92 
AFRICAN GAME TRAILS 
country, although there were a few scattered trees of no 
great size at some little distance from him. We left our 
horses in a dip of the ground and began the approach; 
I cannot say that we stalked him, for the approach was too 
easy. The wind blew from him to us, and a rhino’s eyesight 
is dull. Thirty yards from where he stood was a bush four 
or five feet high, and though it was so thin that we could 
distinctly see him through the leaves, it shielded us from 
the vision of his small, piglike eyes as we advanced toward 
it, stooping and in single file, I leading. The big beast 
stood like an uncouth statue, his hide black in the sun¬ 
light; he seemed what he was, a monster surviving over 
from the world’s past, from the days when the beasts of 
the prime ran riot in their strength, before man grew so 
cunning of brain and hand as to master them. So little 
did he dream of our presence that when we were a hundred 
yards off he actually lay down. 
Walking lightly, and with every sense keyed up, wc 
at last reached the bush, and I pushed forward the safety 
of the double-barrelled Holland rifle which I was now to 
use for the first time on big game. As I stepped to one side 
of the bush so as to get a clear aim, with Slatter following, 
the rhino saw me and jumped to his feet with the agility of 
a polo pony. As he rose I put in the right barrel, the bullet 
going through both lungs. At the same moment he wheeled, 
the blood spouting from his nostrils, and galloped full on 
us. Before he could get quite all the way round in his head¬ 
long rush to reach us, I struck him with my left-hand 
barrel, the bullet entering between the neck and shoulder 
and piercing his heart. At the same instant Captain Slatter 
fired, his bullet entering the neck vertebrae. Ploughing up 
