The Settler and the Savage

by R. M. Ballantyne

He had spent the night among the lower branches of a mimosa-bush, the opening into which was so small that it was a wonder how his large body could have squeezed through it. Indeed, it would have been quite impossible for him to have gained the shelter of that dark retreat if he had not possessed a lithe supple frame and four powerful legs furnished with tremendous claws.

We should have mentioned, perhaps, that our noble savage was a magnificent leopard—or Cape “tiger.”

As he stretched himself he laid back his head, shut his eyes, and yawned, by which act he displayed a tremendous collection of canines and grinders, with a pink throat of great capacity. The yawn ended in a gasp, and then he raised his head and looked quietly about him, gently patting the ground with his tail, as a man might pat his bedclothes while considering what to do next. Not unlike man, he lay down at full length and tried to go to sleep again, but it would not do. He had evidently had his full allowance, and therefore got up and stretched himself again in a standing position. In this act, bending his deep chest to the ground, he uttered a low gurr of savage satisfaction, sank his claws into the soil, and gently tore a number of tough roots into shreds. Sundry little creatures of various kinds in the neighbourhood, hearing the gurr, presented their tails to the sky and dived into their little holes with incredible rapidity.

The leopard now shook off dull sloth, and, lashing his sides in a penitential manner with his tail, glided through the opening in the mimosa-bush, bounded into the branches of a neighbouring tree, ran nimbly out to the end of one of them, and leaping with a magnificent spring over a gully, alighted softly on the turf at the other side. Trotting calmly into an open space, he stopped to take a survey of surrounding nature.

Breakfast now naturally suggested itself. At least we may suppose so from a certain eager look which suddenly kindled in the leopard’s eye, and a wrinkling of his nose as a bird flitted close over his head. At that moment a species of rabbit, or cony, chanced to hop round the corner of a rock. The lightning-flash is not quicker than the spring with which the Cape-tiger traversed the twenty feet between himself and his prey.

The result was very effectual as regarded the cony, but it was not much to gurr about in the way of breakfast. It was a mere whet to the appetite, which increased the desire for more.

Advancing down the kloof with that stealthy gliding motion peculiar to the feline race, the leopard soon came in sight of a fine bushbok, whose sleek sides drew from him an irrepressible snicker of delight. But the bushbok was not within spring-range. He was at the foot of a low precipice. Creeping to the top of this with great caution the leopard looked over with a view to estimate distance. It was yet too far for a spring, so he turned at once to seek a better way of approach. In doing so he touched a small stone, which rolled over the krantz, bounded from crag to cliff, and, carrying several other stones larger than itself along with it, dashed itself at the very feet of the bushbok, which wisely took to its heels and went off like the wind.

Sulky beyond all conception, the leopard continued to descend the kloof until he reached a narrow pass from which were visible, not far off, the abodes of men. Here he paused and couched in quiet contemplation.

Now there was another early waking on that fine morning, though not quite so early as the one just described. Master Junkie Brook, lying in a packing-box, which served as an extempore crib, in the cottage of Kenneth McTavish, opened his large round eyes and rubbed them. Getting up, he observed that Mrs Scholtz was sound asleep, and quietly dressed himself. He was a precocious child, and had learned to dress without assistance. The lesson was more easily learned than beings living in civilised lands might suppose, owing to the fact that he had only two garments—a large leather jacket and a pair of leather trousers, one huge button in front, and one behind, holding the latter securely to the former. A pair of veltschoen and a fur cap completed a costume which had been manufactured by the joint efforts of his mother and sister and Mrs Scholtz. The husband of the last, on seeing it for the first time, remarked that it “vas more like me garb of a man of dirty zan a boy of dree.” The garb had been made of such tough material that it seemed impossible to wear it out, and of such an extremely easy fit that although the child had now lived in it upwards of two years there were not more than six patches on it anywhere.

How Junkie got to the Baviaans River may perhaps perplex the reader. It is easily explained. Hans had invited all or any of the Brook family to visit his father’s farm on the karroo. Gertie catching a cold, or in some other way becoming feeble, wanted a change of air. Her father, recalling the invitation, and happening to know that Hans was in Grahamstown at the time, drove her over with Mrs Scholtz and Junkie to make the thing proper, and offered a visit of all three. You may be sure Hans did not refuse to take them to his home in his new cart. After spending some time there Mrs Scholtz took a fancy that she would like to go with Hans on one of his frequent excursions to Glen Lynden, but she would not leave Junkie behind. Hans objected to Junkie at first, but finally gave in, and thus the little hero found his way to the River of Baboons.