"Why, Dyke, boy, you've done it now," cried Joe Emson, cantering close
up, his horse snorting as the ostrich struck at him with its snake-like
head.
"Yes, you had better have left me where I was by the spring," said the
boy disconsolately. "I hated the old wretch, but I didn't want to hurt
him."
"I know, my lad, I know," said Emson. "I'm not blaming you, but it does
seem a pity. What bad luck I do have with these birds, to be sure.--Lie
still, you savage; you can't get up!"
This to the bird, which, after striking at him two or three times, made
a desperate effort to rise, fluttering and beating with its wings, and
hopping a little, but trailing its broken leg as it made for the pen,
within which were all its friends.
"Yes, you had better have stayed at home, old fellow," said Dyke,
apostrophising the unhappy bird; "then you wouldn't have got into this
state.--I say, Joe, couldn't we set its leg? It would soon grow
together again."
"If he were one of the quiet old hens, I'd say yes; but it would be
impossible. Directly we went near, there would be a kick or a peck."
"I'll try," said Dyke; and going gently toward where the bird lay
crouched in a heap, he spoke softly to it, as he had been accustomed to
speak to the others when going to feed them. But his advance was the
signal for the bird to draw back its head, its eyes flashing angrily,
while it emitted a fierce roaring sound that was like that of some
savage, cat-like beast. It struck out with beak and wings, and made
desperate efforts to rise.
"Stop!" cried Emson sharply.
"I'm not afraid," cried Dyke. "I'll get hold of his neck, and try and
hold him."
"I know," said his brother; "but the poor creature will knock itself to
pieces."
"But so it will if you leave it quiet," cried Dyke; and then, sharply:
"Ah! you cowardly brutes, let him alone."
This was to some half-a-dozen cock birds in the pen, which, possibly in
remembrance of the many times they had been thrashed and driven about
the pen by their injured king, seized the opportunity of his downfall to
thrust out their long necks and begin striking at him savagely, seizing
him by the feathers, and dragging them out, till he shuffled beyond
their reach.
"His fate's sealed if he is put with the rest; that's very evident,"
said Emson.
"Killum!" said the Kaffir, nodding his head.
"Let's shut him up in the stable," said Dyke, "and tie him down while we
set his leg."
"It would mean such a desperate struggle that the poor bird would never
get over it; and if it did, it would mope and die. Better put it out of
its misery."
Just then a big rough dog came out of the house, where it had been
having a long sleep through the hot part of the day, and after giving
Dyke a friendly wag of the tail, walked slowly toward the injured
ostrich.
That was enough to make the bird draw back its head and strike at the
dog, which avoided the blow, and growling fiercely, prepared to resent
the attack.
"Come away, Duke," cried Dyke. "To heel, sir."
The dog growled and seemed to protest, but went obediently behind his
younger master.
"I had better shoot the bird, Dyke," said Emson.
"No, no; don't. Let's have a try to save it. Perhaps when it finds
that we want to do it good, it will lie quiet."
"No," said Emson; "it will take it as meant for war."
"Well, let's try," said Dyke.--"Here, Breezy: stable."
The cob walked slowly away toward its shed, and the other horse
followed, while Dyke hurriedly fetched a couple of pieces of rope,
formed of twisted antelope skin.
"What do you propose doing?" said Emson.
"All run in together, and tie his neck to one wing; then he'll be
helpless, and we can tie his thighs together. You can set the leg
then."
"Well, I'll try," said Emson. "Wait till I've cut a couple of pieces of
wood for splints. What can I get?"
"Bit of box-lid," replied Dyke; and in a few minutes Emson returned,
bearing in addition a flat roll of stout webbing, such as is used by
upholsterers, and by the poor emigrants to lace together across a frame,
and form the beds upon which they stretch their weary bones at night.
"I think I can set it, and secure it," said Emson.
"Why, of course you can."
"Yes, but as soon as it's done, the poor brute will kick it off. Now
then, how about tying him?"
"Rush him," said Dyke laconically. "Come along, Jack, and help."
But the Kaffir shook his head rapidly.
"Why, hullo! You won't back out, Jack?"
"No. Him kick, bite: no good."
"Never you mind that," cried Dyke. "You rush in with us, and hold his
head, while we take his legs and wings. Do you understand?"
"No," said the Kaffir, shaking his head. "Killum--killum!" and he made
a gesture as if striking with a club.
"Not going to kill," cried Dyke. "You rush in and hold the head. Do
you understand?"
"No," said the Kaffir.
"He won't," cried Emson. "We shall have to do it ourselves, Dyke. Make
a noose and lasso the brute's head. Then when I run in to seize the
leg, you drag the neck tight down to the wing, and hold it there."
Dyke nodded, made a noose at the end of his hide rope, and advanced
gently toward the ostrich, which struck at him, but only to dart its
head through the loop; and this was drawn tight.
"Now, Joe, ready?" cried the boy, as the dog set up a furious barking,
and joined in the rush that was made by the brothers, who succeeded in
pinning down the bird. Emson holding the legs, while avoiding a buffet
from the uppermost wing, Dyke slipped the rope round the bone, dragged
down the head, and after a furious struggle, the bird lay still.
"Think you can manage now?" panted Dyke, who was hot from exertion.
"Yes; I'll tie his legs together, after setting the broken one. It's
the only chance for him."
"Yes; it's all right," cried Dyke; "he's getting weaker, and giving in."
"Seems like it," said his brother sarcastically, for as the boy spoke,
the great bird began to beat with its wings with terrific violence,
keeping it up for fully five minutes, and giving the pair a hard task to
hold it down, while the Kaffir looked on calmly enough, and the dog kept
on charging in, as if eager to seize one of the legs, and hold it still.
