“But so it will if you leave it quiet,” cried Dyke; and then, sharply: “Ah! you cowardly brutes, let him alone.”
This was to some half-a-dozen cock birds in the pen, which, possibly in remembrance of the many times they had been thrashed and driven about the pen by their injured king, seized the opportunity of his downfall to thrust out their long necks and begin striking at him savagely, seizing him by the feathers, and dragging them out, till he shuffled beyond their reach.
“His fate’s sealed if he is put with the rest; that’s very evident,” said Emson.
“Killum!” said the Kaffir, nodding his head.
“Let’s shut him up in the stable,” said Dyke, “and tie him down while we set his leg.”
“It would mean such a desperate struggle that the poor bird would never get over it; and if it did, it would mope and die. Better put it out of its misery.”
Just then a big rough dog came out of the house, where it had been having a long sleep through the hot part of the day, and after giving Dyke a friendly wag of the tail, walked slowly toward the injured ostrich.
That was enough to make the bird draw back its head and strike at the dog, which avoided the blow, and growling fiercely, prepared to resent the attack.
“Come away, Duke,” cried Dyke. “To heel, sir.”
The dog growled and seemed to protest, but went obediently behind his younger master.