260 
IN AFRICA 
my left, and, looking across, I saw an oribi trying 
to beat off two jackals that had seized her young 
baby oribi. The jackals paid little attention to her 
and she was frantic in her efforts to save her little 
one. 
It was too dark to see my sights plainly, but I 
shot at both of the jackals and sent them slinking 
away. I didn’t go over to see if the little oribi 
was still alive, for I was certain that it had been 
killed. If it were dead I didn’t want to see it and 
could not help either it or its mother; if it were alive 
its mother could get it safely away from the jack¬ 
als. Since that moment I have hated jackals above 
all animals, not even excepting the odious hyena, 
and it is the chief regret of my hunting experience 
in East Africa that I did not kill those two cow¬ 
ardly vandals. 
When the American reader picks up his paper 
and reads that Colonel Roosevelt has shot a 
Uganda cob, it is quite natural that he should not 
know what kind of a thing a cob is. If the colonel 
was out shooting “singing topis” or “singing sun 
hats,” why, then, should he not also shoot corn cobs 
or cob pipes? 
The cob, sometimes spelled kob, however, is only 
an antelope, although a graceful and handsome 
one. It is divided into several subspecies which 
live in different parts of the country. In one part 
will be found the large cob, almost the size of a 
waterbuck, which is called Mrs. Gray’s cob, in honor 
of the wife of one of the former keepers in the 
