THE BUFFALO 



stream jungle at the bottom, climb out the other 

 side, and make our stalk to within range. With a 

 half hour more of daylight this would have been 

 comparatively easy; but in such circumstances it is 

 difficult to move at the same time rapidly and unseen. 

 However, we decided to make the attempt. To that 

 end we disencumbered ourselves of all our extras — 

 lunch box, book, kodak, glasses, etc. — and wormed 

 our way as rapidly as possible toward the bottom of 

 the hill. We utilized the cover as much as we were 

 able, but nevertheless breathed a sigh of relief when 

 we had dropped below the line of the jungle. We 

 wasted very little time crossing the latter, save for 

 precautions against noise. Even in my haste, how- 

 ever, I had opportunity to notice its high and au- 

 stere character, with the arching overhead vines, and 

 the clear freedom from undergrowth in its heart. 

 Across this cleared space we ran at full speed, crouch- 

 ing below the grasp of the vines, splashed across the 

 brook, and dashed up the other bank. Only a faint 

 glimmier of light lingered in the jungle. At the upper 

 edge we paused, collected ourselves, and pushed 

 cautiously through the thick border-screen of bush. 

 The twilight was just fading into dusk. Of course 

 we had taken our bearings from the other hill: so 

 now, after reassuring ourselves of them, we began to 

 wriggle our way at a great pace through the high 



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