I held the heavy double gun ready. If the beast had elected
to charge I would have had less than ten yards within which to
stop it. Fortunately it did not do so. But instantly the herd was
afoot and off at full speed. A locomotive amuck in a kindling
pile could have made no more appalling a succession of rending
crashes than did those heavy animals rushing here and there
through the thick woody growth. We could see nothing. Twice the
rush started in our direction, but stopped as suddenly as it had
begun, to be succeeded by absolute stillness when everything,
ourselves included, held its breath to listen. Finally, the first
panic over, the herd started definitely away downstream. We ran
as fast as we could out of the jungle to a commanding position on
the hill. Thence we could determine the course of the herd. It
continued on downstream as far as we could follow the sounds in
the convolutions of the hills. Realizing that it would improbably
recover enough from its alarmed condition to resume its regular
habits that day, we returned to camp.
Next morning Memba Sasa and I were afield before daylight. We
took no other men. In hunting I am a strong disbeliever in the
common habit of trailing along a small army. It is simple enough,
in case the kill is made, to send back for help. No matter how
skilful your men are at stalking, the chances of alarming the
game are greatly increased by numbers; while the possibilities of
misunderstanding the plan of campaign, and so getting into the
wrong place at the wrong time, are infinite.
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