THE HYENA
By ROBERT E. HOWARD
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Weird Tales March 1928.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
From the time when I first saw Senecoza, the fetish-man, I distrustedhim, and from vague distrust the idea eventually grew into hatred.
I was but newly come to the East Coast, new to African ways, somewhatinclined to follow my impulses, and possessed of a large amount ofcuriosity.
Because I came from Virginia, race instinct and prejudice were strongin me, and doubtless the feeling of inferiority which Senecozaconstantly inspired in me had a great deal to do with my antipathy forhim.
He was surprizingly tall, and leanly built. Six inches above six feethe stood, and so muscular was his spare frame that he weighed a goodtwo hundred pounds. His weight seemed incredible when one looked at hislanky build, but he was all muscle—a lean, black giant. His featureswere not pure negro. They more resembled Berber than Bantu, with thehigh, bulging forehead, thin nose and thin, straight lips. But his hairwas as kinky as a Bushman's and his color was blacker even than theMasai. In fact, his glossy hide had a different hue from those of thenative tribesmen, and I believe that he was of a different tribe.
It was seldom that we of the ranch saw him. Then without warninghe would be among us, or we would see him striding through theshoulder-high grass of the veldt, sometimes alone, sometimes followedat a respectful distance by several of the wilder Masai, who bunchedup at a distance from the buildings, grasping their spears nervouslyand eyeing everyone suspiciously. He would make his greetings with acourtly grace; his manner was deferentially courteous, but somehow it"rubbed me the wrong way," so to speak. I always had a vague feelingthat the black was mocking us. He would stand before us, a naked bronzegiant; make trade for a few simple articles, such as a copper kettle,beads or a trade-musket; repeat the words of some chief, and take hisdeparture.
I did not like him. And being young and impetuous, I spoke my opinionto Ludtvik Strolvaus, a very distant relative, tenth cousin orsuch-like, on whose trading-post ranch I was staying.
But Ludtvik chuckled in his blond beard and said that the fetish-manwas all right.
"A power he is among the natives, true. They all fear him. But a friendhe is to the whites. Ja."
Ludtvik was long a resident on the East Coast; he knew natives and heknew the fat Australian cattle he raised, but he had little imagination.
The ranch buildings were in the midst of a stockade, on a kind ofslope, overlooking countless miles on miles of the finest grazing landin Africa. The stockade was large, well suited for defense. Most of thethousand cattle could be driven inside in case of an uprising of theMasai. Ludtvik was inordinately proud of his cattle.
"One thousand now," he would tell me, his round face beaming, "onethousand now. But later, ah! ten thousand and another ten thousand.This a good beginning, but only a beginning. Ja."
I must confess that I got little thrill out of the cattle. Nativesherded and corralled them; all Ludtvik and I had to do was to rideabout and give orders. That was the work he liked best, and I left itmostly to him.
My chief sport was in riding away across the veldt, alone or attendedby a gun-bearer, with a rifle. Not that I ever bagged much game. In thefirst place I was an execrable marksman; I could hardly have hit anelephant at close range. In the second place, it seemed to me a shameto shoot so many things