282 TWO DIANAS IN SOMALILAND 
with us. We ventured down a perfect abyss clothed 
at the bottom in aloe jungle. It was most difficult 
to keep upright at all, and we took some glorious 
tosses. The worst thing to contend with was the 
hunter’s habit of carrying Cecily’s rifle pointing 
straight at the person who happened to be struggling 
along in front. It gave me the creeps to watch him. 
However improbable an accident may be, we know 
they do happen in the best regulated families. At 
last, as repeated telling him did no good, we relieved 
him of his load. He may have had some method in 
his madness. 
We heard a crackle of the aloes, and two koodoo 
passed in view, going fairly hard. We hadn’t a look 
in, for they vanished before we realised they were 
there. We crossed from ravine to ravine, and came 
on any amount of koodoo spoor, and leopard, the 
latter some two days old. At last, as we were giving 
up dispirited, sitting down to recover our breath, a small 
koodoo bull passed below us, at a distance of some two 
hundred and thirty yards. It was ridiculous to wait 
for a slightly improved position, there wouldn’t be 
one, and as meat was very scarce with us these days, 
I had a try for him. I really aimed in front of the bull, 
averaging the pace at which he was travelling, and 
pressed the trigger. It was written in my Kismet book 
that I might not do freak shots of this kind with 
success. The koodoo saved his venison, and a sort of 
groan went up from the greedy hunters. Two hundred 
yards is really the limit of a sporting shot or chance, 
and at that distance you cannot make out the animal’s 
