Then With A Violent Jerk And A Wild Yell We
Were Off Again.
This time, since the animal was wounded, he made for rougher
country.
And everywhere that wildebeeste went we too were sure to
go. We hit or shaved boulders that ought to have smashed a wheel,
we tore through thick brush regardless. Twice we charged
unhesitatingly over apparent precipices. I do not know the name
of the manufacturer of the buckboard. If I did, I should
certainly recommend it here. Twice more we swerved to our
broadside and cut loose the port batteries. Once more McMillan
hit. Then, on the fourth "run," we gained perceptibly. The beast
was weakening. When he came to a stumbling halt we were not over
a hundred yards from him, and McMillan easily brought him down.
We had chased him four or five miles, and McMillan had fired
nineteen shots, of which two had hit. The rifle practice
throughout had been remarkably good, and a treat to watch.
Personally, besides the fun of attending the show, I got a mighty
good afternoon's exercise.
We loaded the game aboard and jogged slowly back to the house,
for the mules were pretty tired. We found a neighbour, Mr.
Heatley of Kamiti Ranch who had "dropped down" twelve miles to
see us. On account of a theft McMillan now had all the Somalis
assembled for interrogation on the side verandas. The
interrogation did not amount to much, but while it was going on
the Sudanese headman and his askaris were quietly searching the
boys' quarters.
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