THE LAST FRONTIER 



port and howled frantically. Again and again the 

 rhinoceros drew back to repeat his butting of that 

 tree. By the time Cuninghame reached the spot, 

 the tree, with its despairing burden of black 

 birds, was clinging to the soil by its last remaining 

 roots. 



In the Nairobi Club I met a gentleman with one 

 arm gone at the shoulder. He told his story in a 

 slightly bored and drawling voice, picking his words 

 very carefully, and evidently most occupied with 

 neither understating nor overstating the case. It 

 seems he had been out, and had killed some sort of a 

 buck. While his men were occupied with this, he 

 strolled on alone to see what he could find. He found 

 a rhinoceros, that charged viciously, and into which 

 he emptied his gun. 



"When I came to," he said, "it was just coming on 

 dusk, and the lions were beginning to grunt. My arm 

 was completely crushed, and I was badly bruised 

 and knocked about. As near as I could remember 

 I was fully ten miles from camp. A circle of carrion 

 birds stood all about me not more than ten feet away, 

 and a great many others were flapping over me and 

 fighting in the air. These last were so close that I 

 could feel the wind from their wings. It was 

 rawther gruesome." He paused and thought a 

 moment, as though weighing his words. "In fact," 



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