You Have Only To Watch One Flicking Flies Off His Nose
With His Toe To Be Convinced Of That Little
Point of natural history.
Before many weeks "on season" a bull becomes so thin and miserable, that
it is hardly
Credible that he can carry a burden of nearly twice the usual
weight; nevertheless it is a fact. I remember a caravan of "season camels"
arriving at Lake Darlot, carrying an average load of nine hundred pounds,
exclusive of the saddle. The extra load that they carry hardly compensates
for the trouble of looking after them, for when in that state they fight
like tigers, especially if they have not been long together. Once,
however, the bulls become friendly, they only fight in a more or less
half-hearted way amongst themselves; but woe betide any alien who finds
himself near them - they will then band themselves together and fall upon
that stranger until even his master would not recognise him. There is no
fun attached to travelling along a much-frequented track, on which mobs
of twenty to fifty camels may be met with; and there is no sleep to be got
at night, for if, following the practice of most white men, a man ties
down his camels at night, he may be certain that they will be attacked,
and from their defenceless position, perhaps seriously injured or killed
by the loose camels of some Afghan, who has neither the energy nor sense
of fair-play to restrain the bulls under his charge.
In this troublesome state were our camels, and poor Breaden, being a
stranger to them, was treated with neither politeness nor respect;
Kruger, especially, being so exceedingly ill-behaved as not only to knock
Breaden down, but to attempt to kneel on his chest and crush him.
This disaster was narrowly averted by the prompt action of Warri, who
first dragged his master out of danger, and then chastised Kruger with a
heavy stick, across the head and neck. Kruger was equally rough to his
fellows, for as in a pioneering party, so in a mob of bull camels, there
must be only one boss.
This knotty point was fought out with bitter vehemence, Czar, Shiddi,
and Misery being vanquished in turn by the redoubtable Kruger. The others
knew their places without fighting; for old Billy, the only one of them
not too young to compete, was far too good-tempered and easy-going to
dispute anything (except the passage of a salt-lake, as we afterwards
discovered). I was naturally sorry to see Misery deposed; but for his age
he fought a good fight, and it was gratifying to possess the champion who
could beat him. What a magnificent fellow was Kruger - a very tower of
strength, and (excepting of course when in the state above described)
with a nature like that of an old pet sheep.
In the meantime I was under the sheltering roof of my old foster-mother
"Bayley's Reward Claim" - the guest of Tom and Gerald Browne.
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