08 Safari Adventure Page 6

  As he walked towards the trucks, she struggled fiercely, looking back at her fawn.

  Crosby went back and took up what was left of the fawn. He carried it just ahead of Roger, and the mother Tommy was now satisfied and struggled no more. Her tired little head sank on Roger’s shoulder. Her heart that had been beating violently against his chest slowed down and then stopped. Tommy had gone to the Tommy paradise, if there is one. At least the friend of man was beyond the reach of unfriendly man and his cruel traps.

  Roger took a shovel from the truck and dug a shallow grave for the gallant little gazelle and her fawn. Then he set out to rejoin the warden who had already gone back to the trap-line.

  Chapter 10

  Roger’s cheetah

  The ground suddenly gave way beneath him.

  He was falling. He clutched at bushes and grass but he kept on falling. It seemed he would never stop.

  But Roger did stop, with a hard jolt, as he landed on the bottom some twenty feet below the surface.

  He scolded himself. ‘How stupid can you get?’ He had been told to watch out for elephant pits. Now he had walked straight into one.

  It was very dark. At first he could see nothing. Gradually he could make out the details of his prison.

  It was large enough for the biggest of elephants. The walls were straight up and down. The roof was of brush, criss-crossed, and sprinkled with earth so that it would look solid enough to fool an elephant - or a careless boy.

  He bumped against something hard. He examined it. It seemed to be a wooden stake driven firmly into the ground and standing five or six feet high. His fingers ran up the length of it and came to a sharp point at the end.

  A sticky something came off on his fingers. He looked at it, and then shivered. In the dim light he could see that the stuff was dark brown. It was Aco, the deadly poison the poachers used on the arrows.

  He wiped his fingers on his trousers, hoping there were no scratches on his skin that would admit the poison to his system.

  Now he could see that there were four such stakes in the centre of the pit. An elephant falling into the hole would be bound to land on them and they would mean his death. But before he died he would be in terrible pain. On so big a body the poison would not act quickly, so he might suffer for hours, even for days.

  It was hard to believe that any men, even if they were poachers, could be so cruel. Most Africans were not brutal. He suspected that this pit of agony had been planned by the white man with the black beard.

  Roger thought: Glad I’m not an elephant. I ‘d be on those stakes right now. Being considerably smaller than an elephant, he had fallen beside them, not on them.

  A low snarl came from the darkest corner of the pit. Roger froze. It was bad enough to be in the pit alone -worse to be in it with the wrong kind of company. He thought of Daniel in the lions’ den. But he didn’t feel like a Daniel. He couldn’t make friends with a lion that must already be furious at finding itself caught in such a trap.

  Roger almost wished the lion had landed on a stake.

  But he repented of this thought immediately, for he wouldn’t want his worst enemy to suffer that kind of death.

  The beast stirred in its corner, still growling. Roger could see it a little more clearly. It was no lion. It was something much worse.

  It was smaller than a lion, but more dangerous. He could see spots on its coat. It must be a leopard, and leopards were far more irritable than lions. Roger backed into the corner farthest removed from the angry beast.

  Still the animal growled or snarled, but it didn’t quite sound like a snarl or a growl. It reminded him of a cement mixer, or one of those chain saws the lumberjacks use in the Minnesota woods.

  In fact it was very much like the purr of a house cat, only a hundred times as strong. As if puss were purring into a loud-speaker. Roger found it terrifying.

  His uneasiness increased when he saw that the beast was coming towards him. Its big round golden eyes glowed as if they were lit from the inside. It didn’t crouch like a leopard. It stood so high from the ground that it seemed to be walking on stilts. It had a bristling moustache and the hair on the back of its neck and shoulders stood up straight like that of a dog or cat that is angry or afraid. Two black lines running from the eyes to the corners of the mouth made it look more savage.

  Roger rubbed his eyes. Was it really there? He wondered if his nerves were still upset by his experience with the leopard the night before.

  Now a little more light fell on the beast. It was real, but the craziest leopard he had ever seen. It was so high from the ground, and behind it, switching to and fro, was a bushy tail a yard long ending in three black rings and a white tuft of hair.

