Jock of the Bushveld
Jock of the Bushveld is a story set in the rough Bushveld of South Africa's gold mining era. Jock is the faithful dog and companion of a transport rider. Through their adventures we catch a glimpse of those heady gold rush days. Jock, the runt of the litter turns out to be a faithful companion to the end.
This is the original and unabridged version of this South African favourite lovingly restored from the 1907 edition.
from the huts with wild bounds and blood-curdling yells, and the watchers on that side would scatter like chaff and flee for dear life up the mountainside or duck instantly and disappear in the river. Then he would stalk back again and disappear, to repeat the performance on another side a little later on. It was all painfully clear to me. Jim had broken out. We were loaded for Lydenburg – another week’s trekking through and over the mountains – and as we intended coming back the same way a
getting at the heart of things and putting it all in the fewest words. He spoke in the same slow grave way, with habitual economy of breath and words; and yet the pictures were living and real, and each incident complete. I seemed to get from him that morning all there was to know of the hunting in two great continents – Grizzlies and other ‘bar’, Moose and Wapiti, hunted in the snows of the North West; Elephant, Buffalo, Rhino, Lions and scores more, in the sweltering heat of Africa! That was a
was, and of course they never came back. I used to take Jock with me everywhere so that he could learn everything that a hunting dog ought to know, and above all things to learn that he was my dog, and to understand all that I wanted to tell him. So while he was still a puppy, whenever he stopped to sniff at something new or to look at something strange, I would show him what it was; but if he stayed behind to explore while I moved on, or if he fell asleep and did not hear me get up from where I
the flip of a fly tickled ear; but it was a movement where all else was still, and instantly the form of a kudu cow appeared before me as a picture is thrown on a screen by a magic lantern. There it stood within fifty yards, the soft grey and white looking still softer in the shadow of the thorns, but as clear to me – and as still – as a figure carved in stone. The stem of a mimosa hid the shoulders, but all the rest was plainly visible as it stood there utterly unconscious of danger. The tree
against it half-supported by reeds and whined plaintively. To our relief Snowball faced the jump quite readily; indeed the old sinner did it with much less effort and splash than the bigger Tsetse. But then came an extremely unpleasant spell. Snowball got a scare, because Hall in his anxiety to get me out rushed up to him on the warty side to get the reins off; and the old ruffian waltzed around, dragging Hall through the thorns, while Snarleyow and I waited in the water for help. At that