The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 
saw that I had not been observed. I therefore 
made for a small bush that was some sixty 
yards ahead of me. This was the dangerous 
part of that stalk, for during this distance I was 
completely in the open. Whilst the herd fed I 
painfully crawled by inches towards them—at 
the slightest symptom of a head being raised, 
I lay prone as though I were a log. Then 
after what seemed an age I reached the bush. 
Here I still had to be extremely careful. I was 
frightfully blown and hot, and scarcely dared 
breathe ; it was impossible to get any closer, 
for there was not enough cover between the 
bush and the herd to have hidden a mouse. I 
had therefore to take my shot from where [I lay. 
Being still out of breath, my heart thumping 
wildly, partly with the exertion and partly with — 
excitement, I felt that this state was not con- 
ducive to good shooting, so I refrained from 
firing until I collected myself somewhat, em- 
ploying the time in pushing the rifle very care- 
fully beyond and beneath the bush. Then 
taking a deep breath, I covered the centre of the 
bull’s shoulder and pressed the trigger. At the 
shot he fell to the ground never to rise again, 
whilst the rest of the herd ran about thirty 
yards, then pulled up, looking straight at where 
I lay. I dare not put in another cartridge, for 
they would have seen the slightest movement. I 
therefore drew a bead on the chest of the nearest 
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