  Those spots - they weren’t leopard’s spots. Instead of uneven rings with light centres, these spots were round and solid black. Suddenly he remembered he had seen pictures of this thing and had read about it. It was sometimes called a ‘hunting leopard’ - but it was no leopard. It was a cheetah.

  The cheetah is a dog-cat. It is like a cat and like a dog and not quite like either. No dog, not even the Great Dane, has such long legs. No dog can run so fast.

  In fact, nothing on four legs can beat it. The cheetah has been timed at seventy miles per hour. A Tommy gazelle can go thirty-seven, a Grant gazelle thirty-five, a zebra thirty, an ostrich twenty-nine, an elephant twenty-five, and a rhino has to stretch himself to do twenty. A cheetah quickly tires, but by that time he has caught what he is after.

  And that buzz saw - it was really a purr. It was a purr to end all purrs. It made as much noise as a truck going uphill. But whether the truck-like purr was friendly or unfriendly, Roger still could not be sure.

  The motor stopped and so did the cheetah. He cocked his head to one side and his blazing eyes seemed to look straight through the boy. Then an amazing sound came from his throat. You might have expected to hear the bark of a dog. But instead this was an ear-splitting ‘miaow’! It was followed by a few little bird-like chirps. To make them the cheetah puckered his lips as if about to whistle.

  The dog-cat-bird seemed to be asking a question. Roger didn’t know how to answer. Should he yell at the top of his lungs to scare the beast away? Should he’ growl like an angry lion? The cheetah was probably afraid of elephants - should he scream like a charging elephant? He would have liked to run, but there was no place to run to. He had shrunk back into a corner of the pit as far as he could go and he had no weapon to defend himself if the animal attacked - except the wire cutters. But whoever heard of fighting a savage beast with wire cutters? Still, they might do a good deal of damage. If the cheetah made a lunge at him, he might perhaps snip off that black nose, or plunge the cutters into an eye. The eye and the nose of any animal were particularly sensitive.

  But what a pity it would be to spoil that handsome, savage face! Those wonderful golden eyes with sweeping eyelashes as long as the giraffe’s, who could think of putting out for ever the light that shone in them?

  Well then, there was only one thing left. Give the cheetah a polite answer to his question.

  Roger tried to purr. It wasn’t much of a success. It sounded more like a gargle. Perhaps he would do better with a chirp. He puckered his lips, but all he got was a whistle instead of a chirp. He said, ‘Chirp, chirp,’ but that was a failure too - it didn’t sound a bit like the actual chirp of either a cheetah or a bird.

  How about a miaow? It would have to be a super-miaow, as loud as the cheetah’s. He put all his lung power into it. It was truly a noble performance, as miaows go, but it only made the cheetah cock his head to the other side and look puzzled as if trying very hard to understand this crazy two-legged creature.

  Roger gave up the cheetah language and decided to try his own. He spoke in a low tone as he would to a pussycat.

  ‘Here puss, here puss,’ he said softly with a smile in his voice. ‘Nice kitty, pretty kitty. Or if you prefer to be a dog, come Fido, here Fido.’

  The tone of his voice did t
he trick. With one bound, the cheetah reached him, jumped up on him like a dog, punched his fore-paws into his chest and jammed him tightly back into the corner. The super-dog’s head towered above his own and the open jaws with their great jagged teeth were within an inch of his forehead. His lungs were pushed in by the animal’s weight. He gasped for breath,

  His arms were free and he could have punched the beast or struggled to get away. Something told him that it was better to stand still and let Nature take its course. He had to admit to himself that he was terrified. The hair stood up on his neck as it had on the cheetah’s. Prickles ran down his backbone.

  Two gold lamps were peering through his head like X-rays. The beast lowered its head and opened its jaws wide. Roger had never looked anybody or anything in the teeth at such close range. It seemed to him those canines were as big as a hippo’s. They appeared to be about to do to him what he had thought of doing to the cheetah - bite off his nose. The animal’s hot breath flooded his face.

