THE LESSER KUDU 



Abruptly the storm passed. It did not die away 

 slowly in the diminuendo of ordinary storms. It 

 ceased as though the reservoir had been tipped back 

 again. The rapid drip drip drip of waters now made 

 the whole of sound; all the rest of the world lay 

 breathless. Then, inside our tent, a cricket struck 

 up bravely. 



This homely, cheerful little sound roused us. We 

 went forth to count damages and to put our house 

 in order. The men hunted out dry wood and made 

 another fire; the creatures of the jungle and the 

 stars above them ventured forth. 



Next morning we marched into a world swept 

 clean. The ground was as smooth as though a 

 new broom had gone over it. Every track now was 

 fresh, and meant an animal near at hand. The 

 bushes and grasses were hung with jewels. Merry 

 little showers shook down from trees sharing a 

 joke with some tiny wind. White steam rose from 

 a moist, fertile-looking soil. The smell of greenhouses 

 was in the air. Looking back we were stricken 

 motionless by the sight of Kilimanjaro, its twin 

 peaks suspended against a clean blue sky, fresh 

 snow mantling its shoulders. 



This day, so cheeringly opened, was destined to 

 fulfil its promise. In the dense scrub dwells a 

 shy and rare animal called the lesser kudu, speci- 



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