A BOBBERY PACK 49 



" meet," which important fixture, by-the-bye, was to 

 take place at a certain small hostelry standing near the 

 banks of the river a couple of mornings later at the early 

 hour of five o'clock a.m. 



Bidding the worthy merchant in horse-flesh " Good- 

 evening," we started off for the Dogs' Home. It was 

 past ten o'clock when we arrived there. Ten minutes 

 later we were being towed up the principal streets of 

 the town in the wake of a spotted-weasel-bodied Kafir 

 hund and a powerful half-bred Airedale terrier, which 

 subsequently proved himself to be the best of the pack. 



" We'll call this a night's work, D , for I'm about tired 



of dog catching for one evening," said Jack, as we dis- 

 cussed a long schooner of iced laager before setting out 

 homewards. The idea of calling it a night's work appealed 

 to me amazingly, for I had become heartily sick of the 

 very sight of a dog ever since the Kafir cur began to take 

 me in tow. 



On the evening preceding the all-important fixture, 

 men of all sorts and sizes, accompanied by dogs of many 

 breeds and colours, from stately mastiffs down to weedy 

 mongrel terriers (pointers, setters, and sporting dogs gener- 

 ally were conspicuous by their absence), began to turn up 

 at Jack's modest four-roomed bungalow, until we were 

 at our wits' end how and where to accommodate them 

 for the night, while the " pack," which was kennelled pro 

 tern, in the stable behind, set up a perfect pandemonium, 

 howling and fighting like so many devils incarnate. It 

 is a poor heart that never rejoices, however, and having 

 dispatched a couple of natives with a lorry to bring in 

 all the available " furniture " (empty barrels, boxes, 

 etc.) from a neighbouring store, old Peter, Jack's Zulu 



