And then there is the constant danger of wild beasts. When a man has
spent years in gathering suitable flocks, he cannot be blamed for wild
anger when, as happened while I was in the country, lions kill sixty or
seventy birds in a night. The ostrich seems to tempt lions greatly. The
beasts will make their way through and over the most complicated
defences. Any ostrich farmer's life is a constant warfare against them.
Thus the Hills had slain sixty-eight lions in and near their farm--a
tremendous record. Still the beasts continued to come in. My hosts
showed me, with considerable pride, their arrangements finally evolved
for night protection.
The ostriches were confined in a series of heavy corrals, segregating
the birds of different ages. Around the outside of this group of
enclosures ran a wide ring corral in which were confined the numerous
cattle; and as an outer wall to this were built the huts of the Wakamba
village. Thus to penetrate to the ostriches the enterprising lion would
have to pass both the people, the cattle, and the strong thorn and log
structures that contained them.
This subject brings me to another set of acquaintances we had already
made--the dogs.
These consisted of an Airedale named Ruby; two setters called Wayward
and Girlie; a heavy black mongrel, Nero; ditto brindle, Ben; and a
smaller black and white ditto, Ranger. They were very nice friendly
doggy dogs, but they did not look like lion hunters.
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