426 THE LAND: OF THE LION 
into a red hollow among some thorn trees, battered his 
head, and rubbed his tick-bitten sides against the rough, 
scrapy earth. 
Three tough thorn trees stood close together within a 
few feet of his wallow, and I saw at once that here might 
be an admirable chance to photograph him before shoot- 
ing, as the stems of the tough thorn supplied me both with 
a screen and a defence till I should have time to lay down 
my camera and take my rifle. Off we set, therefore, to 
make our stalk, Brownie and I. The donga had first to 
be crossed, and so densely dark and deep was it that I had 
to give up my rifle, scramble down without it, and be 
helped up on the other side. Just as we were getting close 
to the rhino, he suddenly decided he would do something 
else, and out of his wallow he scrambled and came along, 
aimlessly pushing first to one side then to another right 
across our front. Just here there was no grass and bad 
as a rhino’s sight is, in sucha place if we stirred, he couldn’t 
fail to see our dark bodies moving over the sunbaked yellow 
earth. He saved us all trouble by ambling along in one 
direction. About seventy yards away he must have smelt 
us. There was but little wind, but what there was blew 
from us to him; and he came to a dead stop, stamping and 
snorting as rhinos do. I hit him low down and well 
forward in the shoulder. He spun round once or twice, 
and then made a straight line for where I was sitting, 
coming fast. I didn’t fire my left barrel, as I wanted to 
see what he would do, for plainly he was mortally wounded. 
Here, now, was another pretty illustration of what is 
so often described, and described inaccurately, as a charg- 
ing rhino. 
Had I kept on firing, as is usually the custom, any 
one looking on would have said that that rhino was bent 
on getting his enemy, and that his charge was only stopped 
or turned aside by repeated rifle fire. Nothing of the sort 
