Horns 



driven towards it, or by approactiing tlie herd in 

 a bullock-cart. 



I can't say that these methods particularly 

 recommend themselves to me. 



The real game begins when one tries to stalk 

 a wary herd across the open plain. 



Not long ago I took on a stalk of this nature. 

 It was on a hot April morning in the Central 

 Provinces, and the sun was already beginning 

 to get unpleasantly warm when I set out on the 

 flat of my stomach across the open grassy plain, 

 with no prospect in front of me of being able to 

 make use of a helpful termite heap or anything 

 in the shape of a small bush or large tussock of 

 grass to shield me from the all too keen and 

 persistent gaze of the herd. The position resolved 

 itself into just a slow, tortuous crawl on my 

 stomach — and nothing else for it. I had to go 

 from 350 to 400 yards, and it took me three- 

 quarters of an hour. By the end of this period 

 I was very fagged, very hot and wet, extremely 

 aching about the shoulder-blades, and had got 

 to within 70 yards of the nearest doe, and I did 

 not dare squirm along another foot. And I 

 missed the buck after all ! I draw a veil over the 

 things I remembered to mention in the heat of my 

 disappointment as the buck went off in a series 

 of most disconcerting leaps and bounds, for the 

 bullet had whizzed very close to him, and he was 

 frightened. 



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