ts fellows, and there it was with the fence in front, and the two
horsemen and Kaffir behind.

Then there was a change of tactics.

Dyke, who was hundreds of yards in front of his companions, knew what
was coming, and gave his short-handled rhinoceros-hide whip a whish
through the air, and then cracked it loudly, while a chorus of
discordant cries arose from the pens.

"Give up, you ugly old rascal, or I'll twist this round your long neck,"
cried Dyke; and a great chorus arose from the pens, as if the tame birds
within the wire fence were imploring the great truant to be good, and
come home.

But nothing was further from the great bird's thoughts. It could easily
now have darted away, but it felt that it was driven to bay, and began
to show fight in the most vicious fashion, snapping its flat beak,
hissing, snorting, rattling its plumage, and undulating its long neck,
as it danced about, till it looked like a boa constrictor which had
partially developed into a bird.

Then it dashed at its pursuer, snapping at him in its rushes. But the
bill was not the thing to mind; a few lashes with the whip were enough
to ward off its attack. The danger to be avoided came from those
tremendous legs, which could deliver kicks hard enough to break a man's
bones.

Three times over did the great bird strike at Dyke, as it was driven
down to the pen with lash after lash of the whip, which wrapped round
the neck, as the head rose fully eight feet above the ground. Then came
another stroke which took effect, not upon Dyke's leg, but upon the
horse's flank, just behind the stirrup, in spite of the clever little
animal's bounds to avoid the kicks.

What followed was instantaneous. The horse whirled round, snorting with
pain, and struck out at his enemy, sending out its heels with such
violence and effect, that they came in contact with one of the ostrich's
shanks, and the next moment the giant bird came to the ground, a heap of
feathers, from which the long neck kept darting, and one leg delivering
heavy blows.

CHAPTER FOUR.

ANOTHER FAILURE?

"Why, Dyke, boy, you've done it now," cried Joe Emson, cantering close
up, his horse snorting as the ostrich struck at him with its snake-like
head.

"Yes, you had better have left me where I was by the spring," said the
boy disconsolately. "I hated the old wretch, but I didn't want to hurt
him."

"I know, my lad, I know," said Emson. "I'm not blaming you, but it does
seem