They stood compactly like
a herd of cattle, staring, tossing their heads, moving slightly,
their wild eyes searching for us. I saw several good bulls, but
always they moved where it was impossible to shoot without danger
of getting the wrong beast. Finally my chance came; I planted a
pair of Holland bullets in the shoulder of one of them.
The herd broke away to the right, sweeping past us at close
range. My bull ran thirty yards with them, then went down stone
dead. When we examined him we found the hole made by B.'s
Winchester bullet; so that quite unintentionally and by accident
I had fired at the same beast. This was lucky. The trophy, by
hunter's law, of course, belonged to B.
Therefore F. and I alone followed on after the herd. It was now
coming on dusk. Within a hundred yards we began to see scattered
beasts. The formation of the herd had broken. Some had gone on in
flight, while others in small scattered groups would stop to
stare back, and would then move slowly on for a few paces before
stopping again. Among these I made out a bull facing us about a
hundred and twenty-five yards away, and managed to stagger him,
but could not bring him down.
