The sun dipped at last
toward the west, a faint irregular breeze wandered down from the
hills, certain birds awoke and uttered their clear calls, an
unsuspected kongoni stepped from the shade of a tree over the way
and began to crop the grass, the shadows were lengthening through
the trees. Then ahead of us an uneasiness ran through the herd.
We in the grass could hear the mutterings and grumblings of many
great animals. Suddenly F. snapped his fingers, stooped low and
darted forward. We scrambled to our feet and followed.
Across a short open space we ran, bent double to the shelter of a
big ant hill. Peering over the top of this we found ourselves
within sixty yards of a long compact column of the great black
beasts, moving forward orderly to the left, the points of the
cow's horns, curved up and in, tossing slowly as the animals
walked. On the flank of the herd was a big gray bull.
It had been agreed that B. was to have the shot. Therefore he
opened fire with his 405 Winchester, a weapon altogether too
light for this sort of work. At the shot the herd dashed forward
to an open grass meadow a few rods away, wheeled and faced back
in a compact mass, their noses thrust up and out in their typical
fashion, trying with all their senses to locate the cause of the
disturbance.
