Jock had learned one very clever trick in pulling down wounded animals.
It often happens when you income unexpectedly upon game that they are
off before you see them, and the only chance you have of getting
anything is with a running shot. If they go straight from you the shot
is not a very difficult one, although you see nothing but the lifting
and falling hind quarters as they canter away; and a common result of
such a shot is the breaking of one of the hind legs between the hip and
the hock. Jock made his discovery while following a rietbuck which I
had wounded in this way. He had made several tries at its nose and
throat, but the buck was going too strongly and was out of reach;
moreover it would not stop or turn when he headed it, but charged
straight on, bounding over him. In trying once more for the throat he
cannoned against the buck's shoulder and was sent rolling yards away.
This seemed to madden him: racing up behind he flew at the dangling leg,
caught it at the shin, and thrusting his feet well out, simply dragged
until the buck slowed down, and then began furiously tugging sideways.
The crossing of the legs brought the wounded animal down immediately and
Jock had it by the throat before it could rise again.
Every one who is good at anything has some favourite method or device of
his own: that was Jock's. It may have come to him, as it comes to many,
by accident; but having once got it, he perfected it and used it
whenever it was possible. Only once he made a mistake; and he paid for
it--very nearly with his life.
He had already used this device successfully several times, but so far
only with the smaller buck. This day he did what I should have thought
to be impossible for a dog of three or four times his size. I left the
scene of torn carcase and crunched bones, consumed by regrets and
disappointment; each fresh detail only added to my feeling of disgust,
but Jock did not seem to mind; he jumped out briskly as soon as I
started walking in earnest, as though he recognised that we were making
a fresh start, and he began to look forward immediately.
The little bare flat where the koodoo had fallen for the last time was
at the head of one of those depressions which collect the waters of the
summer floods and, changing gradually into shallow valleys, are
eventually scoured out and become the dongas--dry in winter but full
charged with muddy flood in summer--which drain the Bushveld to its
rivers. Here and there where an impermeable rock formation crosses
these channels there are deep pools which, except in years of drought,
last all through the winter; and these are the drinking-places of the
game. I followed this one down for a couple of miles without any
definite purpose until the sight of some greener and denser wild figs
suggested that there might be water, and perhaps a rietbuck or a duiker
near by. As we reached the trees Jock showed unmistakable signs of
interest in something, and with the utmost caution I moved from tree to
tree in the shady grove towards where it seemed the water-hole might be.
There were bushy wild plums flanking the grove, and beyond them the
ordinary scattered thorns. As I reached this point, and stopped to look
out between the bushes on to the more open ground, a koodoo cow walked
quietly up the slope from the water, but before there was time to raise
the rifle her easy stride had carried her behind a small mimosa tree. I
took one quick step out to follow her up and found myself face to face
at less than a dozen yards with a grand koodoo bull. It is impossible
to convey in words any real idea of the scene and how things happened.
Of course, it was only for a fraction of a second that we looked
straight into each other's eyes; then, as if by magic, he was round and
going from me with the overwhelming rush of speed and strength and
weight combined. Yet it is the first sight that remains with me: the
proud head, the huge spiral horns, and the wide soft staring eyes--
before the wildness of panic had stricken them. The picture seems
photographed on eye and brain, never to be forgotten. A whirlwind of
dust and leaves marked his course, and through it I fired, unsteadied by
excitement and hardly able to see. Then the right hind leg swung out,
and the great creature sank for a moment, almost to the ground; and the
sense of triumph, the longed for and unexpected success, `went to my
head' like a rush of blood.
There had been no time to aim, and the shot--a real snap shot--was not
at all a bad one. It was after that that the natural effect of such a
meeting and such a chance began to tell. Thinking it all out beforehand
does not help much, for things never happen as they are expected to; and
even months of practice among the smaller kinds will not ensure a steady
nerve when you just come face to face with big game--there seems to be
too much at stake.
I fired again as the koodoo recovered himself, but he was then seventy
or eighty yards away and partly hidden at times by trees and scrub. He
struck up the slope, following the line of the troop through the
scattered thorns, and there, running hard and dropping quickly to my
knee for steadier aim, I fired again and again--but each time a longer
shot and more obscured by the intervening bush; and no tell-tale thud
came back to cheer me on.
Forgetting the last night's experience, forgetting everything except how
we had twice chased and twice lost them, seeing only another and the
grandest prize slipping away, I sent Jock on and followed as fast as I
could. Once more the koodoo came in sight--just a chance at four
hundred yards as he reached an open space on rising ground. Jock was
already closing up, but still unseen, and the noble old fellow turned
full broadside to me as he stopped to look back. Once more I knelt,
gripping hard and holding my breath to snatch a moment's steadiness, and
fired; but I missed again, and as the bullet struck under him he plunged
forward and disappeared over the rise at the moment that Jock, dashing
out from the scrub, reached his heels.
