252 AFRICAN CAMP FIRES. 



Kilimanjaro, its twin peaks suspended against 

 a clean blue sky, fresh snow mantling its shoulders. 



This day, so cheeringly opened, was destined 

 to fulfil its promise. In the dense scrub dwells 

 a shy and rare animal called the lesser kudu, 

 specimens of which we greatly desired. The 

 beast keeps to the thickest and driest cover, 

 where it is impossible to see fifty yards ahead, 

 but where the slightest movement breaks one of 

 the numberless dry interlacements of which the 

 place seems made. To move really quietly one 

 could not cover over a half-mile in an hour. As 

 the countryside extends a thousand square miles 

 or more, and the lesser kudu is rare, it can be 

 seen that hunting them might have to be a slow 

 and painful process. We had twice seen their 

 peculiar tracks. 



On this morning, however, we caught a glimpse 

 of the beast itself. A flash of gray, with an 

 impression of the characteristic harness-like 

 stripes that was all. The trail, in the soft 

 ground, was of course very plain. I left the 

 others and followed it into the brush. As usual 

 the thorn scrub was so thick that I had to stoop 

 and twist to get through it at all, and so brittle 

 that the least false move made a crackling like a 

 fire. The rain of the night before had, however, 



