Snowball was an ‘old soldier’—I say it with all respect! He had been through the wars; that is to say, he had seen the ups and downs of life and had learnt the equine equivalent of “God helps those who help themselves.” For Snowball was a horse.  
Tsetse was also an old soldier, but he was what you might call a gentleman old soldier, with a sense of duty; and in his case the discipline and honour of his calling were not garments for occasion but part of himself. Snowball was no gentleman: he was selfish and unscrupulous, a confirmed shirker, often absent without leave, and upon occasions a rank deserter—for which last he once narrowly escaped being shot.
 
Tsetse belonged to my friend Hall; but Snowball was mine! What I know about him was learnt with mortification¹ of the spirit and flesh; and what he could not teach in that way was ‘over the head’ of the most indurated old dodger³ that ever lived.
 
Tsetse had his peculiarities⁵ and prejudices: like many old soldiers he was a stickler⁶ for etiquette⁷ and did not like departures from habit and routine; for instance, he would not under any circumstances permit mounting on the wrong side—a most preposterous⁸ stand for an old salted shooting horse to take, and the cause of much inconvenience at times. On the mountains it often happened that the path was too narrow and the slope too steep to permit one to mount on the left side, whereas the sharp rise of the ground made it very easy on the right. But Tsetse made no allowance for this, and if the attempt were made he would stand quite still until the rider was off the ground but not yet in the saddle, and then buck⁹ continuously until the offender¹⁰ shot overhead and went skidding¹¹ down the slope. To one encumbered¹² with a rifle in hand, and a kettle or perhaps a couple of legs of buck slung¹³ on the saddle, Tsetse’s protest was usually irresistible¹⁴.
 
Snowball had no unpractical prejudices: he objected to work—that was all. He was a pure white horse, goodness knows how old, with enormously long teeth; every vestige¹⁵ of grey or other tinge¹⁶ had faded out of him, and his eyes had an aged¹⁷ and resigned look: one warmed to him at sight as a “dear old pet of a Dobbin!” who ought to be passing his last years grazing contentedly¹⁸ in a meadow and giving bareback rides to little children. The reproach of his venerable look nearly put me off taking him—it seemed such a shame to make the dear old fellow work; but I hardened my heart and, feeling rather a brute¹⁹, bought him because he was ‘salted’ and would live in the Bushveld: beside that, all other considerations were trivial. Of course he was said to be a shooting horse, and he certainly took no notice of a gun fired under his nose or from his back—which was all the test I could apply at the time; and then his legs were quite sound; his feet were excellent; he had lost no teeth yet; and he was in tip top condition. What more could one want?
 
“He looks rather a fool of a horse!” I had remarked dubiously²⁰ to Joey the Smith, who was ‘willin’ to let him go,’ and I can recall now the peculiar⁴ glint in Joey’s eye and the way he sort of steadied himself with a little cough before he answered feelingly:
 
“He’s no fool, sonny! You won’t want to get a cleverer horse as long as you live!” And no more I did—as we used to say! Snowball had one disfigurement, consisting of a large black swelling²² as big as a small orange behind his left eye, which must have annoyed him greatly; it could easily have been removed, and many suggestions were made on the subject but all of them were firmly declined. Without that lump I should have had no chance against him: it was the weak spot in his defence: it was the only cover under which it was possible to stalk him when he made one of his determined²⁴ attempts to dodge² or desert; for he could see nothing that came up behind him on the left side without turning his head completely round; hence one part of the country was always hidden from him, and of course it was from this quarter that we invariably made our approaches to attack.
 
So well did Snowball realise this that when the old villain²⁵ intended giving trouble he would start off with his head swung away to the right, and when far enough away to graze in security—a hundred yards or so was enough—would turn right about and face towards the waggons²⁶ or camp, or wherever the danger-quarter was; then, keeping us well in view, he would either graze off sideways, or from time to time walk briskly off to occupy a new place, with the right eye swung round on us like a search-light.
 
Against all this, however, it is only fair to admit that there were times when for days, and even weeks, at a stretch he would behave admirably, giving no more trouble than Jock did. Moreover he had qualities which were not to be despised. He was as sound as a bell, very clever on his feet, never lost his condition, and, although not fast, could last for ever at his own pace.
 
Experience taught me to take no chances with Snowball. After a hard day he was apt to think that ‘enough was as good as a feast,’ and then trouble might be expected. But there was really no safe rule with him; he seemed to have moods—to ‘get out of bed on the wrong side’—on certain days and, for no reason in the world, behave with a calculated hostility²⁷ that was simply maddening.
 
