THE SOS. 



Their females bring forth their whelps in holes and underground 

 burrows. 



They have three different cries, each being used on different 

 occasions. One of these cries is a sharp angry bark, usually 

 uttered when they behold an object they cannot exactly make 

 out ; another resembles a number of monkeys chattering toge- 

 ther, or men conversing with their teeth clashing with cold. 

 This cry is emitted at night, when large numbers of them are 

 together, and they are excited by any particular occurrence, 

 such as hearing the voice of the domestic dog. The third cry, 

 and that most commonly used among them, is a sort of rally- 

 ing note to bring the various members of the pack together. 



They hunt in packs, fifty or sixty strong, the leading hounds, 

 when fatigued, falling in the rear, while others, who have been 

 " saving their wind," take their place, and the entire troop, in- 

 spired anew, utter their appalling yell and lengthen their strides. 

 Let the object of pursuit be what it may — eland, gnoo, or 

 gemsbok — he wiU surely succumb to the dogged perseverance 

 of the wild honden, and, being once brought to bay, the busi- 

 ness is speedily settled. Now you have the panting and be- 

 draggled antelope; helplessly contending against the death that 

 awaits him in each of the fifty pairs of sanguinary jaws by 

 which he is encircled, and within ten minutes not a trace of 

 him, except it be a few of the larger bones — not a strip of skin, 

 or a scrap of flesh, or a smear of blood — all vanished, and 

 nothing to betoken the tragedy lately performed but a posse of 

 blinking, weary, pot-bellied " hondens " lying here and there. 



Should the huntsman approach a .horde of these wild dogs, 

 nothing of the fear displayed by other carnivorous animals is 

 apparent. They will merely emerge from their holes or rise 

 from the ground on which they are reclining, yawn, shake 

 themselves, and slowly make off, stopping at every few steps 

 to look back, as though not quite sure that the intruder is an 

 enemy, and inclined to parley with him. But against the 

 hunter's dogs they bear the deadliest animosity, seeming to 

 regard them as renegades and voluntary slaves, deserving the 

 hatred of every free cur in the country. Singly, however, the 

 " wild honden " would be no match against the trained hunting- 

 dog, and with this fact the former seems to possess an in- 

 stinctive knowledge, and is never rash enough to forget. Should 

 the hunter or the Boer, whose defenceless flock has been 

 ravaged, loose his watch-dogs and urge them to combat with 

 kh« " honden," the latter will not budge an inch, lest, in the 



