92 AFRICAN GAME TRAILS 



country, although there were a few scattered trees of no 

 great size at some little distance from him. We left our 

 horses in a dip of the ground and began the approach; 

 I cannot say that we stalked him, for the approach was too 

 easy. The wind blew from him to us, and a rhino's eyesight 

 is dull. Thirty yards from where he stood was a bush four 

 or five feet high, and though it was so thin that we could 

 distinctly see him through the leaves, it shielded us from 

 the vision of his small, piglike eyes as we advanced toward 

 it, stooping and in single file, I leading. The big beast 

 stood like an uncouth statue, his hide black in the sun- 

 light; he seemed what he was, a monster surviving over 

 from the world's past, from the days when the beasts of 

 the prime ran riot in their strength, before man grew so 

 cunning of brain and hand as to master them. So little 

 did he dream of our presence that when we were a hundred 

 yards off he actually lay down. 



Walking lightly, and with every sense keyed up, we 

 at last reached the bush, and I pushed forward the safety 

 of the double-barrelled Holland rifle which I was now to 

 use for the first time on big game. As I stepped to one side 

 of the bush so as to get a clear aim, with Slatter following, 

 the rhino saw me and jumped to his feet with the agility of 

 a polo pony. As he rose I put in the right barrel, the bullet 

 going through both lungs. At the same moment he wheeled, 

 the blood spouting from his nostrils, and galloped full on 

 us. Before he could get quite all the way round in his head- 

 long rush to reach us, I struck him with my left-hand 

 barrel, the bullet entering between the neck and shoulder 

 and piercing his heart. At the same instant Captain Slatter 

 fired, his bullet entering the neck vertebrae. Ploughing up 