  Then it came - the long tongue licking his cheeks, dog fashion. But unlike a dog’s tongue, this one was quite evidently made of coarse sandpaper. It would take the skin off his face in no time.

  ‘Now, Fido,’ he said, trying to keep his trembling voice low and calm. ‘Down, Fido, down.’ He slowly raised his hand and scratched the animal’s neck. Dogs liked that and so did cats. He wasn’t so sure about birds.

  The cheetah turned its head and seized his wrist in its jaws. Those terrible teeth could cut off his hand as easily as they could crush a rabbit. But he did not pull away. And the cheetah did not bite. The rascal was acting exactly like a dog that wants to play.

  Roger put up his other hand and rubbed the beast behind the ears. The cheetah dropped the wrist and made a lightning change from dog into cat. It turned on its cement mixer. It rubbed its head against Roger’s and its purr sent vibrations through his whole body.

  Then it jumped down and went bounding about, chirping with pleasure. Its legs appeared to be made of steel springs. It could leap ten feet high with ease. Roger was anxious lest in one of its jumps it should come down on a poisoned stake. But every time it came down near a stake it skilfully twisted its body so as to avoid it. Then it would dash up to Roger and bunt him - and since it weighed more than he did, the bunt was nearly hard enough to knock him off his feet.

  When he had had enough bunts he tried to give the playful animal something else to do. He pulled a root out of the earth wall and tossed it to the other end of the pit. The cheetah was after it in a flash. Roger thought he had never seen anything move so fast. The animal picked up the stick and raced back with it and laid it down at Roger’s feet. Then it looked up at him, ears erect, eyes full of fun.

  “That’s a good dog,’ Roger said. ‘Nice pussy.’

  He began to see why the animal was called a ‘hunting leopard’. It could very easily be trained to hunt game like a hound… Perhaps it would even hunt poachers - like a bloodhound.

  Chapter 11

  Mischief

  Roger heard voices.

  “Where can that kid be?’

  ‘When I left him he was digging a grave.’

  ‘Where was that?’

  ‘Near the supply van. But he’s not there now.’

  ‘Do you suppose he could have fallen into one of these pits?’

  ‘Let’s hope not. If he fell on the stakes he’d be dead by this time.’

  Roger recognized the voices - Hal and the warden were looking for him.

  He didn’t want to be rescued. He had been having so much fun with the cheetah that he hadn’t bothered to think how he was going to get out of this pit He just wanted to go on playing with his new pet.

  ‘Roger - are you there?’ Hal was peering down through the brush. Roger heard him say to Crosby, 1 can’t see a thing - it’s so dark down there. But I thought I heard something move.’

  He sounded so distressed that Roger took pity on him. He couldn’t let his loving brother worry. He was just about to call back when he heard Hal say, ‘It would be just like the stupid little runt to fall into one of these things.’

  Just for that, thought Roger, I’ll let you worry a little longer, you big clown. I don’t need you. When I am good and ready I can get out of here all by myself.

  He ran his hand over the wall of the pit, hunting for roots that would help him climb to the top. He found nothing that would bear his weight.

  He heard Hal and the warden moving away. Sudden panic seized him. ‘Hal!’ he called.

  ‘Did you hear anything?’ he heard Hal say.

  ‘Not a thing.’

  ‘Just a moment.’ Crunch, crunch - Hal’s footsteps as he returned through the brush. Then his voice, ‘Roger!’

  ‘What can I do for you?’ inquired Roger with mock politeness.

  ‘You son of a gun! What a scare you gave us! Are you on a stake?’

  The cheetah chose this moment to miaow. It sounded like a cry of pain.

  ‘The poor kid is on a stake. We’ve got to do something fast. I’ll get a rope.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s too late,’ Crosby said. ‘That poison works fast.’

  But Hal was already on the run to the supply van. He returned at once.

  ‘I’m going to let this rope down to you. Do you have enough strength left to tie it round yourself?’

  ‘I’ll try,’ said Roger as weakly as possible.

  Down came the end of the rope. A sudden mischievous idea struck Roger and he almost laughed

  aloud. He put the rope round the cheetah’s body just behind the front legs and tied it.