The old Martini carbine had one bad fault; even I could not deny that;
years of rough and careless treatment in all sorts of weather--for it
was only a discarded old Mounted Police weapon--had told on it, and both
in barrel and breech it was well pitted with rust scars. One result of
this was that it was always jamming, and unless the cartridges were kept
well greased the empty shells would stick and the ejector fail to work;
and this was almost sure to happen when the carbine became hot from
quick firing. It jammed now, and fearing to lose sight of the chase I
dared not stop a second, but ran on, struggling from time to time to
wrench the breach open.
Reaching the place where they had disappeared, I saw with intense relief
and excitement Jock and the koodoo having it out less than a hundred
yards away. The koodoo's leg was broken right up in the ham, and it was
a terrible handicap for an animal so big and heavy, but his nimbleness
and quickness were astonishing. Using the sound hind leg as a pivot he
swung round, always facing his enemy; Jock was in and out, here, there
and everywhere, as a buzzing fly torments one on a hot day; and indeed,
to the koodoo just then he was the fly and nothing more; he could only
annoy his big enemy, and was playing with his life to do it. Sometimes
he tried to get round; sometimes pretended to charge straight in,
stopping himself with all four feet spread--just out of reach; then like
a red streak he would fly through the air with a snap for the koodoo's
nose. It was a fight for life and a grand sight; for the koodoo, in
spite of his wound, easily held his own. No doubt he had fought out
many a life and death struggle to win and hold his place as lord of the
herd and knew every trick of attack and defence. Maybe too he was
blazing with anger and contempt for this persistent little gad-fly that
worried him so and kept out of reach. Sometimes he snorted and feinted
to charge; at other times backed slowly, giving way to draw the enemy
on; then with a sudden lunge the great horns swished like a scythe with
a tremendous reach out, easily covering the spot where Jock had been a
fraction of a second before. There were pauses too in which he watched
his tormentor steadily, with occasional impatient shakes of the head,
or, raising it to full height, towered up a monument of splendid and
contemptuous indifference, looking about with big angry but unfrightened
eyes for the herd--his herd--that had deserted him; or with a slight
toss of his head he would walk limpingly forward, forcing the ignored
Jock before him; then, interrupted and annoyed by a flying snap at his
nose, he would spring forward and strike with the sharp cloven fore
foot--zip-zip-zip--at Jock as he landed. Any one of the vicious
flashing stabs would have pinned him to the earth and finished him; but
Jock was never there.
Keeping what cover there was I came up slowly behind them, struggling
and using all the force I dared, short of smashing the lever, to get the
empty cartridge out. At last one of the turns in the fight brought me
in view, and the koodoo dashed off again. For a little way the pace
seemed as great as ever, but it soon died away; the driving power was
gone; the strain and weight on the one sound leg and the tripping of the
broken one were telling; and from that on I was close enough to see it
all. In the first rush the koodoo seemed to dash right over Jock--the
swirl of dust and leaves and the bulk of the koodoo hiding him; then I
saw him close abreast, looking up at it and making furious jumps for its
nose, alternately from one side and the other, as they raced along
together. The koodoo holding its nose high and well forward, as they do
when on the move, with the horns thrown back almost horizontally, was
out of his reach and galloped heavily on completely ignoring his
attacks.
There is a suggestion of grace and poise in the movement of the koodoo
bull's head as he gallops through the bush which is one of his
distinctions above the other antelopes. The same supple balancing
movement that one notes in the native girls bearing their calabashes of
water upon their heads is seen in the neck of the koodoo, and for the
same reason: the movements of the body are softened into mere
undulations, and the head with its immense spiral horns seems to sail
along in voluntary company--indeed almost as though it were bearing the
body below.
At the fourth or fifth attempt by Jock a spurt from the koodoo brought
him cannoning against its shoulder, and he was sent rolling unnoticed
yards away. He scrambled instantly to his feet, but found himself again
behind: it may have been this fact that inspired the next attempt, or
perhaps he realised that attack in front was useless; for this time he
went determinedly for the broken leg. It swung about in wild eccentric
curves, but at the third or fourth attempt he got it and hung on; and
with all fours spread he dragged along the ground. The first startled
spring of the koodoo jerked him into the air; but there was no let go
now, and although dragged along the rough ground and dashed about among
the scrub, sometimes swinging in the air, and sometimes sliding on his
back, he pulled from side to side in futile attempts to throw the big
animal. Ineffectual and even hopeless as it looked at first, Jock's
attacks soon began to tell; the koodoo made wild efforts to get at him,
but with every turn he turned too, and did it so vigorously that the
staggering animal swayed over and had to plunge violently to recover its
balance. So they turned, this way and that, until a wilder plunge swung
Jock off his feet, throwing the broken leg across the other one; then,
with feet firmly planted, Jock tugged again, and the koodoo trying to
regain its footing was tripped by the crossed legs and came down with a
crash.
