The New Noah by Gerald Durrell Page A

that it would be a good chance for him to repair the damage done to his person by his fight with us. As he had run about
the savanna, hissing and snorting, great streams of saliva had been pouring out of his mouth. This was thick and sticky, and normally the ant-eater uses it for coating his long tongue, in order to
pick up his food. However, these long strands of adhesive saliva had run out of his mouth; as he ran they flapped to and fro picking up bits of stick and grass and eventually getting stuck across
his nose. He now sat on his haunches and with great care cleaned his long snout with the aid of his claws. Then he gave a deep sigh, stood up and shook himself, and started to plod off across the
savanna once more.
    When Francis joined me, carrying his lasso, we approached the ant-eater once again, and hearing us he stopped, turned round, and sat up on his hind legs, but with two of us to deal with he was
at a disadvantage. While I attracted his attention, Francis crept round behind and threw the lasso neatly over him. As soon as he felt the noose tighten once more round him he set off at full tilt,
dragging Francis and myself with him, and for the next half an hour we struggled our way to and fro over the savanna until we managed to get so many loops of rope round the ant-eater’s body
and legs that he could not move. Then trussing him up with an extra length of fine twine to make sure, we pushed him into one of the big sacks so that only his long head and nose protruded.
    We were just congratulating ourselves on having captured him when a fresh difficulty became apparent. When we picked him up in his sack and carried him towards the horses they all decided that,
while they did not mind carrying us, they disapproved strongly of carrying a strange creature in a sack, which was hissing and snuffling in such a fierce manner. For a quarter of an hour we tried
to soothe them, but it was no good. Every time we approached them with the ant-eater they would throw back their heads and shy wildly.
    Francis decided that the only thing to do was for me to lead the horse while he walked behind, carrying the ant-eater on his shoulders. I was a bit doubtful as to whether this would be
successful, for we were a great many miles from the ranch and the sun was scorchingly hot, and the ant-eater was no light-weight. However, it seemed to be the only thing to do, so I mounted on my
horse and led Francis’s, while he staggered along behind with our capture on his back. The ant-eater made everything as difficult as possible by wriggling about in his sack, so that it was
extremely uncomfortable to try to carry him. After about an hour we had only progressed a couple of miles across the grass, for every two or three hundred yards Francis was forced to put down the
sack and have a rest.
    Eventually, we decided that it would take us about a week to get the ant-eater back to the ranch at this rate, so Francis suggested that my companion, or myself, should remain there with the
ant-eater while the other rode with him to the out-station, a distant speck on the horizon which he pointed out to us. Here, he assured us, we would get something called a ‘draftball’.
As our hunter’s English was none too good, we could not make out what a ‘draftball’ was, but Francis seemed convinced that it was the only way out of our difficulties, so my
companion stayed with the ant-eater in the shade of a small bush while Francis and I galloped off across the grass towards the out-station.
    When we arrived there, we found a charming old Indian in charge who gave us a most welcome cup of coffee. Then Francis took me outside and showed me the ‘draftball’. It was in fact a
draught bull, that is to say, a bull that is used for carrying loads or pulling carts in certain parts of the world.
    Francis’s wife then appeared on the scene and Francis told me that she would ride the bull out on to the savanna while we galloped on ahead on our horses.