The Eastern Congo 



not looking for them. He made " no bones about it," but 

 simply stated the fact that he did not intend risking his life 

 for the sake of a mere trophy. Both my wife and myself 

 " pulled his leg " all day long but it made not a particle 

 of difference to his even temper, as he entirely lacked the 

 sporting instinct. 



In spite of this — what we will call — disability, he was 

 nevertheless extremely anxious to shoot a buffalo, if he 

 could do so at a safe distance, and one of his efforts to this 

 end was the funniest thing I ever saw. 



Early one morning, on a dried-up swamp near our camp, 

 there happened to be a small herd of buffaloes feeding, and 

 as there were a few of Fourget's favourite trees near them, 

 the chance was not to be missed ; he sallied forth therefore 

 with his native bearer, whilst I brought up the rear with 

 my kine-camera in the hope of filming something interesting. 

 Some scattered trees, a good two hundred yards distant 

 from the unsuspicious animals, were selected as the first 

 objective, but on reaching them they were found to be rather 

 smaller than our friend had anticipated. They were, in 

 fact, not more than ten or twelve feet high, of a sturdy 

 growth with spreading tops, but as there was nothing bigger 

 in the vicinity (and no thorn trees !) it had to be these or 

 nothing. Fourget therefore legged it up the biggest and 

 swaying gently, peered out over the grass at his coveted 

 betes noires, who fed slowly along. With our friend, the 

 mere sight of a shaggy-eared buffalo was enough to " put 

 the wind up him." I think, therefore, at this moment one 

 must have looked in his direction, for he beckoned to his 

 gun-bearer to join him up the tree. Following his master's 

 orders, the native just managed to push his way up beside 



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