MEN OF THE TREES 



It was now dawn and easy, even for me, to see in which 

 direction he had gone. Although there were other buffalo 

 in the herd this lad had got the culprit properly marked 

 down and no time was lost in following up the track. 

 Now and again the tracker would stoop and pluck a 

 blade of grass which had been recently bruised by the 

 foot of the animal in passing. Such is the skill of these 

 sons of the forest that they can readily tell by examina- 

 tion of such a blade how long ago the game had passed. 



As we proceeded the bush became more and more 

 dense, and although we were following in the trail of 

 the buffalo, at times we had to crawl on our hands and 

 knees to get through the entanglement of scrub. We fol- 

 lowed with the greatest care and precaution, fearful lest 

 the sound of a breaking twig should betray our presence, 

 for we knew full well that if the buffalo scented us first 

 there would probably be another tragedy; a charge by 

 the infuriated buffalo, a short sharp shock, and all would 

 be over with one or both of us. 



While I was leading the way, with great caution fol- 

 lowing stealthily the now well defined track, my follower 

 suddenly caught at my shirt sleeve bringing me to an 

 abrupt standstill. With every muscle tense he silently 

 drew himself close up to me. I could feel his heart beat- 

 ing as, intently peering over my shoulder, he raised his 

 chin slightly protruding his lips to indicate the direc- 

 tion of the quarry. There, not ten paces away, stood the 

 King of the herd — the man-killer. Although we were so 

 close to him my view was obscured by the dense scrub 



62 



