THE LAND OF FOOTPRINTS 



our breath. The buffaloes came nearer and nearer. 

 At length, through a tiny opening a hundred yards 

 away, we could catch momentary glimpses of their 

 great black bodies. I thrust forward the safety 

 catch and waited. Finally a half dozen of the huge 

 beasts were feeding not six feet inside the circle of 

 brush, and only thirty-odd yards from where we lay. 



And they came no farther! I never passed a more 

 heart-breaking half hour of suspense than that in 

 which little by little the daylight and our hopes 

 faded, while those confounded buffaloes moved slowly 

 out to the very edge of the thicket, turned, and 

 moved as slowly back again. At times they came 

 actually into view. We could see their sleek black 

 bodies rolling lazily into sight and back again, like 

 seals on the surface of water, but never could we 

 make out more than that. I could have had a dozen 

 good shots, but I could not even guess what I would 

 be shooting at. And the daylight drained away and 

 the minutes ticked by! 



Finally, as I could see no end to this performance 

 save that to which we had been so sickeningly ac- 

 customed in the last four days, I motioned to 

 Memba Sasa, and together we glided like shadows 

 into the thicket. 



There it was already dusk. We sneaked breath- 

 lessly through the small openings, desperately in a 



360 



