CHAPTER VIII
THE BULLS AND THE WILD DOGS
After an hour or so Muata was sent forward as look-out, and with his jackal by his side, apparently aiding him in his task, he showed such eyes for the night that they kept on safely till the morning, when the sail was hoisted, and by breakfast-time they judged they had covered about forty miles—quite enough for safety. They ran the Okapi in among the islands which still stretched away as far as they could see, and made fast, to eat and to sleep. The noon heat woke them. They sat up under the awning and talked of the great drive, of Muata's escape, and of his wonderful luck in finding them—though he made out that there was nothing strange about it, since from the woods he had seen the preparations for the hunt, and had, too, made out the Okapi in the dusk. For the rest, his jackal had scented out the white man's lair, and all he, the chief, had to do was to upset the canoe of the Arab.
"That was no great work for Muata—the otter, the water-wolf," he said.
"And how did the chief escape?"
"Before the shouting arose that Muata was gone, he found a calabash of fat for the cooking, by the door of a hut. Some fat he rubbed on the soles of his feet to kill the scent. Then he sent the jackal into the woods and crawled into a hut, being stiff from the binding. In the hut he remained, rubbing the fat into the joints, till the people came back to the feast."
"The feast was made by us, so that while the people ate we could loosen your bonds."
"Wow! Never yet have I known any to give such thought to a stranger."
"It is our way to stand by those who stand by us."
"It is a great word that;" and the chief turned the thought over in his mind. "Ow aye! They came again to the feast, and Muata went out into the woods in peace."
"And was that all?"
"There was a man gathering fruit in the morning as I passed through a garden, and his knife I took."
"And what did the man do?"
"He took a message to my father, the chief," said Muata, enigmatically. "The chief's son has been like a hunted dog. His stomach hungers for red meat. His spirit thirsts for the hunt. Wow! O hunter, set your shining boat for the shore, and let us follow the trail. There be buffalo in the lands beyond the hills which line the river."
"That's a splendid idea!" cried Venning. "I'm beginning to get mouldy. A trip ashore would be ripping, now that we have distanced our pursuers."
"I second that motion," said Compton, with a longing glance shorewards. "Do you know, sir, that we have not shot a thing since we entered the Congo?"
"I have no objection," said the hunter. "And we must have a good supply of biltong before we enter the forest; but we cannot afford to take risks. Just examine the shore for a creek, and at dusk we will run across."
The boys passed the afternoon searching the south bank for signs of a creek, and in the evening the Okapi shaped her course across to a likely spot they had marked out. But though they found a creek, it was not one that commended itself as a hiding to Mr. Hume, and it was not till after a wearisome hunt for hours in the dark that they found a channel leading through the hills which he agreed to follow up; and then, when they had entered about a mile, Muata, with his jackal, was landed to "feel" around for native paths or villages. Muata, after a long absence, reported all safe as far as he could judge, and they tied up. In the morning they found themselves in the thick of the woods, and pushed on down a dark and sluggish stream strewn with fallen timber, till they came to a pool in a gorge. Here they resolved to leave their boat.
They took the Okapi to pieces, stowed them away in a dry cavern in the krantz, covered them with the tarpaulins, and pushed on down through the gorge on foot, emerging beyond the hills which bordered the Congo into a rolling country, park-like in appearance. They studied the land well before they continued, first for signs of native villages, and next for game. Smoke rose far away to the right, but nearer, the country seemed deserted, and as plenty of game appeared in sight, they determined to camp on the slopes of the hill. So they looked about for a good pitch, and made choice of a sunny spot at the foot of a rocky cliff, not far from the stream they had followed, and well screened from view by a thicket of bush in the front. They stowed away their blankets in a small cave at the base of the cliff, and then started off for the first hunt, the boys in a fine state of excitement. They struck into a game-path leading through thick scrub, and five minutes from the start there was a sullen snort, a tremendous crashing in the woods, as if, at least, a herd of elephant were stampeding. Mr. Hume dashed down the game- path, and before the boys could see what manner of beast it was, he had fired and bowled it over with a bullet behind the ear.
"A bit of luck," he said, as they reached him.
"What is it?" asked Venning, glancing around with bright eyes.
"A buffalo, over there."
The two boys saw a dark form on the ground, half hidden by a bush, and were running forward.
"Quietly," said the hunter. "Always approach dangerous game cautiously when they are down—especially buffalo;" and with his finger on the trigger he went up slow-footed.
