184 A MEDLEY OF SPORT 



although evidently groggy, the worthy Landrost mounts 

 again, for, like all good sportsmen, be they Briton or 

 Boer, he hates to be beaten. A mighty splash, and ten 

 couple of hounds are madly swimming across the shallow 

 pan towards the beautiful little antelope, which, having 

 " soiled," is struggling gallantly to reach the farther 

 shore. But he has stopped to "soil" too long, for several 

 couple of the older and more knowing hounds have 

 skirted the shore, and are already baying round the 

 margin of a clump of tall reeds towards which he is 

 swimming, while those that have taken the water are 

 close on his haunches. At length he touches the ground 

 and, with a great spring, jumps clean over the heads of 

 his pursuers. But the gallant little animal's last bolt is 

 shot. Old ''Amazon" has fastened on to his withers, and 

 in a moment he is pulled down by a living torrent of 

 bloodthirsty, half-maddened hounds. " Whoo-whoop ! " 

 and my best and fastest run with the first pack of English 

 foxhounds that ever crossed the Transvaal border is over. 



