“Yes; a black feller, with four legs an’ a tail, an’ a red mouth all agape, wide enough to take in my head, hat an’ all.”
“A black tiger?”
“Yes; an’ me with only a tin can. I jes’ sank down inter my boots. All o’ a sudden his jaws come to with a snap. Then he riz his head and stired straight fer me, his eyes gitting flamier as he looked, an’ his tail all on the jerk. He moved his round head about, then shot out his neck an’ growled in his stummik as he peered under the leaves. Just then that baboon let out a ‘baugh—baugh—bok-hem,’ an’ dropped down beyond the tiger. There were a roar, a leap, a scramble, an’ Abe Pike were shooting on his tracks for the open veld. He didn’t stop running till he got home—he didn’t—not me.”
“And the baboon? He wasn’t killed, was he?”
“You wait—jes’ you wait. Before you get the end o’ the journey you’ve got to pass the half-way house. This is a solitary place—this mansion—and beyond the ole Gaika-Bolo I have no visitors—an’ he only when he’s doctorin’ the Kaffirs down these parts. So that night, when there were a tap at the door, I were skeered a little from the shake I got when I saw that black critter staring at me with them wicked eyes of hisn. ‘Come in!’ I sed, an’ the tap came agin, soft an’ gentle, like as if a child or a woman were standin’ there—timid—tho’ it’s many a year since a female brushed the door-post with her dress—a many years, my lad.”
“Yes, Uncle; who was it?”
“‘Come in!’ I sed, laying hold o’ a piece of wood. ‘Jes’ pull the string,’ I sed. Believe me, the string were pulled—the upper half o’ the door swung open, an’ he stepped in.”
“Who?”
“The old man baboon! He pulled the string, the door swung open, an’ he hopped in.”
“Good gracious, Uncle!”