122 
AFRICAN HUNTING. 
meal, rice, eggs, and beer. I at length agreed. They 
shortly hit off the spoor of two old bull buffaloes 
which had fed on an open plain early in the morning. 
We spoored them beautifully into a dense thicket, 
black as midnight, and so still and silent you might 
almost hear a leaf fall at the entrance ; the Amatongas 
one and all most politely made way for me to go in, 
silently pointing to the spoor. For the first time I 
began to take an interest in what I was about, took 
my double-barreled gun from the hands of the carrier, 
took off my shoes, and stept cautiously and very quietly 
along the path, and had proceeded about one hundred 
yards, when, just as the path turned, I found myself 
face to face with an old bull fast asleep, lying down 
within ten yards. I dropped on one knee, cocked 
the left hand barrel, holding the trigger back to 
prevent the click, and, as soon as I felt the lock catch, 
took a steady pot in the centre of the forehead. 
Just as I touched the trigger my gun went down and 
stopped at half cock. The bull instantly opened his 
eyes wide, and was half up when I cocked and fired 
the second barrel and hit him. I ran through the 
smoke fifteen yards back, and dropping behind a bush 
to ascertain the effects of my shot, heard a crash 
through the bush. It was the other breaking cover, 
and my old friend on his legs, with his nose high 
up, snuffing the air for me. He made a dead set, 
getting my wind ; and immediately made a desperate 
charge right through the middle of my bush, which I 
avoided by jumping on one side. He turned im- 