"Well, there then, he is giving in now," panted Dyke, who had been
compelled to put forth all his strength to keep from being thrown off by
the violent buffeting of the bird's wings. "Look sharp, and get it
done."
Dyke got one hand at liberty now to wipe the feather-down from his face,
where the perspiration made it adhere, and as he looked up, he could not
refrain from laughing aloud at the row of comical flat heads peering
over the wire fence, where the ostriches in the pen were gathered
together to look on.
"Yes," said Emson gravely; "he is giving in now, poor brute. He'll
never hunt the young cocks round the enclosure again."
"And they know it, too," cried Dyke. "Look at them wagging their silly
old heads and trying to look cunning.--But hullo why don't you go on?"
"Can't you see?" said Emson. "The horse's hoofs must have struck him in
the side as well. The poor old goblin is dead."
Dyke leaped to his feet in dismay, and stared sceptically from his
brother to the bird, and back again and again.
It was true enough: the great bird, which so short a time ago was
seeming to spin with such wonderful speed across the veldt that its legs
were nearly invisible, now lay on its side, with the stilt-like members
perfectly still, one being stretched out to its full length, the other
in a peculiar double angle, through the broken bone making a fresh
joint.
"Oh, the poor old goblin!" said the boy, hurriedly unloosening the rein
which held down its head. "I didn't choke it, did I? No: look, the
loop was quite big."
"No; the ribs are crushed in," said Emson, feeling beneath the beautiful
plumage. "Another loss, Dyke. We shall find out all his good qualities
now."
"Breezy kick and killum," said the Kaffir sententiously. "Bird kick,
horse kick; killum--shouldn't kick."
"Here, you go back to your kraal, and set up for a wise man of the
south," cried Dyke pettishly. "How long did it take you to find out all
that?" "Yes, killum dead," said the Kaffir, nodding. "Bosh!" cried
Dyke, turning impatiently away. "Well, we must make the best of it,"
said Emson then. "His feathers will be worth something, for they are in
fine condition. Let's get them off at once."
The heat of the sun was forgotten, and so was Dyke's want of energy, for
he set to work manfully, helping his brother to cut off the abundant
plumes, tying them up in loose bundles with the quill ends level, that
they might dry, and carefully carrying them into the room used for
storing feathers, eggs, and such curiosities as were collected from time
to time; Dyke having displayed a hobby for bringing home stones,
crystals, birds' eggs, and any attractive piece of ore, that he found
during his travels. These were ranged in an old case, standing upright
against the corrugated iron wall, where, a few boardings nailed across
for shelves, the boy had an extremely rough but useful cabinet, the lid
of the case forming the door when attached by a pair of leather hinges
tacked on with wire nails.
"There," said Emson, when the last plumes had been removed; "what do you
say to having the skin off? It will make a mat."
Dyke nodded, and the Kaffir now helping, the bird's tough skin was
stripped off, and laid, feathers downward, on the roof to dry.
"Jackals can't reach it there, can they?" said Emson.
"No, I think not. Leopard might come and pull it down."
"Yes: don't let Duke be out of a night; there has been one hanging about
lately.--But what are you going to do?"
"Dissect him," said Dyke, who was on his knees with his sharp
sheath-knife in his hand.
"Nonsense! Leave it now."
"I want to see the poor old goblin's gizzard, and open it. I know he
has got knives and all sorts of things inside."
"Then you may look," said Emson. "I'm going to feed the horses and have
a wash; they haven't been unsaddled yet."
He went to the thorn-fence and disappeared, while, hot and tired now,
Dyke made short work of opening the great bird, and dragging out the
gizzard, which he opened as a cook does that of a fowl, and exclaimed
aloud at the contents:
"Here, Jack, fetch me some water in the tin;" and while the "boy" was
gone, Dyke scraped out on to the sand quite a heap of pieces of flinty
stone, rough crystals, and some pieces of iron, rusty nails, and a
good-sized piece of hoop.
"I must have a look at you afterwards," said the boy, as he picked out
some forty or fifty of the dingy-looking rough crystals, gave them a rub
over and over in the dry sand upon which he knelt, to dry them, and then
thrust them--a good handful--into his pocket.
"Do for the collection," he said to himself with a laugh. "Label:
crystals of quartz, discovered in a goblin's gizzard by Vandyke Emson,
Esquire, F.A.S., Kopfontein, South Africa."
"Wanterwater?"
"Yes, I do `wanterwater,'" cried Dyke, turning sharply on the Kaffir,
who had returned. "I want to wash my hands. Look at 'em, Jack!"
"Narcy!" said the man, making a grimace.
"Hold hard, though; let's have a drink first," cried the boy. "It looks
clean;" and raising the tin, he took a deep draught before using the
vessel for a good wash, taking a handful of sand in the place of soap.
"Find the knife?" said Emson, coming back from the stable.
"No, but look here," cried Dyke, pointing to the great piece of
hoop-iron. "Fancy a bird swallowing that."
"Iron is good for birds, I suppose," said Emson quietly.--"Here, Jack,
drag that bird right away off; remember, a good way. Mind, I don't want
the jackals too close to-night."
The Kaffir nodded, seized the bird's legs as if they were the shafts of
a cart or handles of a wheelbarrow.
The load was heavy, though, and he shook his head, with reason, for such
a bird weighed three hundred pounds, and it spoke well for its leg
muscles that it could go at the rate of forty or fifty miles an hour.
"Too big," grumbled Jack; so Dyke seized one of the legs, and together
they walked away with the dead bird, dragging it quite a quarter of a
mile out beyond the ostrich-pens, ready for the jackals to come and play
scavenger. After which Dyke returned to his brother, and they went in
to where Tanta Sal, Jack's wife, had prepared a substantial meal.