dergrowth led away to the river. And on that little eminence the
expedition all but came to grievous wreck.

CHAPTER XIII

A DESPERATE BATTLE

Fortunately for the entire party, the bandoliers were filled that noon
with the heavy cordite bullets, for Schoverling advised all to carry
their heavy guns. Guru, Akram Das and Amir Ali carried the 30-30s, while
von Hofe broke out a box of shells for the shotgun, as he wished to get
a specimen of a peculiar crane he had seen that morning in the river,
and refused to let the others shoot it for him.

"Nein," he objected determinedly. "I shoot my own specimens, thanks, for
it is good to say, 'Shot and mounted by Gross von Hofe.' I can shoot
when I wish."

"I should say you can," laughed Charlie. "You sure nipped that big snake
in the right place, Doctor! I never saw any better shooting."

"You let the doctor alone," chuckled Schoverling. "He knows his business
better than any of us. Give him an elephant gun, if he wants it!"

The big Teuton smiled broadly through his blond beard, for the praise
was dear to his honest heart. While they sat and rested, Gholab Singh
washed the tin dishes, humming one of his native songs. Jack's quick eye
caught a movement in the bushes toward the river, and as he jumped up a
big boar came running out.

"Knock him over," suggested Schoverling lazily. "But we'll have to cut
him up and cook him ourselves."

Jack agreed, as the boar trotted across the open space, followed by
another. Catching up his 30-30, which lay with the other guns close at
hand, he put a shot through the brain of the second animal. Charlie
joined him and they ran out to bring in the body, as the Sikh was the
only Indian who would touch pig's flesh.

"Say, Jack," exclaimed Charlie as they bent over the boar, "didn't it
strike you queer that they'd run out that way? 'Most as if somethin' was
after 'em."

"Right," and Jack sprang to his feet. Looking closely, they could see
the tops of the twenty-foot reeds along the river-bank shaking heavily
and slowly, as if massive bodies were advancing. "Maybe it's a rhino,
Chuck. He wouldn't bother us--hello! What's up?"

A chorus of shrill yells from the Masai above startled them. Glancing
up, they saw Schoverling and the gun-bearers catching up their weapons,
while the natives were leading the cattle away from the wagon, the
inspanning having already begun for the march. They saw Gholab Singh
catch up the little rifle bel