The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 



light on the second day, but with the exception 

 of the herd of blue wildebeest, of which I had 

 bagged a bull, all the game was extremely wild 

 from being so constantly hunted by profes- 

 sionals. 



We came upon a small troop of zebras, locally 

 and wrongly known as quaggas, but there isn't 

 much satisfaction to be got out of slaying a 

 zebra, and as meat it is useless also, for the boys 

 will not touch it. There were a great number of 

 these harmless beasts about. Far too many, 

 indeed, for a hunter's liking. For they are apt 

 to give warning of the stalker's presence to a 

 more desirable quarry. 



On the way back to camp I was within an ace 

 of stepping on a coiled-up puff-adder. Really, 

 it is very curious, when you come to think of it, 

 that more accidents do not happen to hunters 

 in thick grass. 



Kopping had with him a small Irish terrier 

 puppy, and presently the dog began to growl, 

 and all his hair on-ended. I was close to a thick 

 belt of reeds. Accidentally we had stumbled on 

 a lion's lair. The occupant cleared out as we 

 came, and the grass swayed as the beast swept 

 through. But the cover was so thick we could 

 neither of us get in a shot. We both saw him as 

 he crossed a small open space one hundred 

 yards off, but only for a fraction of a second. I 

 examined the place where the beast had been 



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