I smoked, and rested
up, and dried out before my little fire. Then my fuel began to
run low. I arose and tore down all the remaining dead limbs
within the circle of my firelight. These were not many, so I
stepped out into the darkness for more. Immediately I was warned
back by a deep growl!
The next hour was not one of such solid comfort. I began to get
parsimonious about my supply of firewood, trying to use it in
such a manner as to keep up an adequate blaze, and at the same
time to make it last until Memba Sasa should return with the men.
I did it, though I got down to charred ends before I was through.
The old lioness hung around within a hundred yards or so below,
and the buffalo herd, returning, filed by above, pausing to stamp
and snort at the fire. Finally, about nine o'clock, I made out
two lanterns bobbing up to me through the trees.
The last incident to be selected from many experiences with
buffaloes took place in quite an unvisited district over the
mountains from the Loieta Plains. For nearly two months we had
ranged far in this lovely upland country of groves and valleys
and wide grass bottoms between hills, hunting for greater kudu.
One day we all set out from camp to sweep the base of a range of
low mountains in search of a good specimen of Newman's
hartebeeste, or anything else especially desirable that might
happen along. The gentle slope from the mountains was of grass
cut by numerous small ravines grown with low brush. This brush
was so scanty as to afford but indifferent cover for anything
larger than one of the small grass antelopes. All the ravines led
down a mile or so to a deeper main watercourse paralleling the
mountains. Some water stood in the pools here; and the cover was
a little more dense, but consisted at best of but a "stringer" no
wider than a city street. Flanking the stringer were scattered
high bushes for a few yards; and then the open country.
Altogether as unlikely a place for the shade-loving buffalo as
could be imagined.
We collected our Newmanii after rather a long hunt; and just at
noon, when the heat of the day began to come on, we wandered down
to the water for lunch. Here we found a good clear pool and
drank. The boys began to make themselves comfortable by the
water's edge; C. went to superintend the disposal of Billy's
mule. Billy had sat down beneath the shade of the most hospitable
of the bushes a hundred feet or so away, and was taking off her
veil and gloves. I was carrying to her the lunch box. When I was
about halfway from where the boys were drinking at the stream's
edge to where she sat, a buffalo bull thrust his head from the
bushes just the other side of her.
