Thứ Bảy, 24 tháng 8, 2013


CHAPTER I

THE EPISODE OF THE WHITE DOG.

The buck is running for dear life.
The dog is some fifty yards behind the buck. The Kafir is about the same distance behind the dog, which
distance he is striving right manfully to maintain; not so unsuccessfully, either, considering that he is pitting
the speed of two legs against that of eight.
Down the long grass slope they course--buck, dog, and savage. The former, a game little antelope of the
steinbok species, takes the ground in a series of long, flying leaps, his white tail whisking like a flag of
defiance. The second, a tawny, black-muzzled grey-hound, stretching his snaky length in the wake of his
quarry, utters no sound, as with arrow-like velocity he holds on his course, his cruel eyes gleaming, his jaws
dripping saliva in pleasurable anticipation of the coming feast. The third, a fine, well-knit young Kafir, his
naked body glistening from head to foot with red ochre, urges on his hound with an occasional shrill whoop of encouragement, as he covers the ground at a surprising pace in his free, bounding stride. He holds a
knob-kerrie in his hand, ready for use as soon as the quarry shall be within hurling distance.

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