  ‘All right,’ he called.

  The rope tightened. ‘WoW, he’s heavy,’ Hal said.

  “The stake is holding him. We’ll have to pull harder to get him off it. Now, both together.’

  Up went the cheetah. For him this was a new style travel and he didn’t like it much. He snarled, and it was a real snarl this time, not a purr. It was an angry, growling, spitting cat whose head came up through the hole in the faces of the rescuers. They almost let him drop again, so great was their surprise. The cheetah scrambled out on to solid ground, showing an excellent set of savage teeth.

  ‘A leopard!’ cried Hal. Then he saw his mistake. ‘No, a cheetah,’

  Then he heard Roger’s laugh, clear and strong. It was too hearty a laugh to come from anybody with a stake through his midriff.

  Hal and the warden looked at each other grimly. ‘You young devil!’ Hal called. ‘Wait till I get you out of there.’

  That sounded like trouble. Roger was tempted to stay down until Hal cooled off. But how about the cheetah? Perhaps it would run away. He didn’t want to lose it.

  He needn’t have been afraid of that His new friend came back to the edge of the pit and looked down, whining. It danced about, showing every sign of pleasure when Roger was drawn up to the surface.

  If Roger expected to be greeted like a prodigal son and have his big brother weep on one of his shoulders and the warden on the other, he was disappointed.

  ‘Bend him over,’ said Hal. ‘Let me get a crack at him.’

  The warden seized the young rascal behind the shoulders and bent him double over his knee. Hal spanked until his hand ached. He was stopped only by a sharp bite behind and a tearing sound as the cheetah laid open the seat of his trousers.

  Then the three men sat down on the ground and laughed while the cheetah, seeing that things had changed for the better, pranced joyfully around them.

  ‘He seems to have taken quite a liking to you,’ said Crosby. ‘It’s lucky you got him before the poachers did. That gorgeous hide would be worth a couple of thousand dollars in New York. Cheetah coats are even more fashionable just now than coats of leopard skin.’

  ‘Nobody’s going to wear his coat,’ said Roger, ‘except himself. I’m going to keep him for hunting.’

  ‘He’ll make a wonderful hunter. A cheetah has a poor sense of smell, but marvellous eyesight - and he can go like the wind. He’s easily t
rained - if he likes you. Never whip him. Never even scold him. He gets his feelings hurt very easily and then you can do nothing with him. Treat him well and he’ll treat you well. He’s nothing like a leopard - a leopard may become cross as it grows older, a cheetah doesn’t. He’s as faithful as a dog. You see, he’s used to men - it’s something that has grown into his nature because he has worked with men for more than four thousand years.’

  ‘Four thousand years?’

  ‘At least as long as that. On ancient Egyptian monuments you see pictures of men using cheetahs for hunting. Even today in Egypt cheetahs are used as watchdogs. Indian rajahs put a hood over the cheetah’s eyes just as a falconer blindfolds a hawk. They take a hooded cheetah with them on the hunt. As long as the hood is on, the cheetah is quiet. When they come within sight of wild game, they take off the hood. The cheetah looks round, sees the prey, and goes after it like a bullet. When it catches up with the animal, it gives it one pat on the side. It looks like a very little touch, but it’s enough to knock the animal flat. Then the cheetah picks it up, even if it is a good-sized antelope, and carries it back to the hunter. It still hangs on to its prey. I bet you can’t guess how they make the cheetah drop it.’

  ‘By saying “Drop it”?’

  ‘It might not understand that order. But there’s something it does understand. Gently pinch its nose. That shuts off its breathing and it will drop whatever is in its mouth.’

  ‘Is it any good for catching poachers?’

  ‘As good as any ranger. Better than a ranger - because it has better teeth. And gets over the ground three times as fast. We’ll try it on the next poacher we see.’

  Chapter 12

  Rescue

  The safari men set free all the animals that were still alive, and strong enough to stay alive.

  The seriously injured were placed in the lorries to be taken to the hospital. Those nearly dead of starvation and thirst were given food and water at once.