Mavrouki, a rifle in each
hand, came worming his way toward me through the grass with
incredible quickness and agility. A moment later he thrust the
405 Winchester into my hand.
This weapon, powerful and accurate as it is, the best of the lot
for lions, was altogether too small for the tremendous brute
before me. However, the Holland was in camp; and I was very glad
in the circumstances to get this. The buffalo had browsed slowly
forward into the clear, and was now taking the top off a small
bush, and facing half away from us. It seemed to me quite the
largest buffalo I had ever seen, though I should have been
willing to have acknowledged at that moment that the
circumstances had something to do with the estimate. However,
later we found that the impression was correct. He was verily a
giant of his kind. His height at the shoulder was five feet ten
inches; and his build was even chunkier than the usual solid
robust pattern of buffaloes. For example, his neck, just back of
the horns, was two feet eight inches thick! He weighed not far
from three thousand pounds.
Once the rifle was in my hands I lost the feeling of utter
helplessness, and began to plan the best way out of the
situation. As yet the beast was totally unconscious of our
presence; but that could not continue long. There were too many
men about. A chance current of air from any one of a half dozen
directions could not fail to give him the scent. Then there would
be lively doings. It was exceedingly desirable to deliver the
first careful blow of the engagement while he was unaware. On the
other hand, his present attitude-half away from me-was not
favourable; nor, in my exposed position dared I move to a better
place. There seemed nothing better than to wait; so wait we did.
Mavrouki crouched close at my elbow, showing not the faintest
indication of a desire to be anywhere but there.
The buffalo browsed for a minute or so; then swung slowly
broadside on. So massive and low were the bosses of his horns
that the brain shot was impossible. Therefore I aimed low in the
shoulder. The shock of the bullet actually knocked that great
beast off his feet! My respect for the hitting power of the 405
went up several notches. The only trouble was that he rebounded
like a rubber ball. Without an instant's hesitation I gave him
another in the same place. This brought him to his knees for an
instant; but he was immediately afoot again. Billy had, with
great good sense and courage, continued to lie absolutely flat
within a few yards of the beast, Mavrouki and I had kept low, and
C. and the men were out of sight. The buffalo therefore had seen
none of his antagonists. He charged at a guess, and guessed
wrong. As he went by I fired at his head, and, as we found out
afterward, broke his jaw. A moment later C.'s great elephant gun
roared from somewhere behind me as he fired by a glimpse through
the brush at the charging animal. It was an excellent snapshot,
and landed back of the ribs.
When the buffalo broke through the screen of brush I dashed after
him, for I thought our only chance of avoiding danger lay in
keeping close track of where that buffalo went. On the other side
the bushes I found a little grassy opening, and then a small but
dense thicket into which the animal had plunged. To my left, C.
was running up, followed closely by Billy, who, with her usual
good sense, had figured out the safest place to be immediately
back of the guns. We came together at the thicket's edge.
The animal's movements could be plainly followed by the sound of
his crashing. We heard him dash away some distance, pause, circle
a bit to the right, and then come rushing back in our direction.
Stooping low we peered into the darkness of the thicket. Suddenly
we saw him, not a dozen yards away. He was still afoot, but very
slow. I dropped the magazine of five shots into him as fast as I
could work the lever. We later found all the bullet-holes in a
spot as big as the palm of your hand. These successive heavy
blows delivered all in the same place were too much for even his
tremendous vitality; and slowly he sank on his side.
XXVI. JUJA
Most people have heard of Juja, the modern dwelling in the heart
of an African wilderness, belonging to our own countryman,
Mr. W. N. McMillan. If most people are as I was before I saw the place,
they have considerable curiosity and no knowledge of what it is
and how it looks.
We came to Juja at the end of a wide circle that had lasted three
months, and was now bringing us back again toward our starting
point. For five days we had been camped on top a high bluff at
the junction of two rivers. When we moved we dropped down the
bluff, crossed one river, and, after some searching, found our
way up the other bluff. There we were on a vast plain bounded by
mountains thirty miles away. A large white and unexpected sign
told us we were on Juja Farm, and warned us that we should be
careful of our fires in the long grass.
For an hour we plodded slowly along. Herds of zebra and
hartebeeste drew aside before us, dark heavy wildebeeste-the
gnu-stood in groups at a safe distance their heads low, looking
exactly like our vanished bison; ghostlike bands of Thompson's
gazelles glided away with their smooth regular motion. On the
vast and treeless plains single small objects standing above the
general uniformity took an exaggerated value; so that, before it
emerged from the swirling heat mirage, a solitary tree might
easily be mistaken for a group of buildings or a grove.
