'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.