122 
AFRICAN GAME TRAILS 
But we got within half a mile of McMillan’s house with¬ 
out seeing a hippo, and the light was rapidly fading. 
Judd announced that we would go home, but took one last 
look around the next bend, and instantly sank to his knees, 
beckoning to me. I crept forward on all fours, and he 
pointed out to me an object in the stream, fifty yards off, 
under the overhanging branch of a tree, which jutted out 
from the steep bank opposite. In that light I should not 
myself have recognized it as a hippo head; but it was one, 
looking toward us, with the ears up and the nostrils, eyes, 
and forehead above water. I aimed for the centre; the 
sound told that the bullet had struck somewhere on the 
head, and the animal disappeared without a splash. Judd 
was sure I had killed, but I was by no means so confident 
myself, and there was no way of telling until next morning, 
for the hippo always sinks when shot and does not rise to 
the surface for several hours. Accordingly, back we walked 
to the house. 
At sunrise next morning Cuninghame, Judd, and I, 
with a crowd of porters, were down at the spot. There was 
a very leaky boat in which Cuninghame, Judd, and I 
embarked, intending to drift and paddle downstream while 
the porters walked along the bank. We did not have far 
to go, for as we rounded the first point we heard the por¬ 
ters break into guttural exclamations of delight, and there 
ahead of us, by a little island of papyrus, was the dead 
hippo. With the help of the boat it was towed to a con¬ 
venient landing-place, and then the porters dragged it 
ashore. It was a cow, of good size for one dwelling in a 
small river, where they never approach the dimensions 
of those making their homes in a great lake like the Vic- 
