The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 
Lighting a wax match to examine the interior, 
I saw a green Mamba snake coiled upon the 
ground within three feet of my face. It only 
took me the eighth of a second to get outside, 
for I had no weapon in my hand. Kopping and 
I entered again, and whilst I lit a match he 
made a furious smite at the reptile, missing it 
badly. The last we saw of it was a flickering tail 
disappearing into the grass forming the side of 
the hut. This was not a very promising begin- 
ning! It is not exactly pleasant to think that 
a poisonous snake lies within three feet of your 
head. However, it did not molest us, and we 
never saw it again. 
Next morning, soon after daybreak, we went 
on to a better camping-ground, situated on the 
banks of a small river ten miles off, where I 
spent the greater part of the afternoon fixing up 
my tent and making things ship-shape. In the 
evening I took my °577 and went after a herd of 
wildebeest, and managed to get close up to a 
decent bull—a fairly easy job, as the grass was 
unburnt, and three or four feet high. I fired 
when I got the chance, and distinctly heard the 
thud of the bullet, but the whole herd rushed 
off, to stop again some four hundred yards away. 
There they all stood, facing me, tossing their 
heads high in the air. Presently the one I had 
shot at drew away and lay down, and off went 
the rest. 
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