THE LAND OF FOOTPRINTS 



of four and five hundred yards. I remember one in 

 especial who airily and as a matter of fact killed all 

 his antelope at such ranges. Most men have shot 

 occasional beasts at a quarter mile or so, but not 

 airily nor as a matter of fact: rather with thanks- 

 giving and a certain amount of surprise. The 

 gentleman of whom I speak mentioned getting 

 an eland at seven hundred and fifty yards. By 

 chance I happened to mention this to a native 

 Africander. 



"Yes," said he, "I remember that; I was there." 



This interested me — and I said so. 



"He made a long shot," said I. 



"A good long shot," replied the Africander. 



"Did you pace the distance?" 



He laughed. "No," said he, "the old chap was 

 immensely delighted. 'Eight hundred yards if it 

 was an inch!' he cried." 



"How far was it.?" 



"About three hundred and fifty. But it was a long 

 shot, all right." 



And it was! Three hundred and fifty yards is a 

 very long shot. It is over four city blocks — New 

 York size. But if you talk often enough and glibly 

 enough of "four and five hundred yards," it does not 

 sound like much, does it? 



The same class of v/riter always gets all the thrills. 



4 



