The Settler and the Savage by R. M. Ballantyne (universal ebook reader txt) 📖

One fine morning early, high up among the krantzes and dark jungles of a kloot or mountain gorge, which branched off from Glen Lynden, a noble specimen of an African savage awoke from his night’s repose and stretched himself.

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.

When dressed—which was soon done, as he omitted washing—Junkie began to consider what he had best do. Mischief, of course, but of what sort? That was the question.

His room was on the ground floor, and had a lattice window which opened like a door into the back premises. He pushed the window and found that it opened. What a chance! Mrs Scholtz was still asleep, and snoring. Absence without leave was his chief delight. In two minutes he was deep in the jungle, panting. Knowing from long and bitter experience that he would be pursued by the inveterate Mrs Scholtz, the urchin ran up the kloof, bent on placing the greatest possible space between him and his natural enemy in the shortest possible time. In this way he was not long of drawing near to the leopard’s point of observation.

No doubt that keen-sighted animal would quickly have observed the child, if its attention had not at the moment been attracted by other and equally mischievous game. A troop of baboons came down the kloof to pilfer the white man’s fruit and vegetables. They had evidently risen late for breakfast, and were in a hurry to reach their breakfast parlour before the white man should awake. There were a dozen or so of females, several huge males, and quite a crowd of children of various ages, besides one or two infants clinging to their mothers’ waists.

It was pitiful to see the sad anxious faces of these infants. Perhaps they knew their parents’ errand and disapproved of it. More probably they felt their own weakness of frame, and dreaded the shocks sustained when their heedless mothers bounded from rock or stump like balls of india-rubber. They were extremely careless mothers. Even Junkie, as he stood paralysed with terror and surprise, could not avoid seeing that. The troop was led by a great blue-faced old-man baboon with a remarkably saturnine expression. On reaching the top of the rock which the leopard had just vacated, the old man called a halt. The others came tumbling awkwardly towards him on all-fours, with the exception of several of the youngsters, who loitered behind to play. One of these, a very small bad little boy-baboon, deliberately turned aside to explore on his own account. He came down near to the foot of the rock where the leopard had concealed himself. Catching sight of his glaring enemy, the bad boy uttered a terrified squawk. Instantly all the males, headed by the old man, rushed to the rescue. Powerful though he was, the leopard was cowardly at heart. A large troop of baboons had some time ago made mince-meat of his own grandmother. Remembering this, he sloped under a bank, glided round a corner of the cliff, bounded over a bush, and sought refuge in a thicket.

It was at this moment, while in the act of bounding, that he caught sight of Junkie, but being confused at the moment, and ashamed of having been twice foiled, he slunk away with his tail between his legs and concealed himself among the branches of an old gnarled and favourite tree.

The bad boy-baboon was the only one who had seen the leopard; the old males therefore had to content themselves with a few fierce looks round in all directions, and several defiant roars. Born and bred in the midst of alarms, however, they were soon composed enough to resume their descent on the white man’s stores—to the great relief of the petrified Junkie, of whom in their alarm they took no notice, regarding him, possibly, as a badly executed statue of a baboon.

Junkie quickly recovered himself, and, seeing the baboons descend the kloof, thought it safer, as well as more in accord with his original plans, to ascend.

Gladly, hopefully, did the leopard observe his decision and watch his progress. To him the tide of fortune seemed to have taken a favourable turn, for Junkie, in the innocence of his heart, made straight for the gnarled tree.

But one of the many slips so often quoted with reference to cups and lips was at this time impending over the unfortunate leopard.

There was yet one other early riser that morning—namely Booby the Bushman. In pursuance of his calling, that ill-used and misguided son of the soil arose about daybreak with much of his native soil sticking to his person, and, with a few other desperadoes like himself, made a descent on Glen Lynden—not, by any means, the first that his fraternity had made. Not so bloodthirsty as the leopard, quite as mischievous as Junkie, and much more cunning than the baboons, Booby chanced to arrive at the gorge already mentioned just at the time when Junkie was approaching it. There was, if you will, somewhat of a coincidence here in regard to time, but there was no coincidence in the fact of such characters selecting the same route, because whoever passed up or down that kloof must needs go by the gorge.

Slowly Junkie picked his way up the ragged path towards the gnarled tree.