THE LAST SEFARI 425 



As soon as the men had eaten I sent two or three parties 

 out to look for sign. By evening all returned with unfavour- 

 able reports. They had seen nothing. 



Next morning John roused me before five o'clock, and 

 half an hour before full daylight we were working our way 

 along the bases of the hills. There was plenty of game, 

 and a few fresh rhino signs, but we tramped for two hours 

 and a half before we saw any fresh buffalo spoor.' 



One of my Wakamba was the first to make out a very 

 faint print on the flinty red soil. It turned upward into a 

 mountain gorge, and as the earth on a bench we were 

 crossing softened a little, showed up more plainly. The 

 spoor was that of a single old bull, and was quite fresh. 

 Our hopes rose accordingly. 



After almost two hours' patient tracking I found myself 

 on a green slope, not more than two hundred yards wide, 

 that steeply fell away on my right hand and soon rose to a 

 precipice on my left. A sort of bench, it was cut by deep 

 dongas every half mile or so, and these were most of them 

 dry and filled up with dense brush. 



Crossing them took time and care. Here the rank 

 grass of last season had somehow escaped the grass fire, 

 and stood tough and high impossible stuff to track in, 

 almost impossible to shoot in. Things began to look 

 hopeless. The dew was gone, and we lost the trail utterly. 

 As we topped a little ridge, I saw a rhino strolling along 

 in the perfectly aimless way they have, on the other side 

 of a deep donga that opened up a few yards beyond us. 

 I looked him over, for the country owed me one more. 

 The horn was not very large but it was not badly shaped, 

 and was as long as any I was likely to see. I told Brownie 

 I would have him, as our chance of a buffalo seemed now 

 so slim. 



Just then the rhino decided to take a dry rub down, 

 as there were no water holes near by, and tumbled 



