Diamond Dyke. George Manville Fenn
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.
“I had better shoot the bird, Dyke,” said Emson.
“No, no; don’t. Let’s have a try to save it. Perhaps when it finds that we want to do it good, it will lie quiet.”
“No,” said Emson; “it will take it as meant for war.”
“Well, let’s try,” said Dyke.—“Here, Breezy: stable.”
The cob walked slowly away toward its shed, and the other horse followed, while Dyke hurriedly fetched a couple of pieces of rope, formed of twisted antelope skin.
“What do you propose doing?” said Emson.
“All run in together, and tie his neck to one wing; then he’ll be helpless, and we can tie his thighs together. You can set the leg then.”
“Well, I’ll try,” said Emson. “Wait till I’ve cut a couple of pieces of wood for splints. What can I get?”
“Bit of box-lid,” replied Dyke; and in a few minutes Emson returned, bearing in addition a flat roll of stout webbing, such as is used by upholsterers, and by the poor emigrants to lace together across a frame, and form the beds upon which they stretch their weary bones at night.
“I think I can set it, and secure it,” said Emson.
“Why, of course you can.”
“Yes, but as soon as it’s done, the poor brute will kick it off. Now then, how about tying him?”
“Rush him,” said Dyke laconically. “Come along, Jack, and help.”
But the Kaffir shook his head rapidly.
“Why, hullo! You won’t back out, Jack?”
“No. Him kick, bite: no good.”
“Never you mind that,” cried Dyke. “You rush in with us, and hold his head, while we take his legs and wings. Do you understand?”
“No,” said the Kaffir, shaking his head. “Killum—killum!” and he made a gesture as if striking with a club.
“Not going to kill,” cried Dyke. “You rush in and hold the head. Do you understand?”
“No,” said the Kaffir.
“He won’t,” cried Emson. “We shall have to do it ourselves, Dyke. Make a noose and lasso the brute’s head. Then when I run in to seize the leg, you drag the neck tight down to the wing, and hold it there.”
Dyke nodded, made a noose at the end of his hide rope, and advanced gently toward the ostrich, which struck at him, but only to dart its head through the loop; and this was drawn tight.
“Now, Joe, ready?” cried the boy, as the dog set up a furious barking, and joined in the rush that was made by the brothers, who succeeded in pinning down the bird. Emson holding the legs, while avoiding a buffet from the uppermost wing, Dyke slipped the rope round the bone, dragged down the head, and after a furious struggle, the bird lay still.
“Think you can manage now?” panted Dyke, who was hot from exertion.
“Yes; I’ll tie his legs together, after setting the broken one. It’s the only chance for him.”
“Yes; it’s all right,” cried Dyke; “he’s getting weaker, and giving in.”
“Seems like it,” said his brother sarcastically, for as the boy spoke, the great bird began to beat with its wings with terrific violence, keeping it up for fully five minutes, and giving the pair a hard task to hold it down, while the Kaffir looked on calmly enough, and the dog kept on charging in, as if eager to seize one of the legs, and hold it still.
“Well, there then, he is giving in now,” panted Dyke, who had been compelled to put forth all his strength to keep from being thrown off by the violent buffeting of the bird’s wings. “Look sharp, and get it done.”
Dyke got one hand at liberty now to wipe the feather-down from his face, where the perspiration made it adhere, and as he looked up, he could not refrain from laughing aloud at the row of comical flat heads peering over the wire fence, where the ostriches in the pen were gathered together to look on.
“Yes,” said Emson gravely; “he is giving in now, poor brute. He’ll never hunt the young cocks round the enclosure again.”
“And they know it, too,” cried Dyke. “Look at them wagging their silly old heads and trying to look cunning.—But hullo why don’t you go on?”
“Can’t you see?” said Emson. “The horse’s hoofs must have struck him in the side as well. The poor old goblin is dead.”
Dyke leaped to his feet in dismay, and stared sceptically from his brother to the bird, and back again and again.
It was true enough: the great bird, which so short a time ago was seeming to spin with such wonderful speed across the veldt that its legs were nearly invisible, now lay on its side, with the stilt-like members perfectly still, one being stretched out to its full length, the other in a peculiar double angle, through the broken bone making a fresh joint.
“Oh, the poor old goblin!” said the boy, hurriedly unloosening the rein which held down its head. “I didn’t choke it, did I? No: look, the loop was quite big.”
“No; the ribs are crushed in,” said Emson, feeling beneath the beautiful plumage. “Another loss, Dyke. We shall find out all his good qualities now.”
“Breezy kick and killum,” said the Kaffir sententiously. “Bird kick, horse kick; killum—shouldn’t kick.”
“Here, you go back to your kraal, and set up for a wise man of the south,” cried Dyke pettishly. “How long did it take you to find out all that?” “Yes, killum dead,” said the Kaffir, nodding. “Bosh!” cried Dyke, turning impatiently away. “Well, we must make the best of it,” said Emson then. “His feathers will be worth something, for they are in fine condition. Let’s get them off at once.”
The heat of the sun was forgotten, and so was Dyke’s want of energy, for he set to work manfully, helping his brother to cut off the abundant plumes, tying them up in loose bundles with the quill ends level, that they might dry, and carefully carrying them into the room used for storing feathers, eggs, and such curiosities as were collected from time to time; Dyke having displayed a hobby for bringing home stones, crystals, birds’ eggs, and any attractive piece of ore, that he found during his travels. These were ranged in an old case, standing upright against the corrugated iron wall, where, a few