrance to the cover, flicking its wings about in baffled
wrath at the unaccountable escape of its victim.
The first thing he did was to gather every one of the flowers he had
come for. Then the spectators could see him standing against a tree
doing something with a pencil and the back of an envelope.
"Hallo! what on earth are you up to now?" called out Jim. "Tell us when
you're ready, and we'll get the bird away."
"By no means," was the reply. "I'm making a rough sketch of the
situation, now that I'm master of the same. Then you may call it a
drawing by one of the Masters."
This sally provoked a laugh from all but Ethel. She was silent. To
tell the truth, she was rather ashamed of herself.
In a few moments he put away his pencil and paper, and set to work to
cut a couple of large thorn branches. This done, he issued forth from
his refuge to return. The ostrich, apparently tired of the turn affairs
had taken, had drawn off a little way; but no sooner was he in the open
than it charged him again. This time, however, it was out of its
reckoning; the _chevaux de frise_ of thorns that Claverton held before
him was not to be got over. With a powerful kick or two it beat down
the branch, which, however, was immediately replaced by the other, and
kick and hiss as it would, it could not get rid of the formidable array
of prickly thorns which met its breast and unprotected neck whenever it
pressed on to the attack. At last, convinced of the futility of the
undertaking, the savage bird turned round and trotted away about fifty
yards, and there stood, looking the picture of sullen defeat. Its cool
opponent walked leisurely to the wall, and, abandoning his valuable
means of defence, climbed over and joined the party.
"By Jove, but you did that well," said Jim. "Why, man, I expected to
see you most awfully mauled."
"I don't know. `Needs must where the'--but I won't finish that
quotation, either. Here are the flowers, Miss Brathwaite," he said,
handing her the innocent cause of all the pother. "By the way, Hicks, I
forgot to tell you as I came down that there's been a porcupine in the
mealie-land during the night. We might set the spring-gun for him, eh?"
"Rather! We'll set it this evening," said Hicks, gleefully, his
instincts of destructiveness coming again to the fore.
That evening, between nine and ten o'clock, they were all sitting
indoors. Jim had left in the afternoon to return to the bosom of his
family, after making them all promise to ride over in a day or two.
Suddenly a dull, heavy report was heard.
"_Pace_ the porcupine," remarked Claverton.
"I say," sputtered Hicks in his eagerness, "let's go down and see if
we've got him. We might set the gun again, you know, in case another
came."
"Let's all go," cried Ethel. "I'm dying to see the result of our
trap-setting. Yes, _our_ trap-setting, Mr Hicks--you know you'd have
put that trigger too stiff if it hadn't been for me."
"But, my dear child," feebly protested Mrs Brathwaite, "the grass is as
wet as it can be, and--"
"And--there's a path all the way down, and--it's a lovely night--and--
you're a dear old auntie--and--we're going," she replied, with a hug and
a kiss; then darting into the other room reappeared, looking
inexpressibly killing, with a light-blue shawl thrown carelessly over
her golden head.
"Well, then, don't be too long, and don't get into any mischief.
Arthur, I shall look upon you as the responsible person. Keep them in
order," said the old lady, with her kindly smile.
"All right, Mrs Brathwaite, I'll keep them well in hand, I promise
you."
"And--Arthur--just shy that old porcupine up in the air once or twice
for Hicks to practise at," sang out Mr Brathwaite jocosely as they left
the room.
It was a perfect night, the moon was at half, and the whole earth slept
in silence beneath its mantle of silver sheen, for a heavy dew had
fallen. A grass fire or two shone forth redly upon the slopes of the
far Amatola. Not a breath stirred the air, save for the faintest
suspicion of a cool zephyr which now and again partly dispelled the
light clouds of blue smoke which ascended from Claverton's pipe. Hicks
and Laura were on in front. Suddenly Ethel stopped.
"Mr Claverton," she said. "Do you know I've been feeling quite ashamed
of myself all day?"
"What about?" asked her companion.
"Why, for sending you after those wretched flowers this morning--I
didn't mean you to get hurt, you know; of course I thought you would
easily be able to run away."
"I see. But running away isn't altogether in my line--I don't mean
under any circumstances--those who declaim most against the lawfulness
of leg-bail at a push are generally the ones most prone to putting it to
the test. In fact, I don't mind telling you that I have `run away'
before now, having no alternative."
"When I saw that dreadful creature coming at you, I declare I would have
given anything not to have sent you in there. It was horrible." And
she shivered. "Do forgive me."
"But I assure you the whole affair was fun to me. Keeps one in training
for emergencies. Only--"
"Only what?"
"Only that I don't know whether your uncle quite likes his prize ostrich
being made the subject of a bull-fight."
"And--we are friends?"
"I hope so."
He looked with a trifle of wonder into the lovely eyes, now so soft in
the moonlight. What an impulsive little thing it was, he thought. Then
she said: "Do give me that drawing you made while the ostrich was
waiting for you. It's sure to be fun."
"With pleasure. Here it is," pulling the old envelope out of his
pocket. "It about represents the position, though I'm no artist."
It did. When Ethel examined it in her room half an hour later she found
a very comical sketch reproducing the situation with graphic and
whimsical distinctness. It was labelled "Cornered--or Brute Force
_versus_ Intellect."
They found the other two standing over the mortal remains of a large old
porcupine. The spring-gun had been set with the precision of clockwork,
and no sooner had the luckless rodent entered the mealie-land than he
ran his nose against the string and promptly received the contents of
the infernal machine clean through his marauding carcase. There he
lay--a spoiler who would spoil no more. Said Hicks:
"I'll come down in the morning and get some of his best quills."