180 MY SOMALI BOOK 



shoulder, but the muzzle wavered horribly ; and I 

 could not sit down as a rock came in the way. The 

 haira doe started off up the hill, the buck gave a little 

 toss of his head preliminary to following his lady ; 

 I had to press the trigger, with the most perfect confi- 

 dence that I was going to miss, and miss I did. It 

 was the hardest of luck that the chance should have 

 come just at that moment, when five minutes in which 

 to recover my breath would have been worth so much. 

 I had trophies of all the other Somali antelopes, but 

 this dainty little haira was, with the possible exception of 

 the dibatag, in point of rarity worth the pick of them all. 

 And I had missed a standing shot at sixty yards ! Is 

 there any humiliation more poignant ? Or any memory 

 so salutary when a run of luck and a good rifle have 

 once again fostered the delusion that one can shoot ? 



Next morning I had another long climb on the 

 tracks of a pair of greater kudu, but failed to find them. 

 Then came across a single haira doe standing in a 

 characteristic attitude on the top of a rock 150 yards 

 away. I wished afterwards I had taken the shot 

 for the sake of her skin, but hoped her mate might 

 be somewhere near. However, she vanished in a 

 mysterious manner, and not a sign of her or another 

 could we see again. Tramping home at about midday, 

 we were in sight of camp, when a whistle came from 

 Henduleh on the left, with a frantic beckoning that 

 surely betokened something of account. The next 

 moment I too saw, standing on the slope up to the 

 hill where I had missed the haira the day before, first 

 a greater kudu cow, and then, no mistaking that darker 

 coat and those spiral horns, a fine bull. They were 



