grey-eyed pool, a simla was nursing 

 her kalv, a young white buk was 

 scratching his hardening horn with 

 a casual hind foot. Two nekker 

 were butting each other in youthful 

 play. We were admitted to the 

 mysteries of their wild life. So 

 fascinated, I almost forgot the hunt- 

 er's duty, but quickly fired a shot. 



The herd was drifting our way 

 and the wind was right, so we waited. 

 At forty yards I fired again and got 

 what proved a fine picture. Still 

 they came. Finally when one huge 

 buck was within twelve feet I snapped 

 again. The click of the camera 

 always that mischievous click- 

 betrayed me, the buck threw up his 

 head, gave the loud alarm-snort. 

 Every head went up and snorted. 

 The herd wheeled about. Whiff! 

 the paper crackling of their hoofs 

 rippled from end to end as they 

 swayed to the right, to the left and 

 were gone. They did not seem to 

 walk or run, they simply went, with 

 a crash of little clicks that the hooves 

 made when raised. 



They were gone; but they had 

 left the memory of their presence 