But the buffalo was stone-dead—a great bull with an immense boss between the bend of his sharp horns.
"It's the luck of hunting," said Mr. Hume, as the boys walked round the great beast. "Some days you never get a shot, and other times you find game at your back door, so to speak. One of you boys will stay with Muata to skin and cut up. It will be a good lesson."
The two looked at each other, and then away over the plain. Skinning and cutting up was not exactly amusing.
"All right; I'll stay," said Venning.
"Each in his turn," said the hunter. "Come along, Compton;" and they went off, as Venning turned up his shirt-sleeves.
It was hard work, this cutting up, but Muata was a master at the job, and Venning learnt his lesson thoroughly.
The great hide was taken off in one piece without a slit; then long strips of meat were cut off and hung over the branches of a tree. When the rest of the meat had been stripped off, they packed it all away in the hide, slung the bundle to a sapling, and, with each end of the pole on a shoulder, they slowly carried the whole to the camp. Venning hoped that his labours were over; but they had only completed one task. They had now to build a scaffolding on which to hang the strips, after each had been well peppered to keep off the flies, for the drying and smoking. This took another slice out of the day; and when Venning had washed in the river, and cooked and eaten his buffalo-steak, he resigned himself to the study of insects in place of the pursuit of game, while Muata, who had melted down the fat from the kidneys, sat and rubbed the oil into his limbs till his skin shone.
"Have you seen many buffalo?" asked Venning, with a keen eye on a bit of crooked stick that had seemed to move.
"Many."
"And you understand their ways?"
"I have watched as you watch the stick that is not a stick."
Venning picked up an insect—a strange creature which had adapted itself to its surroundings by pretending to be a dried twig.
"Tell me what you saw."
"I saw the twin bulls when they were calves, and I saw them when they led the herd, and when they lost the leadership. I watched them. Ow aye, I knew their ways. Sometime, when I was yet a boy, I could understand what they said."
"What they said, chief?"
"See, the creatures are like men in their ways, and men are like animals—each man like to one kind of animal. Haw! So I judged what the buffalo would say if he could talk like men."
"And what was the talk? Tell it me; for I also have given speech to animals when I have watched alone."
"I will tell you what I thought when I was young, and watched the things of the forest. The wisest among the people I have met is a woman; and among the things of the forest, the wisest were even a buffalo cow who never had calf, and the mother of the yellow pack, who had white eyes in her long head. Haw!
"Now, the pack hunted on the same veld where a troop of buffalo grazed, but the bull who led the troop was wise. He took counsel with the old cow that was calf-less, and the pack could never find the fat heifers or the younger calves unguarded. In the troop were two young bulls—brothers; and these I had watched grow—watched from my hiding. They were strong and fierce, and they eyed the old bull full. Scarcely would they turn from his path. Wow! One morning the old bull stood in the game-path, considering in his mind how it came to happen that the earth had been fresh turned. While he stood, the young bulls pressing behind suddenly put their horns to his flanks and urged him forward. Mawoh! The old bull stepped on to the newly turned earth, and went down into a pit that the hunters had dug. He called to the troop to run from the danger, and they crashed through the wood to the open glade.
"Haw! A young dog of the pack heard the bellow from the earth, and creeping near, he looked down upon the great bull. Then, with his nose to the ground, he ran upon the trail of the troop till he saw them in the opening. The young bulls moved among the cows. They pushed the old cow aside, and later went through the tall grass into a shallow vlei, where they wallowed in the mud. Then the young dog ran back to the pack. This is what he said, as I understood—
"'Behold, O mother,' he said, 'the great bull, even the leader, is fallen in the trap made by man in the path.'
"Who leads the troop now—the old cow or the two brothers?"
'The young bulls, O mother, and they lie in the mud.'
"Then the she-dog called the pack together. I heard the call, and knew there would be hunting. She called them and made a plan. I saw afterwards the plan she made. The young dogs she sent round to the far side of the vlei, and she came with the biggest of the pack to the side nearest the forest. From the edge of the wood she looked out on the open. The old cow stood alone, with her head turning now this way, then that way. The others grazed with their calves. The heifers stood foot-deep in the water near the bulls.
"The old dog turned to the pack. 'This comes of the folly of the young,' she said; and her white eyes ran from dog to dog. 'Those two lie like pigs. We will eat buffalo to-night. Scatter and wait.'
