“Kill lion,” said Coffee, laconically; and he worked away as if the lion were round the corner waiting to be killed.
“Then ye may just as well lave off, ye dirty little naygars; for it’s my belafe that you’re not going at all.”
Dinny went off into the house leaving the two boys apparently paralysed. They dropped the assegais, stared at each other, and then lay down and howled in the misery of their disappointment.
But this did not last many seconds; for Coffee sprang up and kicked Chicory, who also rose to his feet, and in obedience to a word from his brother they took their assegais and hid them in a tree which formed their armoury—for out of its branches Chicory took the two kiris or clubs; and then the boys ran round to the front, and stood making signs.
The brothers had such a keen love of anything in the way of sport that, expecting something new, they ran out and willingly followed the two young blacks out into the grassy plain about a mile from the house, when after posting their young masters behind a bush, Coffee and Chicory whispered to them to watch, and then began to advance cautiously through the grass, kiri in hand, their eyes glistening as they keenly peered from side to side.
“What are they going to do?” said Dick.
“I don’t know. Show us something. I wish we had brought our guns. Look out!”
There was a whirring of wings, and the two Zulu boys struck attitudes that would have been models for a sculptor; then as a large bird similar to a partridge rose up, Coffee sent his knobbed club whizzing through the air; another bird rose, and Chicory imitated his brother’s act; and the result was, that the cleverly thrown kiris hit the birds, which fell in amongst the long grass, from which they were retrieved by the lads with shouts of triumph—the birds proving to be the coranne, so called from the peculiarity of their cry.
“Well done, boys!” cried Jack. “They’ll be good eating.”
“Boss Dick, Boss Jack take Zulu boys, now?” said the kiri-throwers, eagerly.