A SNAP-SHOT THAT KILLS A DOG. 267 



After my habit I had tied the little bay Basuto 

 pony to the after-wheel of the wagon. I had been 

 asleep several hours, when I was aroused by a sudden 

 jerk upon it. Picking up my gun, and shoving my feet 

 into slippers, I went out to discover what made the 

 horse so restive. The night was fine, with a clear 

 unclouded moon, such a moon that, with the exception 

 of the hunter's moon in America, could nowhere else 

 be seen. As far as I could note, there was nothing in 

 the vicinity to alarm the animals ; so I turned my 

 attention to the fires, which were now reduced to a mass 

 of glowing ashes. On similar occasions, and under such 

 circumstances (fine clear nights), fires are of little use; 

 still, as an abundant supply of fuel had been col- 

 lected, I placed a quantity on my own fire, the after 

 one just behind the wagon, then went forward, and did 

 the same to the one in front of the leading bullocks. 

 I noticed that the majority of the oxen were standing, 

 and facing in the same direction ; still I did not 

 consider that a circumstance deserving of particular 

 consideration. 



I scratched Swartland's withers and fondled his head, 

 then spoke to Buffle, and afterwards had a talk with 

 Poonah ; and while doing so I heard a yell from the 

 wagon ; in a moment I jumped on one side, so as to 

 avail myself of the light of the fire ; almost instan- 

 taneously something passed between me and it ; I 

 fired a snap-shot, and, to my disgust, I found I had 

 shot dead as a stone the worthless dog. At the 

 moment I fired he was in the jaws of a panther, and 

 the injuries he had sustained from its fangs showed that 

 if my luckless bullet had not ended his career, he 

 could not have long survived the frightful gashes along 



