34 HUNTING TRIPS IN NORTHERN RHODESIA. 



had been burnt, leaving some of the thicker grass charred and lying at all angles. 

 The ground, too, was covered with ashes, but dirt is of no consequence when 

 one is after game. There was no cover or ant-hill near, and 1 thought the game 

 would be sure to notice me and bolt as I tried to get closer by creeping over the 

 black earth. 



This was exactly what happened, and, to my disappointment, I saw the herd run 

 for the bush. 1 followed them, hoping they would stand, and 1 eventually got a long, 

 difficult shot, unfortunately only wounding one of the males. 



There were two males with this herd, both with excellent horns. I followed them, 

 trying to get up with the wounded one, but he did not leave the herd, and some old 

 cow invariably gave the alarm. At last I gave up, as I saw it was a hopeless business, 

 although I always regret having to leave a wounded beast, perhaps to die in agony or 

 to fall a prey to the teeth of a lion, leopard, or hyaena. 



On my way back to camp, in anything but a happy frame of mind, I shot a large 

 warthog boar with the best tushes I had yet got, for they measured loin outside the 

 gums, which is much larger than the average. Cutting off his head, which the man 

 with me carried, and taking the bags, glasses, and waterbottle myself, we reached the 

 village, at sundown, rather tired and extremely dirty. A hot bath and a good dinner 

 made things seem pleasanter, and I went to bed hoping for better luck with roan on 

 the morrow. 



Next day I was up before the sun, and had eaten a biscuit and drunk a cup of tea 

 before the sky in the east had reddened. Going towards the dambo where I had 

 seen a single roan before, I first saw a herd of hartebeest, but let them alone and went 

 on. On rounding a corner I saw the roan right on the other side of the dambo, a 

 distance of quite three hundred yards. This was farther than I liked, but as the 

 animal had noticed us I tried a shot, and this time luck was on my side, for I hit him 

 in the chest, and he was only able to totter for a few yards, and fell dead. On going 

 up I found I had hit him in the chest where the neck joins the body, one of the 

 deadliest spots to hit any animal. His head was not large, but he was my first roan, 

 so 1 felt quite pleased. 1 took the head back to camp, but if I shot such a one 

 nowadays 1 would not trouble to take it. At this time of the year (July) the nights 

 and early mornings were bitterly cold, so 1 used to sit near a roaring log fire, and have 

 one lighted in front of the tent before I got up in the mornings. A tent is a cold 

 place to live in during the cold season, and a very hot spot in the hot season. On 

 July 20th, I went to try to find the roan I had wounded, but failed. I put up a 

 lion in some long grass, but could not get a sight of him. He had just left a reed- 

 buck, which he had partially devoured. 



