Horns 



had hardly spoken before up came his head round 

 in our direction, and he got on his feet and again 

 that slow walk towards us. But surely now there 

 was a difference ! He seemed to sway a little, and 

 then to almost totter as he again turned slowly 

 to face the forest and again sat down. It was then 

 that I began to suspect that one of the later shots 

 had broken a leg, and this subsequently proved to 

 be the case. It accounted for his not charging 

 home when I retreated down the drain, arid 

 stopped him with the last cartridge. We did not 

 know this then, however, and we had not done 

 with the bull. As we watched he seemed to droop, 

 and we felt certain that he was ours ; but three 

 times he got up and walked a few steps towards 

 us before sitting down again, and always that un- 

 wearying, steady gaze. Never was man more 

 angry. With the small-bore I could have settled 

 the matter in a few seconds. With the bull doing 

 sentry-go over that much-wanted rifle, and but 

 three cartridges left for the other, I hardly knew 

 what to do. Meanwhile the minutes dragged on, 

 and still we were not quite sure as to whether we 

 were the watched or the watchers, the hunted or 

 the hunters ! I could stand it no longer. The 

 bull at his last move had sat down nearer us, but 

 behind a tussocky mass of grass with an ant-hill 

 rising out of it, so that only his hump and head 

 were visible. I determined to make for a solitary 

 tree to my right front, from which I could get a 



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