"Three dogs went to the right of her and three to the left. They stretched themselves in the grass. The old cow blew through her nostrils. She struck the ground, and the cows with the young calves ran to her. They gathered in a bunch, heads out. From beyond came the hunting-cry of the young dogs. The heifers moved, but the bulls kept still.' It is but a dog yapping after a hare,' they said. 'Stand you still.'
"But the hunting-cry drew nearer. The cows lowered their heads, bellowing, and the heifers ran. Wow! The young dogs cut one out, and raced her right to where the great mother of the pack crouched. As the heifer came by, the white jaws snapped at her belly, and bit deep, so that blood flowed, and on the scent of the blood the pack went into the forest. They ate buffalo that night.
"The young bulls rose from the mud. They ran to and fro in the open; their eyes were red, and the foam dripped from their black lips. Wow! they were angry, Ow aye, they were covered with shame and mud. The old cow moved away, and the cows with young followed her. The heifers, trembling in their limbs, would have followed also, but the bulls headed them off. There was much talk in the forest over this. They said the bulls had learnt wisdom. No dog would take a member of the troop again. The bulls tossed their horns. 'If a lion comes,' they said, 'we would beat him off.'
"The pack tried again, and were beaten off; but the old she yawned. 'In a few days, my children,' she said, 'we will eat buffalo, even of the meat of the young bulls. There never were two leaders in a pack'—and her white eyes went to a dog who had hopes of the leadership—'never; and in a day, or two days, these brothers will fight. They will fight hard; and when the fight is done the pack will steal upon them. When they stand panting, with lowered heads and feet wide apart, we will bite at the softness of their bellies.' She licked her lips, and the tongues of the pack curled over their lips also. So the young dogs were set to watch upon the brothers; and it came to pass as the old mother said—the brothers fought. It began in play. One swung his head at the other, and the other swung back.
"When a grown bull swings his head, O white boy, who picked me out of the sea, it is like the blow of a falling tree. There is the weight of his head with the heavy horns, the arch of his neck, and the power in his shoulders where the muscles lie. The blows roused the fury in them. They looked sideways at each other, then their tails went up, and they came together. Wow!! The noise rang far. The hunting dogs ran swiftly to the pack, and as they ran there followed them the noise of the fight.
"I stole near to watch. It was a battle. The ground was torn up as in the hoeing, where their hoofs clung for a footing under the pressure. First they pushed, head to head, nose near the ground, red eyes looking into red eyes. The heifers stood in a cluster watching. It was a still battle. They saved their breath, and as they breathed the dust flew. For many minutes they pushed, swaying, one losing ground for a time, then gaining it back. The foam gathered on their lips and dropped to the ground. The sweat ran under their bellies. Then one slipped, and the other struck under the shoulder. From the lower rib to the back there ran a white mark. The white mark turned black, and blood came out. At the pain of it the stricken bull grunted and struck up. His horn struck under the body, and with the cracking of his joints he heaved the other over. Haw! He rolled him right over and sprang at him. Wow!! He struck and stood back. The other was on his feet swiftly. With the swiftness of a little cat he gained his feet. So they stood with their heads up, staring with red eyes. Again they came together. Again they shoved and strained, and the dust caked on the blood that covered them. The ground beneath them that was dry, was now muddy from the trampled blood. Then they swung their heads and struck, grunting at the blows, and stood apart, and came together, till the blood started from their ears. Their breath came in gasps, and the silence was broken. From their lips, all blood-covered, there came a moaning. Ow aye, the moaning of a mother over her dead. The heifers ran forward, then back; they ran round and galloped away, afraid—galloped into the forest.
"In my heart, O white friend, I was sorry for the brothers. The moaning was the cry of sorrow that one felt for the other. 'O my brother, I must slay you,' that was the meaning of the moaning. Their tongues rolled out, swollen; their legs shook, their eyes were covered with mist. Yet they swung their heads, and each time the horns were wet with blood, and the moaning came always. Then they came together, and went on their knees. Their muzzles were in the mud; their hind legs were wide apart.
