A Shooting Trip in Northwestern Rhodesia 



black horns five inches long, not big game, but 

 nevertheless affording very good sport as well as 

 good rifle practice. Next morning we rode out 

 from camp in the cold, raw dawn, accompanied by 

 a dozen or more men from the nearby kraals eager 

 to show us game, which we soon saw in the shape 

 of a solitary bull hartebeest, a wary old fellow, 

 which took some stalking to get and then only after 

 a long time, as the first shot hit him too far back, 

 so that it was midday before he was accounted for. 

 There was much eland spoor about, so after 

 a bite of lunch we went on, to be rewarded 

 by seeing a little herd of these huge antelopes 

 standing and lying under some mimosa trees in the 

 center of quite a large plain. The absence of cover 

 rendered an approach to within shot impossible, 

 but the more I looked through my glasses at the 

 great slate-colored bull with his bushy frontlet of 

 black hair, the more I wanted his head, and I 

 quickly agreed to Finaughty's suggestion that we 

 should try running them down. Bending low in 

 the saddle, we walked our ponies, one back of the 

 other, directly toward them, in this way getting 

 to within four hundred yards, when the eland 

 began to move off. Then, after them we went as 

 fast as our ponies could gallop, but for the first 

 mile the eland held their own, the fox-colored cows 



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