Hunting horses live almost entirely²⁸ by grazing, as it is seldom possible to carry any grain or other foods for them and never possible to carry enough; and salted horses have therefore a particular value in that they can be turned out to graze at night or in the morning and evening dews when animals not immunised will contract horse-sickness; thus they feed during the hours when hunting is not possible and keep their condition when an unsalted horse would fall away from sheer want of food.
 
According to their training, disposition²⁹, and knowledge of good and evil, horses are differently treated when ‘offsaddled’; some may be trusted without even a halter, and can be caught and saddled when and where required; others are knee-haltered; others are hobbled by a strap³¹ coupling either both fore²¹ feet, or one fore and one hind²³ foot, with enough slack to allow walking, but not enough for the greater reach of a trot³² or gallop³³; whilst some incorrigibles are both knee-haltered and hobbled; and in this gallery Snowball figured upon occasion—a mournful and injured innocent, if appearances went for anything!
 
It was not, as a rule, at the outspan, where many hands were available, that Snowball gave trouble, but out hunting when I was alone or with only one companion. A trained shooting horse should stop as soon as his rider lays hand on mane to dismount, and should remain where he is left for any length of time until his master returns; some horses require the reins³⁴ to be dropped over their heads to remind them of their duty but many can safely be left to themselves and will be found grazing quietly where left.
 
Snowball knew well what to do, but he pleased himself about doing it; sometimes he would stand; sometimes move off a little way, and keep moving—just out of reach—holding his head well on one side so that he should not tread on the trailing reins or the long weighted reimpje which was attached to his bit for the purpose of hindering and catching³⁶ him; sometimes, with a troop of buck moving on ahead or perhaps a wounded one to follow, this old sinner would rightabout-face and simply walk off—only a few yards separating us—with his ears laid back, his tail tucked down ominously³⁷, and occasional little liftings of his hind quarters to let me know what to expect—and his right eye on me all the while; and, if I ran to head him off, he would break into a trot and leave me a little worse off than before; and sometimes, in familiar country, he would make straight away for the waggons without more ado.
 
It is demoralising in the extreme to be expecting a jerk when in the act of aiming—and Snowball, who cared no more for shooting than a deaf gunner, would plunge³⁸ like a two-year-old when he was play-acting—and it is little better, while creeping forward for a shot, to hear your horse strolling off behind and realise that you will have to hunt for him and perhaps walk many miles back to camp without means of carrying anything you may shoot. The result of experience was that I had to choose between two alternatives: either to hook him up to a tree or bush each time or hobble him with his reins, and so lose many good chances of quick shots when coming unexpectedly on game; or to slip an arm through the reins and take chance of being plucked off my aim or jerked violently backwards³⁹ as I fired. But it was at the ‘offsaddles’ on long journeys across country or during the rest in a day’s hunt that trouble was most to be feared, and although hobbling is dangerous in a country so full of holes, stumps⁴⁰, and all sorts of grass-hidden obstacles, there were times when consideration for Snowball seemed mighty⁴¹ like pure foolishness, and it would have been no grief to me if he had broken his neck!
 
To the credit of Snowball stand certain things, however, and it is but justice to say that, when once in the ranks, he played his part well; and it is due to him to say that during one hard season a camp of waggons with their complement⁴² of men had to be kept in meat, and it was Snowball who carried—for short and long distances, through dry rough country, at all times of day and night, hot, thirsty and tired, and without a breakdown⁴³ or a day’s sickness—a bag that totalled many thousands of pounds in weight, and the man who made the bag.
 
“That wall-eyed brute of yours” was launched at me in bitterness of spirit on many occasions when Snowball led the normally well-behaved ones astray; and it is curious to note how strength of character or clear purpose will establish leadership among animals, as among men. Rooiland the restless, when dissatisfied with the grass or in want of water, would cast about up wind for a few minutes and then with his hot eyeballs staring and nostrils⁴⁴ well distended⁴⁵ choose his line, going resolutely⁴⁶ along and only pausing from time to time to give a low moan for signal and allow the straggling string of unquestioning followers⁴⁷ to catch up. When Rooiland had ‘trek fever’ there was no rest for herd⁴⁸ boys. So too with old Snowball: he led the well-behaved astray and they followed him blindly. Had Snowball been a schoolboy, a wise headmaster would have expelled him—for the general good and discipline of the school.
 
On one long horseback journey through Swaziland to the coast, where few white men and no horses had yet been seen, we learned to know Snowball and Tsetse well, and found out what a horse can do when pu............