As A Matter Of Fact An Ordinary Herd Will
Contain Only Two Or Three Bulls Worth Shooting; And It Is The
Hunter's Delicate Task To Glide And Crawl Here And There, With
Due Regard For Sight, Scent And Sound, Until He Has Picked One Of
These From The Scores Of Undesirables.
Many times will he worm
his way by inches toward the great black bodies half defined in
the screen of thick undergrowth only to find that he has stalked
cows or small bulls.
Then inch by inch he must back out again,
unable to see twenty yards to either side, guiding himself by the
probabilities of the faint chance breezes in the thicket. To
right and left he hears the quiet continued crop, crop, crop,
sound of animals grazing. The sweat runs down his face in
streams, and blinds his eyes, but only occasionally and with the
utmost caution can he raise his hand-or, better, lower his
head-to clear his vision. When at last he has withdrawn from the
danger zone, he wipes his face, takes a drink from the canteen,
and tries again. Sooner or later his presence comes to the notice
of some old cow. Behind the leafy screen where unsuspected she
has been standing comes the most unexpected and heart-jumping
crash! Instantly the jungle all about roars into life. The great
bodies of the alarmed beasts hurl themselves through the thicket,
smash! bang! crash! smash! as though a tornado were uprooting the
forest. Then abruptly a complete silence! This lasts but ten
seconds or so; then off rushes the wild stampede in another
direction; only again to come to a listening halt of breathless
stillness. So the hunter, unable to see anything, and feeling
very small, huddles with his gunbearers in a compact group,
listening to the wild surging short rushes, now this way, now
that, hoping that the stampede may not run over him. If by chance
it does, he has his two shots and the possibility of hugging a
tree while the rush divides around him. The latter is the most
likely; a single buffalo is hard enough to stop with two shots,
let alone a herd. And yet, sometimes, the mere flash and noise
will suffice to turn them, provided they are not actually trying
to attack, but only rushing indefinitely about. Probably a man
can experience few more thrilling moments than he will enjoy
standing in one of the small leafy rooms of an African jungle
while several hundred tons of buffalo crash back and forth all
around him.
In the best of circumstances it is only rarely that having
identified his big bull, the hunter can deliver a knockdown blow.
The beast is extraordinarily vital, and in addition it is
exceedingly difficult to get a fair, open shot. Then from the
danger of being trampled down by the blind and senseless stampede
of the herd he passes to the more defined peril from an angered
and cunning single animal.
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