260 IN AFRICA 



my left, and, looking across, I saw an oribi trying 

 to beat off two jackals that had seized her young 

 baby oribi. The jackals paid little attention to her 

 and she was frantic in her efforts to save her little 

 one. 



It was too dark to see my sights plainly, but I 

 shot at both of the jackals and sent them slinking 

 away. I didn't go over to see if the little oribi 

 was still alive, for I was certain that it had been 

 killed. If it were dead I didn't want to see it and 

 could not help either it or its mother ; if it were alive 

 its mother could get it safely away from the jack- 

 als. Since that moment I have hated jackals above 

 all animals, not even excepting the odious hyena, 

 and it is the chief regret of my hunting experience 

 in East Africa that I did not kill those two cow- 

 ardly vandals. 



When the American reader picks up his paper 

 and reads that Colonel Roosevelt has shot a 

 Uganda cob, it is quite natural that he should not 

 know what kind of a thing a cob is. If the colonel 

 was out shooting "singing topis" or "singing sun 

 hats," why, then, should he not also shoot corn cobs 

 or cob pipes? 



The cob, sometimes spelled kob, however, is only 

 an antelope, although a graceful and handsome 

 one. It is divided into several subspecies which 

 live in different parts of the country. In one part 

 will be found the large cob, almost the size of a 

 waterbuck, which is called Mrs. Gray's cob, in honor 

 of the wife of one of the former keepers in the 



