Sporting Trips of a Subaltern 



thinking evidently that they were safe at such a 

 distance, and not seeing us clearly, I gradually 

 worked myself out of the saddle, and, leaving 

 Hassan and my pony for them to look at, I 

 doubled myself up and ran under the bushes 

 round to a flank where, by screening myself 

 behind a big tree stem, I was able to get to 

 150 yards from the herd. I then sat down, 

 got my breath, picked out the finest bull, and 

 missed him clean. No "phut " signalled a hit, 

 but I heard my bullet go singing away into 

 space. The oryx, or Beisa antelope, for that 

 is what they were, crashed off into the bushes, 

 and I began to wonder of what use all my 

 trouble and expenditure were if I couldn't shoot 

 straight when the time came. This, however, 

 was the end of my misfortunes. The next 

 day, after a short march, I stuck a bit of paper 

 on an ant-hill, and soon found I was firing 

 high. Whether Somali is not so clear as India, 

 and caused me to overrate all my distances, or 

 whether I had contracted an evil habit of taking 

 in too much foresight, I never satisfactorily 

 cleared up, suffice that thenceforward I did not 

 miss many shots. 



In case of any trouble in the interior, we gave 

 all our escort shooting practice here with our 

 fifteen Snider rifles. We let them shoot at the 

 top of a large biscuit-box 100 yards off for four 



102 



