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hunter. We followed him till dark, but I'm sorry 

 to say did not overtake him; I hate leaving a 

 wounded beast out. Before turning we marked 

 the place, by making a circle with a spear, and 

 then galloping about a mile each way, leaving a 

 spear trail in the sand. Eustace had meanwhile 

 bagged a good oryx bull. 



Next morning at 5.30 I was away. There had 

 been a little rain in the night, but, luckily, not 

 enough to obliterate tracks. I was on my pony, 

 and we had not reached the place where we were 

 to pick up the tracks, when I saw the thick horns 

 of a bull oryx over the bushes. I jumped off and, 

 running in, shot him dead as he was starting to go 

 off. I thought it was the wounded one, but there 

 was not a mark on him. It was no use apologiz- 

 ing to him for my mistake, and he was a beautiful 

 bull, anyhow. We then got on the tracks, and 

 about half a mile on discovered our original quarry, 

 very sick in a bush. I finished the poor beast off, 

 and found that last night's shot had gone low, 

 catching him in the fore legs. I rode back to 

 camp with an oryx head on each side of my pony, 

 but with no wish to molest any more. 



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