a pity. What bad luck I do have with these birds, to be sure.--Lie
still, you savage; you can't get up!"

This to the bird, which, after striking at him two or three times, made
a desperate effort to rise, fluttering and beating with its wings, and
hopping a little, but trailing its broken leg as it made for the pen,
within which were all its friends.

"Yes, you had better have stayed at home, old fellow," said Dyke,
apostrophising the unhappy bird; "then you wouldn't have got into this
state.--I say, Joe, couldn't we set its leg? It would soon grow
together again."

"If he were one of the quiet old hens, I'd say yes; but it would be
impossible. Directly we went near, there would be a kick or a peck."

"I'll try," said Dyke; and going gently toward where the bird lay
crouched in a heap, he spoke softly to it, as he had been accustomed to
speak to the others when going to feed them. But his advance was the
signal for the bird to draw back its head, its eyes flashing angrily,
while it emitted a fierce roaring sound that was like that of some
savage, cat-like beast. It struck out with beak and wings, and made
desperate efforts to rise.

"Stop!" cried Emson sharply.

"I'm not afraid," cried Dyke. "I'll get hold of his neck, and try and
hold him."

"I know," said his brother; "but the poor creature will knock itself to
pieces."

"But so it will if you leave it quiet," cried Dyke; and then, sharply:
"Ah! you cowardly brutes, let him alone."

This was to some half-a-dozen cock birds in the pen, which, possibly in
remembrance of the many times they had been thrashed and driven about
the pen by their injured king, seized the opportunity of his downfall to
thrust out their long necks and begin striking at him savagely, seizing
him by the feathers, and dragging them out, till he shuffled beyond
their reach.

"His fate's sealed if he is put with the rest; that's very evident,"
said Emson.

"Killum!" said the Kaffir, nodding his head.

"Let's shut him up in the stable," said Dyke, "and tie him down while we
set his leg."

"It would mean such a desperate struggle that the poor bird would never
get over it; and if it did, it would mope and die. Better put it out of
its misery."

Just then a big rough dog came out of the house, where it had been
having a long sleep through the hot part of the day, and after giving
Dyke a friendly wag of the tail, walked slowly toward the injured
ostrich.

That was enough t