"Ow aye, I looked away and saw the white eyes of the mother of the pack. She was creeping up. Her lips were wet; the hair on her neck stood up. Behind her came others. I gave the low growl of a lion— the cry he makes when he is angry at being disturbed. She threw up her head and sniffed the air. Then she growled in her throat, for there was no taint of lion in the air, but the taint of man! Her white eyes found me out where I sat in a low tree, and there was death in them. So I gathered the air in my lungs and shouted. A man's shout is as much dreaded as the lion's roar. The dogs jumped up, but the old mother called to them, and they crouched down. The brothers stood moaning head to head. I shouted again; I whistled. Then the bulls drew apart. One fell slowly on his side; the other smelt at the fallen one. Then he tried to bellow, but his tongue was thick in his mouth. The she-dog crept forward, and I whistled loud. This time he flung up his head and looked around. He saw the white eyes above the grass; he saw the round ears everywhere around. Then he smelt at his brother. Wow! He smelt at him; he licked the blood from his nostrils.
"This is the law among the wild things—when one is down he is down. The weak are driven forth by their fellows; the hurt are left. The bull smelt at his brother; then again he flung his head up to look at the white-eyed one, and he moved away for the vlei, moaning as he went. The dogs let him pass; their eyes scarcely went to him, for they were fixed on the fallen. They moved upon him in silence, a few steps at a time, then crouched with hanging tongues; then a few more steps; and as they closed in the fallen bull watched those he could see. Meat for dogs! He a chief in the forest, who could toss the largest dog the height of a tree! Wow! He gathered his hind feet under him and lifted. Slowly he reached his feet, and the white-eyed mother ran in open-mouthed. She gripped the sinews of his hind leg and held on. The pack crowded in. Haw! It was no fight. The bull looked after his brother, who was slowly moving to the vlei, moaning as he went. Then, but for a little time, he fought as a chief should fight when his foes are on him. With a swing of his head here, and a swing there, he stove in the ribs of two of the pack; then he sprang on another, flung him, as a boy would a stone, into the air, watched him go up, watched him come down, then flung him up again, and fell forward on his knees with his nose on the ground, and the pack snapped the flesh from him in mouthfuls. The other bull turned not at the howling of the pack. He walked on slow and straight to the vlei, drank deep, and made a bed in the mud. He covered his wounds with mud, and when his wounds were healed he was an outcast. The troop had another leader, and the old cow led them all to another grazing-ground."
"And what became of you, Muata?"
"Muata stayed in the tree. Mawoh! Muata was afraid. The mother of the pack had not forgotten. Even while she ate she looked at him, and when the milk-mothers with their young came to the forest, having been called, she lay off and watched, with her evil eyes on me. The jackals, smelling blood, howled, sitting on their haunches, and a lion came up growling in his throat. But he did not come right up; he stood a way off, watching, and presently he stretched himself on his stomach to wait. Haw! Even the lion will not attempt to drive the pack from its kill. Ow aye, it is so. The old mother never turned her eyes to watch the lion, but when the pups played, having eaten their fill, she stood up. The pack looked at her and moved off; then the lion rose and came forward. The old one stood her ground, and the great one, when he was within three bounds of her, also stood. The white eyes turned away from the yellow eyes— they turned to me; then she yapped and went off after the pack. The lion looked after her; then he stretched himself on the ground again and stared. He lifted his head to the wind and sniffed. Mawoh! Well, I knew the old mother had told him of my presence; but the lion never looks up. It was well for me, for his mind was uneasy. A long time he lay, while the jackals sat howling. Then he crept round the tree and the carcase. Twice he crept round; then, as the smell of the meal was too much, he trotted up to the carcass and growled at his feast. His back was toward me, and I fled."
"And did you meet the white-eyed mother again?"
"The wisest among the people I have met," said Muata, gravely, "was a woman; and among the creatures of the forest, the wisest was a she-dog. It is in my mind that the leader of the pack was umtaguati. Ow aye, she was a wizard; and it is not well to make war against such."
Venning looked at the chief with curiosity. "Are there many wizards in the forest, Muata?" he asked with a smile.
"By day and night, many; but most by night. Our people will not venture forth in the darkness of the forest for fear of the wizards and the bad spirits that watch from behind the trees and follow stealthily; but a spell was given to Muata. He could walk in the night."
"Have you seen these—eh—spirits, Muata?" Muata put the question aside. He rose and pointed to the east.
"The sun dies away and the hunters return."
"I don't hear them. Where are they?" "The birds cry out and fly. That is the sign that man is on the move; for hear, you who split up the shining boat, birds will scold at a leopard or a great snake, hovering around as they scold; but they fly from man. From nothing else will they fly. From an eagle they will hide after giving the warning call; but from man they fly."
A few minutes later the two arrived, Mr. Hume carrying an antelope on his shoulder.