186 AFRICAN GAME TRAILS 



On this same evening we rode campward facing a won- 

 derful sunset. The evening was lowering and overcast. 

 The darkening plains stretched dim and vague into the 

 far distance. The sun went down under a frowning sky, 

 behind shining sheets of rain; and it turned their radiance 

 to an angry splendor of gold and murky crimson. 



At this camp the pretty little Livingstone's wheatears 

 or chats were very familiar, flitting within a few yards 

 of the tents. They were the earliest birds to sing. Just 

 before our eyes could distinguish the first faint streak of 

 dawn first one and then another of them would begin to 

 sing, apparently either on the ground or in the air, until 

 there was a chorus of their sweet music. Then they were 

 silent again until the sun was about to rise. We always 

 heard them when we made a very early start to hunt. By 

 the way, with the game of the plains and the thin bush, we 

 found that nothing was gained by getting out early in the 

 morning; we were quite as apt to get what we wanted 

 in the evening or indeed at high noon. 



The last day at this camp Kermit, Tarlton, and I spent 

 on a twelve-hours' lion hunt. I opened the day inauspi- 

 ciously, close to camp, by missing a zebra, which we wished 

 for the porters. Then Kermit, by a good shot, killed a tom- 

 my buck with the best head we had yet gotten. Early in 

 the afternoon we reached our objective, some high kop- 

 pies, broken by cliffs and covered with brush. There 

 were klipspringers on these koppies, little rock-loving 

 antelopes, with tiny hoofs and queer brittle hair; they are 

 marvellous jumpers and continually utter a bleating whis- 

 tle. I broke the neck of one as it ran at a distance of a 

 hundred and fifty yards; but the shot was a fluke, and did 



