128 IN THE LAND OF THE BOKA. 



wept to think of the lost opportunity. Only the 

 previous day I had cast a pound of lead into 

 bullets to practise with a view to some big-game 

 shooting in the Administered Provinces, but those 

 were all lying safely in the fort half a dozen miles 

 away. 



The stag, then, had disappeared over the 

 knoll. It was the work of a minute to secure 

 the dogs to an olive tree with the strap of my 

 game-bag, and then I ran, as fast as the nature 

 of the ground would let me, to and climbed over 

 the ridge in front of me. 



As I had thought, only one valley led through 

 this. I crossed it, and threw myself among some 

 rather prickly bushes on the leeward slope. 



I had hardly managed to stop the sobs this 

 burst had provoked (Why does the wind get so 

 thick at middle age ?) when I spied my friend 

 coming, as I had expected, right towards me. At 

 first I thought he would take a sheep-track that 

 passed within five yards of me. If he had, I do 

 not think I could have refrained from trying the 

 effect of both barrels in the head at that distance. 

 But he didn't ; the one he did take passing at 

 under thirty-five yards, nevertheless. 



A very weary, worn-out looking specimen he 

 was, lean and lank withal as a nightmare. One 

 does not expect much from an October stag, but 

 this one was the very typification of the beast. 



