e stretched
himself upon his camp-chair in the shadow of his tent. On the whole he
travelled northwards reluctantly; until he came to a little open space
ten days away from the first village he would touch.

He camped there just before noon, and at three o'clock on the following
morning, in the company of his shikari, his skinner and his donkey-boy
he was riding along a narrow path high above the river. It was very
dark, so that even with the vast blaze of stars overhead, Hillyard could
hardly see the flutter of his shikari's white robe a few paces ahead of
him. They passed a clump of bushes and immediately afterwards heard a
great shuffling and lapping of water below them. The shikari stopped
abruptly and seized the bridle of Hillyard's donkey. The night was so
still that the noise at the water's edge below seemed to fill the world.
Hillyard slipped off the back of his donkey and took his rifle from his
boy.

"_Gamus!_" whispered the shikari.

Hillyard almost swore aloud. There was a creek, three hours' march away,
where the reed buck came down to drink in the morning. For that creek
Hillyard was now making with a little Mannlicher sporting rifle--and he
had tumbled suddenly upon buffalo! He was on the very edge of the
buffalo country, he would see no more between here and the houses of
Senga.

It was his last chance and he had nothing but a popgun! He was still
reproaching himself when a small but startling change took place. The
snuffling and lapping suddenly ceased; and with the cessation of all
sound, the night became sinister.

The shikari whispered again.

"Now they in their turn know that we are here." He enveloped the
donkey's head in a shawl that he was carrying. "Do not move," he
continued. "They are listening."

Shikari, skinner, donkey-boy, donkey and Hillyard stood together,
motionless, silent. Hillyard had come out to hunt. Down below the herd
in its dumb parliament was debating whether he should be the hunted.
There was little chance for any one of them if the debate went against
them. Hillyard might bring down one--perhaps two, if by some miraculous
chance he shot a bullet through both forelegs. But it would make no
difference to the herd. Hillyard pictured them below by the water's
edge, their heads lifted, their tails stiffened, waiting in the
darkness. Once the lone, earth-shaking roar of a lion spread from far
away, booming over the dark country. But the herd below never stirred.
It no mor