Chapter Eight.
Trapped by a Tree.
The feelings of the young Boer may be better imagined than described. For a time mystification, then changing to weird fear, as a sense of the supernatural stole over him. Around the spot upon which he had been pitched were several small ant-hills; so, scrambling to the top of the nearest, and then standing erect, he had the veldt under his view for miles on every side. He could see no bush, nor other cover that would have concealed an animal so large as was the buffalo. Yet buffalo there was none on it.
It now recurred to him that his unconsciousness might have been of longer duration than he had supposed it; giving the buffalo time to scamper off out of sight. But this hypothesis was also untenable for more reasons than one. For an animal of such bulk to have got beyond his view on that smooth, level plain was of itself highly improbable. Besides, why should the buffalo have run away from him? The last glimpse he had of it was while in mad, determined rush towards himself, and he knew it was the shock of its horns against the doorn-boom that had shot him off the tree as from a catapult. What reason would it have for retreating then, wounded as it was, and feeling itself, too, master of the situation, as it must have felt on becoming the aggressor? Of all this the young hunter was conscious, and not on that account the more mystified. For he had also bethought him of his three bullets sent into the buffalo’s body, recalling how carefully he had taken aim, and how their failing to bring the animal down, had surprised and puzzled him. It was then the weird fear came over him in full, almost a horror, as the mystery remained unsolved. He rubbed his eyes, and once more took a survey of the veldt; scanning it minutely all over, as he mechanically interrogated, “Am I in my senses? or has it been a dream?”
At this crisis his ears were saluted by a sound, seemingly in response to his questioning, and promising to end his perplexity. It was a loud snort, which he knew could only proceed from the throat of a buffalo-bull, and the same whose sudden disappearance had been puzzling him. Just then reverberating all over the veldt in a long, continued roar, it seemed to rise out of the earth.
But another noise in accompaniment was less misleading as to direction. This was the swish of leaves, with a snapping of twigs, as a tree tossed about by the wind. Turning his eyes upon that he had late essayed to climb, he saw it was in violent agitation; oscillating to and fro, as if under the impulse of a tornado. But the bellowing which he now knew to come from among its branches told a different tale, proclaiming the buffalo still there.
Though thus relieved from all awe of the unearthly, Piet Van Dorn was almost as much mystified as ever. What could the animal be doing by the doorn-boom, and why had it stayed there? As yet he saw it not, the thick foliage intervening, but its repeated routs, with the shakings of the tree, left no doubt about its presence. The thought flashed upon him that the bull supposed he had succeeded in ascending the tree, and was still up in it; so in blind fury had remained there, at intervals butting the trunk and bellowing.
Under this belief, both natural and probable, the first impulse of the young hunter was to take to his heels, and put space between himself and the dangerous brute, as much as the time would permit. For at any moment the bull might part from the tree, or come round it, and again catching sight of him renew the attack. So dropping down from the ant-hill, he was about to make off, when he bethought of his gun, twice shaken out of his grasp, and lying on the ground near by. But it was also dangerously near the doorn-boom, and to get hold of it would be a ticklish affair. Still, to return to the camp without his gun—bad enough having to go without his horse—would be fearfully humiliating. How delighted Andries Blom would be, and how he would crow over it!
“No! I won’t go back without the gun, at all events,” soliloquised Piet Van Dorn, with returning courage, more confidently adding, “Nor leave I this spot, till I can take with me a better account of what’s happened than I can now.”
Thus resolving, he stepped softly towards the roer, with his eye upon the shaking tree; and soon had the gun in hand again. Of course, it was empty; as while retreating before the buffalo, he had not found an opportunity to reload. Luckily, his quilted cartridge-belt was still fast buckled around his body, and a supply of percussion caps lay convenient in the pocket of his civet-skin waistcoat. Down went the cartridge and rammed home, almost as quick as a partridge-shooter could have charged his patent “central fire.” And now ready, the young jäger set face for the doorn-boom, determined to try final conclusions with the brute that had parted him from his horse, besides giving him a scare, such as he had never before experienced.
Notwithstanding his restored courage, he was far from feeling reckless, and made approach with all due caution. For as yet, much of the mystery remained unsolved, and the behaviour of the buffalo as great an enigma as ever. The animal still continued its terrific routing, while the tree zig-zagged to and fro, both trunks, as though threatening to break down with a double crash. But for the thick foliage around the base, the young hunter would long before have had explanation of a thing so incomprehensible. It came at last, however, as he drew close in to the tree, and saw the buffalo with neck caught between the twin trunk, fixed and fast as if in a vice. In its furious rush it had forced its head through; the young flexible stems parting to let it pass, then reclosing; the neck was held as in a yoke, and the huge buttressed horns could not be drawn back again. So the bull had trapped himself in a tree!
Seeing how things stood, Piet Van Dorn could not restrain himself from giving way to loud laughter. He did smile, a vengeful smile, as he thought of the trouble the black brute had put him to, with the chagrin it had caused him. But the better feeling of humanity soon triumphed over that of anger and revenge. He saw that the buffalo had received its death wound, from the shots he had fired at it, and its struggles in the clasp of the doorn-boom were but its last throes of life. Mercy appealed to him to put an end to them; which he did by stepping close up to the animal, and sending a fourth bullet into its body; this was so aimed as to deprive it of life, with scarce a kick given after.