186 
AFRICAN GAME TRAILS 
On this same evening we rode campward facing a won¬ 
derful sunset. The evening was lowering and overcast. 
The darkening plains stretched dim and vague into the 
far distance. The sun went down under a frowning sky, 
behind shining sheets of rain; and it turned their radiance 
to an angry splendor of gold and murky crimson. 
At this camp the pretty little Livingstone’s wheatears 
or chats were very familiar, flitting within a few yards 
of the tents. They were the earliest birds to sing. Just 
before our eyes could distinguish the first faint streak of 
dawn first one and then another of them would begin to 
sing, apparently either on the ground or in the air, until 
there was a chorus of their sweet music. Then they were 
silent again until the sun was about to rise. We always 
heard them when we made a very early start to hunt. By 
the way, with the game of the plains and the thin bush, we 
found that nothing was gained by getting out early in the 
morning; we were quite as apt to get what we wanted 
in the evening or indeed at high noon. 
The last day at this camp Kermit, Tarlton, and I spent 
on a twelve-hours’ lion hunt. I opened the day inauspi- 
ciously, close to camp, by missing a zebra, which we wished 
for the porters. Then Kermit, by a good shot, killed a tom¬ 
my buck with the best head we had yet gotten. Early in 
the afternoon we reached our objective, some high kop- 
pies, broken by cliffs and covered with brush. There 
were klipspringers on these koppies, little rock-loving 
antelopes, with tiny hoofs and queer brittle hair; they are 
marvellous jumpers and continually utter a bleating whis¬ 
tle. I broke the neck of one as it ran at a distance of a 
hundred and fifty yards; but the shot was a fluke, and did 
