“Why didn’t you go back and shoot him?”
“Sonny, you never had a railway engine runnin’ arter you, did you? Well, you try, and then settle with yourself whether your nerves would be worth much for a spell. No, sir; I didn’t go back to shoot him, but I found the biggest yellow-wood and I climbed up. That’s what I did, and that bull he found out. Yes, sir, he picked up my scent and he tree’d me. But, by gum, d’ye think he’d show hisself? No, gentlemen, he jes’ kep’ away in the thick o’ the bush, goin’ roun’ and roun’ an’ stopping sometimes for a blow. Once I saw the sparkle of the diamon’, when he was doin’ a spell o’ listenin’ and watchin’, and I pulled straight at it. I hit him hard, the ole cuss, an’ he fetched a yell an’ went smashin’ off. The sound o’ him runnin’ away did me good. I loaded up and picked up the blood-trail, and was goin’ so hot on that that I’m blowed if I didn’t a’most run inter him. I were slippin’ along, and from the corner of my eye I saw the point of his tusk on my left. The ole chap had turned on his spoor; but his tusk saved me, for I dodged roun’ a big tree and brought the gun up. D’ye think he’d charge? He jes’ slipped back by inches and stole away as silent as a hare, whiles I had my eyes gummed on the thick cover where he’d stood. He jes’ slipped away and made a circle to come on me from the rear. He did that, and if I hadn’t edged away to see better inter the cover he’d a nabbed me—for bymby I saw he’d gone, and on follering on the spoor I seed where he’d turned back. I tell you that gave me the creeps, and I made off for a small krantz near by where there’s a stream. I crawled inter a cave there and went off ter sleep, because of the tiredness in my bones; and Saturday mornin’ I woke up hungry an’ stiff in the j’ints, and I laid off for the camp. Blow me, if that blamed bull hadn’t been there ag’in. The kettle were clean gone this time, and all the other things was smashed to nothing—so there wasn’t a smell, let ’lone a mouthful. I were that savage I jes’ went hot-foot on the old boomer’s spoor ag’in, an’ this time he were travellin’. He went straight on for fifteen miles, over the ridge, inter a deep kloof—where he laid in grub—and then set off, nose on, for another five mile towards Alicedale, where he had a bathe in a pool. All this time I hadn’t seen even the flap of his ears, and I were still on his spoor, when I just flung myself inter a hump o’ grass and chawed on to a stick o’ biltong. Then I went to sleep, ’cos I couldn’t keep my eyes skinned, but the morning cold woke me in the small hours, and the fust thing I seed were a blazing eye looking at me outer the dark. It sparkled and flickered and blinked, with the red heart of it contractin’ an’ expandin’. In the drowsiness I lay there, thinkin’ ’twas the mornin’ star, when I yeard the rumble of a elephant’s inside, an’ I knew that ole bull were a standing over me; maybe had been standin’ there for hours waitin’ for me to wake so’s he could enjoy seein’ me shake.
“Afraid! Well, I think so. And the shakes went scooting up an’ down my backbone, an’ my heart nearly stopped and I could skasely breathe. Then I felt about for my gun with one hand, then with the other, and then with each foot; but, by gosh! the wepin weren’t there, an’ the cole chills were chasing each other up an’ down my bones, an’ the ole bull laafed in his stummick, while that busted red diamond glowered at me. I thought o’ poor ole Harkins flattened out, an’ I jest pulled the plug outer the powder-horn, then I got out the flint an’ steel, an’ lay there watching the outline of the ole cuss come clearer an’ clearer out of the darkness an’ saw the shine of his wicked little eyes. He laafed in his stummick ag’in, and the coil of his trunk came out. I got the flint ready over the powder, and the stir of my body made him suspicious. His big ears went out like sails, and he made a step forrard. Then I struck with the steel, an’ turned over on my back. He brought his trunk down ‘ker—whack,’ on my sitting place, rolling me over an’ over—and when I rubbed the dust outer my eyes I yeard him smashin’ through the trees. The puff and flame of the powder must ha’ skeered him bad, but I didn’t wait beyond a second to search for my gun, and I seed the stock one side of a tree and the barrel bent up a yard away. He had moved it away, and were waitin’ for me to wake. Then I lit out for the water an’ hid away. That was Saturday. On Sunday I took the back tracks, without a wepin or anythin’, and blow me ef that bull didn’t reg’lar hunt me. He did that, an’ in the afternoon he caught me up and druv me inter a big tree. I jes’ managed to reach the first bough when, ker-blunk, he came up ag’inst it an’ nearly shook me off. By gum! the way that bull went on was a caution. He let off steam through his nose, stamped his feet, dug his tusk in the ground, twisted his little tail, and butted that tree till its roots heaved up the ground. In his walk he wore down a circle as big as a cattle kraal, smashin’ all the trees down, and trampling the leaves and branches and trunks inter a mass. And every now and then he’d wheel round and come smash ag’inst my tree till he started the wound in his forehead where my bullet struck, an’ the blood poured down his face. I never seed such wickedness an’ temper, never, and I crawled up to the top branch, for the sight of him made me queer. All through that Sunday afternoon he kep’ up that smash-jamble, an’ in the night he fetched up some water outer his stummick an’ washed his face; then, with that diamon’ shinin’ red outer the dark, he stood there, still as a rock, keeping guard. That night I went empty in my head, an’ got back my senses in starts when I were slippin’. In the mornin’ I jest gave him my trousers.
“It was a inspiration, that’s what. A flash came inter my brain from the blue sky, an’ I gave him my trousers. Lor’, the scream he gave when he fell on ’em, trampled ’em, knelt on ’em, jabbed his tusk inter ’em, and then danced ’em outer sight through the mass o’ leaves into the yearth beneath. Then he kep’ on going away and comin’ back with a rush, till I got giddy, and fin’ly jest slithered to the ground. That time he didn’t come back, and I krept away outer the Addo bush, living on roots and leaves like a animile. That’s so. I got on a Wednesday to a Kaffir clearing, most like a wild beast, all kivered with ticks and sores.”
“And what became of the diamond?”
“Well, the Abe Pike Diamon’ Mining Company went to smash. That diamond’s still in the Addo bush, and if any o’ you would like to float the company I’m not sure but I wouldn’t jine you again. I guess that ole bull’s a hundred an’ fifty years old, an’ maybe he’s not so blamed active. So long!”