As it fell Jock was round and fastened on the nose; but it was no
duiker, impala or rietbuck that he had to deal with this time. The
koodoo gave a snort of indignation and shook its head: as a terrier
shakes a rat, so it shook Jock, whipping the ground with his swinging
body, and with another indignant snort and toss of the head flung him
off, sending him skidding along the ground on his back. The koodoo had
fallen on the wounded leg and failed to rise with the first effort; Jock
while still slithering along the ground on his back was tearing at the
air with his feet in his mad haste to get back to the attack, and as he
scrambled up, he raced in again with head down and the little eyes black
with fury. He was too mad to be wary, and my heart stood still as the
long horns went round with a swish; one black point seemed to pierce him
through and through, showing a foot out the other side, and a jerky
twist of the great head sent him twirling like a tip-cat eight or ten
feet up in the air. It had just missed him, passing under his stomach
next to the hind legs; but, until he dropped with a thud and, tearing
and scrambling to his feet, he raced in again, I felt certain he had
been gored through.
The koodoo was up again then. I had rushed in with rifle clubbed, with
the wild idea of stunning it before it could rise, but was met by the
lowered horns and unmistakable signs of charging, and beat a retreat
quite as speedy as my charge.
It was a running fight from that on: the instant the koodoo turned to go
Jock was on to the leg again, and nothing could shake his hold. I had
to keep at a respectful distance, for the bull was still good for a
furious charge, even with Jock hanging on, and eyed me in the most
unpromising fashion whenever I attempted to head it off or even to come
close up.
The big eyes were blood-shot then, but there was no look of fear in
them--they blazed with baffled rage. Impossible as it seemed to shake
Jock off or to get away from us, and in spite of the broken leg and loss
of blood, the furious attempts to beat us off did not slacken. It was a
desperate running fight, and right bravely he fought it to the end.
Partly barring the way in front were the whitened trunks and branches of
several trees struck down by some storm of the year before, and running
ahead of the koodoo I made for these, hoping to find a stick straight
enough for a ramrod to force the empty cartridge out. As I reached them
the koodoo made for me with half a dozen plunges that sent me flying off
for other cover; but the broken leg swayed over one of the branches, and
Jock with feet planted against the tree hung on; and the koodoo, turning
furiously on him, stumbled, floundered, tripped, and came down with a
crash amongst the crackling wood. Once more like a flash Jock was over
the fallen body and had fastened on the nose--but only to be shaken
worse than before. The koodoo literally flogged the ground with him,
and for an instant I shut my eyes; it seemed as if the plucky dog would
be beaten into pulp. The bull tried to chop him with its fore feet, but
could not raise itself enough, and at each pause Jock, with his watchful
little eyes ever on the alert, dodged his body round to avoid the
chopping feet without letting go his hold. Then with a snort of fury
the koodoo, half rising, gave its head a wild upward sweep, and shook.
As a springing rod flings a fish the koodoo flung Jock over its head and
on to a low flat-topped thorn-tree behind. The dog somersaulted slowly
as he circled in the air, dropped on his back in the thorns some twelve
feet from the ground, and came tumbling down through the branches.
Surely the tree saved him, for it seemed as if such a throw must break
his back. As it was he dropped with a sickening thump; yet even as he
fell I saw again the scrambling tearing movement, as if he was trying to
race back to the fight even before he reached ground. Without a pause
to breathe or even to look, he was in again and trying once more for the
nose.
The koodoo lying partly on its side, with both hind legs hampered by the
mass of dead wood, could not rise, but it swept the clear space in front
with the terrible horns, and for some time kept Jock at bay. I tried
stick after stick for a ramrod, but without success; at last, in
desperation at seeing Jock once more hanging to the koodoo's nose, I
hooked the lever on to a branch and setting my foot against the tree
wrenched until the empty cartridge flew out and I went staggering
backwards.
In the last struggle, while I was busy with the rifle, the koodoo had
moved, and it was then lying against one of the fallen trunks. The
first swing to get rid of Jock had literally slogged him against the
tree; the second swing swept him under it where a bend in the trunk
raised it: about a foot from the ground, and gaining his foothold there
Jock stood fast--there, there, with his feet planted firmly and his
shoulder humped against the dead tree, he stood this tug-of-war. The
koodoo with its head twisted back, as caught at the end of the swing,
could put no weight to the pull; yet the wrenches it gave to free itself
drew the nose and upper lip out like tough rubber and seemed to stretch
Jock's neck visibly. I had to come round within a few feet of them to
avoid risk of hitting Jock, and it seemed impossible for bone and muscle
to stand the two or three terrible wrenches that I saw. The shot was
the end; and as the splendid head dropped slowly over, Jock let go his
hold.
He had not uttered a sound except the grunts that were knocked out of
him.