, while the former,
pursued by the wild dogs, made off towards some hills to the north.

The speed of the camelopard is not quite equal to that of a horse, and
the hunters knew that the desired objects could be overtaken; but what
then? The giraffes might be shot down, but how were they to be taken
alive?

There was no time for reflection. The necessity of commencing the
chase, and the excitement of following it up, occupied all the time of
the hunters.

After a sharp run of about two miles, the camelopards began to show
further signs of distress. Already exhausted by their flight before the
hounds, and now pursued by fresh horses, their utmost efforts did not
save them from being overtaken; after a two-mile chase our hunters were
riding upon their heels.

A portion of the herd, becoming separated from the rest turned away from
the bank of the stream. There were but three who went thus,--a male and
female followed by a young one,--a beautiful creature. Groot Willem
gazed longingly upon it as he galloped by its side, and became nearly
mad with the desire to secure it. The pace of the three had now been
changed from a gallop to a trot, in which their feet were lifted but a
few inches from the ground, and drawn forward in an awkward shambling
manner, that proved them exhausted with their long run. Still, they ran
on at a pace that kept Willem's horse at a sharp canter.

In a short time he had got out of sight both of the main herd and his
comrades. Nothing could be seen of either. He might have reflected
that there was some risk of losing himself; but he did not. All his
thoughts were given to the capture of the young giraffe.

Slower and more slow became the pace both of pursuer and pursued, the
horse streaming with sweat, and nearly ready to drop in his tracks.

"Why should I follow them farther?" thought Willem. "Why should I kill
my horse for the sake of gazing a little longer on a creature I cannot
take?"

Though conscious of the folly he was committing, Willem could not bring
himself to abandon the chase.

By his side trotted the young giraffe, beautiful in colour, graceful in
form, and to his mind priceless in value. But how was it to become his?
The coveted prize, although apparently but a few weeks old, and nearly
exhausted by its long race, was still able to defy any efforts he might
make to check its laboured flight.

He was now more than a mile from the river, and his horse was tottering