28 THE BONDS OF AFRICA 



great deal of peering I singled out what I judged 

 to be a good bull — I could distinctly see a very- 

 fair spread of horns. The bullet hit with a telling 

 " vup," and I heard that low, moaning bellow 

 which a wounded buffalo invariably gives vent 

 to. No animal fell, however, and the whole 

 herd stampeded away with a thunder of hoofs 

 that shook the earth. We ran along the tracks, 

 and now and then the keen eyes of my native 

 hunters singled out a leaf with a few tell-tale 

 drops of blood on it. But after a while the blood 

 spoor ceased, and we decided that we must have 

 over-run the tracks of the wounded animal. 



I thought of taking things easily for a while, 

 lit up a pipe, handed my rifle to a gun-bearer, 

 and casually sauntered along. Suddenly there 

 was a crashing in the bushes, and out dashed 

 the w^ounded animal, head upthrust, nostrils 

 blazing furnace red, the very incarnation of 

 diabolical fury. Kwamwendo, who carried my 

 spare rifle, cleared off in one direction; the 

 wretched bearer, with my old pet '375, dashed 

 off in another; the buffalo turned on me, and, 

 defenceless, I bolted for all I was worth. 



Thorns with the talons of a lammergeyer pos- 

 sessed no terrors for me then, and I don't know 

 what might have happened had not Kwamwendo 

 — in some degree, I suppose, repentant — fired at 

 the infuriated brute with my falling block gun. 

 The buffalo then made towards him, and my 

 bearer summed up sufficient pluck to throw me 

 my rifle. I managed to administer the death-blow 

 without very much more difficulty, and found my 

 prize was a cow carrying a good head. 



On my way back to camp that day I came 

 across a smaller herd of buffalo — probably a 

 detachment of the main army of the beasts— and 



