Sporting Trips of a Subaltern 



I ended this interesting day by spotting a 

 grand old oryx bull far out in the open plain; 

 there was not enough cover to hide a terrier, and 

 I was quite at a loss how to approach him. 

 Spots, however, was a man of resource, and 

 gathered a large clump of dry grass, considerably 

 higher than most of it thereabouts. Armed with 

 this we crawled forth. When the oryx grazed, we 

 made best pace on hands and knees ; when he 

 looked up, we collapsed and lay still, while Spots 

 held the grass like a fan in front of us. We were 

 crawling, of course, side by side. After a long 

 time we got to 150 yards from our quarry. At this 

 point he stopped feeding, and stared more intently 

 than I liked at the grass tuft, that he evidently 

 did not remember having noticed before. I was, 

 for some reason that I forget, using my 12-bore 

 rifle that day, a terrifically hard-hitting weapon ; 

 but the weight of the spherical ball made it drop 

 at ranges over 100 yards. I accordingly, after 

 gently pushing the muzzle through the grass 

 screen, took a very full sight at his shoulder; 

 the bullet "told" loudly, and he staggered to the 

 shot, nevertheless he went off. My pony had had 

 to be left far away, and by the time I had whistled 

 him up, the oryx had disappeared in the bushes 

 surrounding the plain. I galloped after him as 

 soon as I could, but, being unable to see him, had 

 to dismount and puzzle out the tracks with my 



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