“The brandy brings out the goodness from the yerb, and I tell you a dose of it gets home every time. But what’s the good—the brandy’s gone, there’s not a tickey in the stocking, and not a man in the country would offer ole Abe Pike so much as half-a-pint—not a one. The old people’s gone and the new ones, blow me—the new ones drink cold tea.”
“What about the Kaffir chief you were following Abe?”
“I ain’t follering no Kaffir chief, not me—and look here sonny, you get along home, see, ’fore it gets dark.”
“I think I could spare a gallon of brown Cango, Abe, if you come over in the morning.”
“Cango, eh! Stay right here, sonny—I’ve marked down a fine porkipine—and we’ll hunt him to-night. In the morning I’ll go over with you, arter showing you something as’ll surprise you, I bet.”
“What’s that?”
“A horn-bill sitting on her nest in a hollow tree, and the entrance built up with mud, so she can’t get out, and the cats can’t git in, by gum, an’ the ole chap a feeding her. Lor’ love yer, there’s no matchin’ animiles an’ birds for cunnin’.”
“Yet I remember you saying that young chief was very cunning.”
“So he were; lad, he were born smart; an’ them gleamin’ eyes of his’n could read the writin’ on the ground, the signs of weather, and the ways of fightin’ men better’n you could read a big print book. That’s so. I tole you how I follered him, and how he follered a chap in veldschoens all the way from the Chumie. Well, in the dark of the second evenin’ I seed a red light, and were blunderin’ on towards it, being pretty well dazed from the hunger and weakness and pain o’ my bad arm, when somethin’ in the steady glow of it brought me up with a jerk. Says I, that fire’s been long lit, there’s nothin’ but coals blazing, and whoever lit it must feel safe. Says I, who can feel safe in this yer place? Why, a Kaffir. So I slowed down to a crawl, and blow me, when I got within hearin’ distance, I seed a man by the fire. Sonny, he were the man in veldschoens.”
“The white man the chief was after.”