It was too early in the season for really good 

 sport. The rank tropical grass six to eight feet 

 high in most places, twelve to fourteen in some 

 was too green to burn yet, and the stout stems 

 and heavy seed heads made walking as difficult as in a 

 field of tangled sugar cane ; for long stretches it was 

 not possible to see five yards, and the dew in the early 

 mornings was so heavy that after a hundred yards 

 of such going one was drenched to the skin. 



We were forced into the more open parts the 

 higher, stonier, more barren ground where just then 

 the bigger game was by no means plentiful. 



On the third day two of us started out to try a new 

 quarter in the hilly country rising towards the Berg. 

 My companion, Francis, was an experienced hunter 

 and his idea was that we should find the big game, 

 not on the hot humid flats or the stony rises, but still 

 higher up on the breezy hill tops or in the cool shady 

 kloofs running towards the mountains. We passed 

 a quantity of smaller game that morning, and several 

 times heard the stampede of big animals wildebeeste 

 and waterbuck, as we found by the spoor but it was 

 absolutely impossible to see them. The dew was so 

 heavy that even our hats were soaking wet, and times 

 out of number we had to stop to wipe the water out 

 of our eyes in order to see our way ; a complete duck- 

 ing would not have made the least difference. 



Jock fared better than we did, finding openings 

 and game tracks at his own level, which were of no 

 use to us ; he also knew better than we did what was 

 going on ahead, and it was tantalising in the extreme to 



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