The Bafut Beagles

The Fon flung back his trailing sleeves with a regal gesture, and pointed at the man with the sack.

Bushcat, he said.

For a moment I was puzzled, and then suddenly I remembered the creature he had promised to get for me.

bushcat? Dat kind I de want too much? I asked, hardly daring to believe it.

The Fon nodded with the quiet satisfaction of one who has done a job well.

Let me look um, I said excitedly; quick, open dat bag.

The man placed the sack on the ground in front of me, and I, forgetful of the clean trousers I had put on in the Fon's honour, went down on my knees in the mud and struggled with the tough cord that bound the neck of the sack. The Fon stood by, beaming down at me like a benevolent Santa Claus. The cord was wet and tight, and as I tugged and pulled at it there arose from the interior of the sack a weird and ferocious cry: it started as a rumbling moan, and as it became louder it developed into a yarring scream with such a malevolent undertone that it sent a chill up my spine. The hunter, the councillors and the boy with the drum all retreated several paces.

Careful, Masa, the hunter warned; na bad beef dat. e get power too much.

you done get rope for e foot? I asked, and he nodded.

I unwound the last bit of cord, and then slowly opened the sack and peered inside.

Glaring at me was a face of such beauty that I gasped. The fur was short, smooth, and the rich golden-brown of wild honey. The pointed ears were flattened close to the skull, and the upper lip was drawn back in a series of fine ripples from milk-white teeth and pink gums. But it was the eyes I noticed more than anything else: large, and set at a slight slant in the golden face, they stared up at me with a look of such cold fury that I was thankful the animal's feet were tied. They were green, the green of leaves under ice, and they glittered like mica in the evening sun. For a second we stared at each other, then the Golden Cat drew back her lips even farther away from her gums, opened her mouth and gave another of those loud and frightening cries. Hastily I tied the sack up again, for I did not know if her bonds were really strong or not, and, judging by her eyes, she would not deal with me very kindly if she got free.

 You like? asked the Fon.

 Wah! I like dis beef too much, I replied.

We carried the precious sack up on to the veranda, and I hastily turned a specimen out of the largest and strongest cage I had. Then we emptied the Golden Cat gently out of the sack and rolled her inside, shutting and bolting the door. She lay on her side, hissing and snarling, but unable to move, for her front and back legs were neatly tied together with strong raffia-like cord. By fixing a knife to the end of a stick I managed to saw through these cords, and as they fell away she got to her feet in one smooth movement, leapt at the bars, stuck a fat golden paw through, and took a swipe at my face. I drew back only just in time.

aha said the Fon, chuckling, dis beef get angry too much.

e fit chop man time no dere, said the hunter.

E get power, agreed the Fon, nodding, "e get plenty power for e foot. You go watch um, my friend, less e go wound you.

I sent down to the kitchen for a small chicken, and this, freshly killed and warm, I dangled near the bars of the cage. A golden paw again shot out between the bars, white claws buried themselves in the fowl and it was jerked up against the bars. Leaning forward, the cat got a grip on the neck of the bird, and with one quick heave the entire fowl vanished into the cage, and clouds of feathers started to pour out from between the bars as the Golden Cat began to feed. Reverently I covered the front of the cage with a sack and we left her in peace to enjoy her meal.

how you done catch dis beef? I asked the hunter. He gave a grin and wiggled his toes with embarrassment.

you no de hear? asked the Fon, you no get mouth? Speak now 1'

Masa, began the man, scratching his stomach, de Fon done tell me Masa want dis kind of beef too much, an so three days I done go for bush, I look urn. I done walka, walka, I done tire too much, but I never see dis beef. Yesterday, for evening time, dis bushcat e done come softly for my farm, an e done chop three chicken. Dis morning I see e foot for de mud, an I done follow for bush. Far too much I done follow um, Masa, an den, for some big hill, I done see um.

The Fon shifted in his chair and fixed the man with a glittering eye.

you speak true? he asked sternly.

yes, Masa, protested the hunter, I speak true.

Good, said the Fon.

I done see dis bushcat, the man went on; "e done walka for dis big hill. Den e done go for some place dere be rock too much. e done go for hole in de ground. I look dis hole, but man no fit pass, e tight too much. I done go back for my house an I done bring fine dog and catchnet, den I go back for dis place. I done put catchnet for de hole, an den I done make small fire an put smoke for de hole.

He paused and hopped on one leg, clicking his fingers.