ur BIG GAME SHOOTING, 1887 45 
brook, brought us to the karia where the boy had first seen the 
koodoo. On the left bank of the river a gorge ran up into the 
mountains, and opposite to its mouth stood the karia, a circle of 
half a dozen poor-looking huts. 
I waited here while my Midgan hunter and the boy went to 
the foot of the hills; soon they reported that the position of 
the game was unchanged. The koodoo were still under the 
large tree at the head of the gorge some four or five hundred 
feet above us. The only way to get at them was to go up 
another gorge parallel to the one which contained the tree, and 
to leeward of it. On nearing the tree, after a tedious climb, I 
happened to crack a stick, and immediately there followed a 
crash and stampede below us. All noise soon ceased, but I 
caught sight of something moving down the gorge in front. 
Stooping cautiously, I looked through a thorn-bush, placing 
the muzzle of my Express within the network of twigs; after 
a second or two I could make out one large brown spiral horn 
and a bit of striped skin lying somewhere over the shoulder, so 
taking a quick aim a little below this, I touched the trigger and 
a beautiful bull koodoo rolled twenty feet down into the torrent- 
bed in the centre of the gorge, and was stopped by a large mass 
of rock. The cow galloped madly away, loosening a shower of 
stones with her hoofs, and soon there came from below the 
sound of two shots from a Snider as she raced past my camel- 
man, Nur Osman, posted at the mouth of the gorge; but 
crossing the Sheikh stream, she took to the hills on the opposite 
side of the valley and escaped. Leaving orders at the karia 
for a camel to follow us with the koodoo meat, we started 
home. 
The return walk in the evening down the valley was as 
wild and picturesque as one could wish. Nutr Osman and the 
Midgan led the way, carrying the head and skin of my first 
koodoo, at which I could not help looking admiringly from time 
to time, for it was a great prize. Our path led close to the 
stream, over dark slippery rocks, with here and there a plot of 
rich turf running down to the water’s edge. At our backs the 
sun was setting behind the crest of Golis, and in front rose 
gigantic precipices, the hills having been quarried out by the 
river into a deep cafion. As it grew dusk my reflections were 
disturbed by a wart-hog boar, which had come down to drink in 
the cool stream after a hot day, but I had no reason for firing 
at him, his tusks being poor. 
