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Abe, the Baboon, and the Tiger

      Abe Pike was one of those men who would walk ten miles to set a trap without a murmur, while he thought himself badly used if he were called upon to hoe a row in the mealie field. So when, for the third time within one week, a calf was killed by a tiger, and our attempts to shoot, poison, or trap the thief had failed, I rode over to Uncle Abe’s to secure his aid.

      “I can’t do it,” he said, when I had stated my business.

      “Too busy?”

      “No; ’taint that, sonny, ’taint that – tho’ there’s a powerful heap o’ work to do on that shed.”

      “I’ll put in a couple of days and help you finish it right off, as soon as the tiger is laid by the heels.”

      “Thank ye kindly; but I’ve got to finish that there shed offun my own bat. It’s a job that wants doin’ keerfly.”

      “Well, Uncle, I’ll plough up your old land by the hoek, and put in two muids of corn. How will that do?”

      “’Twont do, my lad; that land’s full o’ charlock.”

      “Then, Uncle, the day you show me the dead body of that tiger, the red heifer with the white patch on the hump is yours.”

      He heaved a sigh, and knocked the bowl of his pipe on his thumb, but he did not accept the offer, though I knew he admired that heifer.

      “Why, Uncle, what is the matter? You’re not ill?”

      “’Tain’t that, either – not ’xactly – tho’ there’s such a thing as illness o’ the mind.”

      “I’m very sorry,” as I unhitched the bridle and prepared to mount, “for I’ll have to go to Long Sam, and from the hairs I’ve seen I shouldn’t be surprised if this is a black tiger.”

      This was the last shot – Abe Pike had not yet trapped a black tiger, and Long Sam was his rival in bush lore.

      “That settles it,” he said, with a groan.

      “Come along then,” I said, with a smile at my success in breaking through his obstinacy.

      Abe rose up and laid his gnarled hand on the mane of the horse. “’Tis the same one,” he muttered, “the same one, sure.”

      “Why, of course; you know the old horse, Black Dick.”

      “Black Nick,” he said slowly, and, drawing his hand across his forehead; “my boy, you’ll never trap that animile; he’s a witch tiger.”

      “A witch tiger?”

      “That’s so: he’s given a lodging to some ole Kaffir. Abe Pike ain’t going arter any black tigers, not he.”

      “What are you driving at now, you old buffer?”

      “Buffer, is it; well – well – buffer – oh, yes, of course; an’ me that has passed through sich a three weeks as ud have scared many another into his grave.”

      I felt remorse at the thought that for three weeks I had not called on the lonely old man, and concluded that he was paying me out for this neglect.

      “I am very sorry,” I said eagerly, “I have not been over; but the truth is the work has been very heavy. It must have been very lonely.”

      “I’ve had kempany.”

      “Oh, I see; and perhaps they’ve engaged your services?”

      “That’s it. On ’count o’ ’em that’s been callin’ here I can’t go catching any black tigers.”

      “I should like to know who it is has set you against doing a service for a neighbour?”

      “There’s kempany an’ kempany. This yer kempany ud turn your hair white.”

      “Ah!” I said, sniffing a story.

      “Yes, ’twould that. There were some baboons away over by the big kloof. A family party – ole man, wives, middle-aged, an’ pickaninnies. They came there for the Kaffir plum crop, an’ were mighty lively, not to say noisy, three weeks ago, when they began to drop. I yeared ’em dropping off.”

      “Off the trees?”

      “No; offun this mortal spear. As they dropped off in the dark, the others howled an’ whooped like mad. It was a tiger that did the droppin’.”

      “A tiger?”

      “You hold on to him. At last the ole man were left alone, an’ he had a mighty anxious time looking all around at onct, while he hunted for grubs for fear the enemy ’ud spring on him. He used to come over yonder in the lands for kempany. I’ve sot here on the door-step an’ he sot over there, glaring at me from his little grey eyes. Arter a time we got to know each other, an’ I found out he went to sleep on the roof alongside the chimney.”

      “He was the company?”

      “One on ’em. An’ seein’ him about reminded me o’ the Kaffir plums, so one mornin’ I took up the can an’ went away off to the big kloof where the plums are red an’ juicy. Well – my boy – that ole man baboon, he up an’ come along with me, an’ when he found I were goin’ to the kloof he jabbered most like a human. I could see he were excited – anybody could a seen that – an’ I sot down on a rock to argy the point with him. He wouldn’t argy, but he started back for the house. Well, you know me, when Abe Pike sots out to do a thing he does it, an’ arter I had smoked two pipes, I resoomed my way, jest as unconcarned as you are, for all the plain meanin’ o’ the baboon that I should go away home. When he saw that I were sot on it he came along at a canter, with his hind-quarters slewed round an’ the hair all standing up on his neck. He looked ugly, but ’xcept he lifted his eyebrows very quick, he said nothin’, and went along very quiet, with the same anxious look on his face I had noticed prev’ous. As I went into the kloof he swung into the trees, an’ kept along overhead. When we came to the thick o’ the wood, he going along all the time scarcely moving a leaf, he made a soft noise, an’ looking up I saw him bobbing his head up an’ down to make you giddy. I know by that he saw somethin’, an’ I jes’ slipped behind a tree to take stock. I yeerd a yawn, an’ what d’ye think I see thro’ the leaves stretched out on a rock, not twenty foot away?”

      “A black fellow?”

      “Yes; a black feller, with four legs an’ a tail, an’ a red mouth all agape, wide enough to take in my head, hat an’ all.”

      “A black tiger?”

      “Yes; an’ me with only a tin can. I jes’ sank down inter my boots. All o’ a sudden his jaws come to with a snap. Then he riz his head and stired straight fer me, his eyes gitting flamier as he looked, an’ his tail all on the jerk. He moved his round head about, then shot out his neck an’ growled in his stummik as he peered under the leaves. Just then that baboon let out a ‘baugh – baugh – bok-hem,’ an’ dropped down beyond the tiger. There were a roar, a leap, a scramble, an’ Abe Pike were shooting on his tracks for the open veld. He didn’t stop running till he got home – he didn’t – not me.”

      “And the baboon? He wasn’t killed, was he?”

      “You wait – jes’ you wait. Before you get the end o’ the journey you’ve got to pass the half-way house. This is a solitary place – this mansion – and beyond the ole Gaika-Bolo I have no visitors – an’ he only when he’s doctorin’ the Kaffirs down these parts. So that night, when there were a tap at the door, I were skeered a little from the shake I got when I saw that black critter staring at me with them wicked eyes of hisn. ‘Come in!’ I sed, an’ the tap came agin, soft an’ gentle, like as if a child or a woman were standin’ there – timid – tho’ it’s many a year since a female brushed the door-post with her dress – a many years, my lad.”

      “Yes, Uncle; who was it?”

      “‘Come in!’ I sed, laying hold o’ a piece of wood. ‘Jes’ pull the string,’ I sed. Believe me, the string were pulled – the upper half o’ the door swung

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