THE LAND OF FOOTPRINTS 



the shelter of a big ant hill. Peering over the top of 

 this we found ourselves within sixty yards of a long 

 compact column of the great black beasts, moving 

 forward orderly to the left, the points of the cow's 

 horns, curved up and in, tossing slowly as the ani- 

 mals walked. On the flank of the herd was a big 

 gray bull. 



It had been agreed that B. was to have the shot. 

 Therefore he opened fire with his 405 Winchester, 

 a weapon altogether too light for this sort of work. 

 At the shot the herd dashed forward to an open grass 

 meadow a few rods away, wheeled and faced back 

 in a compact mass, their noses thrust up and out in 

 their typical fashion, trying with all their senses to 

 locate the cause of the disturbance. 



Taking advantage both of the scattered cover, 

 and the half light of the shadows we slipped forward 

 as rapidly and as unobtrusively as we could to the 

 edge of the grass meadow. Here we came to a stand 

 eighty yards from the buffaloes. They stood com- 

 pactly like a herd of cattle, staring, tossing their 

 heads, moving slightly, their wild eyes searching for 

 us. I saw several good bulls, but always they moved 

 where it was impossible to shoot without danger of 

 getting the wrong beast. Finally my chance came; 

 I planted a pair of Holland bullets in the shoulder of 

 one of them. 



344 



