RIDING THE PLAINS 



ravines in the troughs of the low billows, while the 

 dogs worked eagerly in and out of cover, and our 

 handful of savages cast stones and shouted. Oc- 

 casionally we divided forces and beat the length of 

 a hill, two of us lying in wait at one end for the 

 possible lion, the rest sweeping the sides and sum- 

 mits. Many animals came bounding along, but 

 no lions. Then Harold Hill, unlimbering a huge, 

 many-jointed telescope, would lie flat on his back 

 and sight the fearsome instrument over his crossed 

 feet, in a general bird's eye view of the plains for 

 miles around. While he was at it we were privileged 

 to look about us less under the burden of respon- 

 sibility. We could make out the game as little, 

 light-coloured dots and speckles, thousands upon 

 thousands of them, thicker than cattle ever grazed 

 on the open range, and as far as the eye could make 

 them out, and then a glance through our glasses 

 picked them up again for mile after mile. Even 

 the six-power could go no farther. The imagina- 

 tion was left the vision of more leagues of wild 

 animals even to the half-guessed azure mountains 

 — and beyond. I had seen abundant game elsewhere 

 in Africa, but nothing like the multitudes inhabiting 

 the Kapiti Plains at that time of year. In other 

 seasons this locality is comparatively deserted. 

 The 'scope revealing nothing in our line, we rode 



165 



