“No; what I did was a cirkimstance which only one man would think of, and that’s ole Abe Pike. I jes’ took out my ole pipe, wriggled a length of straw down the stem till it were black with nicotine, then laid it across his tongue. My! You should ’a seen him. He shook his head, tried to wipe his tongue with his paws, then give a roar, and make lightning tracks for the nearest water. His growl set the dogs going tremenjus, then I yeard ole man Hill whistlin’ ’em, and I fetched a yell that brung him up at the double. By gum! In being saved I were nearly killed!”
“How was that?”
“Why, them dogs took me for the tiger, and they tore the coat offin me, beside some skin, ’fore ole Bill see who were in the trap and took me out. That’s why I say I’m dead sot against traps with teeth.”
Chapter Twenty Eight.
Abe and the Eagles.
I had not seen old Abe Pike for some weeks, having been on rinderpest guard on the Orange River, but on my return to the coast I rode over to Gum Tree Farm, where the lone blue-gum threw its pillar of cloud, in the blazing afternoon, across the doorway. Uncle Abe was lounging, as usual, by the doorway, looking listlessly at the sea.
“Well, oud baas! How goes it?”
“Is there no more cattle to kill?” he said, straightening his back and propping himself against the wall. “Think you’d be ashamed to look a beefsteak in the face after the way you been shooting them pore animiles!”