252 THE IMAGE OF WAR 



that there was no cover nearer them than the ridge 

 of rocks we were on, so I crept out to its farthest 

 end and took a long shot — at the big buck this 

 time. 



Of course I missed, and again with two " shots of 

 despair," as Mr E. N. Buxton calls them, which I 

 sent after him as he galloped off. I found next day 

 that these ranges were much longer than I had 

 thought, so the day must have been a bad one in 

 every way for judging distance. 



The herd went on with a vengeance this time, and 

 I knocked off and went back to camp. The result 

 of my shots was, as it proved, of considerable import- 

 ance to my partner. At the time I fired the last 

 three he was actually stalking a herd, which my 

 shots disturbed. Hardly had they disappeared when 

 my herd came right down to him and gave him an 

 easy chance. He knocked the second-best buck over 

 the cliff — into the sea he feared — and his shot dis- 

 turbing his original herd, they in their turn galloped 

 past him, and he got another. Meanwhile Giorgio, 

 without announcing his intention, had gone off with 

 his rifle and bagged a young buck — a repetition of 

 which performance we sternly forbade. 



That night we were driven to realise the fact that 

 we were weather-bound on Antimilo. For three days 

 the north - easter had howled round our tents and 

 beaten the flapping canvas day and night without 

 intermission, save only when it had brought* up a 

 heavy shower of rain, or even hail. As to our being 

 weather-bound there was no manner of doubt. The 

 shepherds shook their heads emphatically when we 

 pointed to Milo harbour across the intervening eight 

 miles of rough sea. I myself was even doubtful 



