TAPIR. 143 



A grey form burst through the undergrowth not 

 more than twenty yards away, running, it seemed, 

 blindly. Its pace was a lumbering gallop, the head 

 being held low between the two fore-legs that were 

 flung high up and far out in front of the body. It 

 passed by us broadside on. The first bullet from my 

 rifle hit it too high in the shoulder, but the second 

 dropped it dead. 



And our long quest of many months was over. We 

 examined the tapir's weird features, its ridiculous 

 little proboscis, its bizarre colouring, the strangely 

 numbered toes, whose tracks we knew so well, and 

 then we fell to discussing the extraordinary chance 

 that had led the tapir's flight in our direction. An 

 inspection of the ground showed that a curious thing 

 had happened. The tapir had been returning to the 

 sulphur spring along the beaten path, which we had 

 followed when we had gone astray on the stale trail, 

 and had there come upon our fresh tracks. This it 

 was that had alarmed it. It was from the danger 

 presented by our tracks that it was running, and its 

 blind flight had led it up to us. As Malias put it, 

 it was a singular case of "turning from the corpse 

 to clasp the ghost." 



I have already said that Malias had never approved 

 of my idea of starting to track in the middle of the 

 afternoon. Our success in no way appeased his sense 

 of the violation of the " custom," and he was glad to 

 find an opportunity of having a quiet hit at me. 



"Well," he said, "when we chance to kill our game 

 in the morning time, we can find use for the sun- 

 picture-box [my camera]; but if in future we go 



