THE HIDE HUNTER 209 



jogging his horse's sides, and smoking vigorously 

 from a big-bowled pipe. Close beside him walk two 

 native " boys," who will assist in skinning and help 

 to bring in the game. With the keen breeze of an 

 African winter morning in his face, Hans moves 

 steadily south-eastward in the direction of a river 

 now dry, save for a few pools of water here and there. 

 The tall grass through which he passes is bleached 

 to a pale ochre by the constant sun. The veldt is 

 fairly open ; trees that in England we should call 

 stunted grow thinly here and there, and patches of 

 bush, mostly thorny, have to be ridden round. Pre- 

 sently, crossing a little rise, the course of the river, 

 marked very plainly by tall palm-trees, may be seen 

 two or three miles away upon the right front. 



After an hour's steady marching, during which no 

 other game has been sighted than a small buck or 

 two, a jackal, and a family of wart-hogs, all of 

 which the Dutchman suffers to go in peace, the 

 hunter strikes the spoor he is in search of The 

 neat footprints, indented so plainly in the patch of 

 smooth red sand there, are read like an open book. 



A European would make little of that spoor ; but 

 Hans Botha sees at a glance that a troop of Zwart- 

 wit-pens (sable antelope), big, long-horned beasts, 

 has, after drinking at the river, passed that 

 way but half-an-hour since. Already there is some 

 improvement in the demeanour of the stolid Dutch- 



