of winter the wilderbeeste was thin and
could gallop well, notwithstanding its injury, faster even than their
good horses. At last, rising a ridge, they found whither it was going,
for suddenly they were in the midst of vast herds of game, thousands and
tens of thousands of them stretching as far as the eye could reach.

It was a wondrous sight that now, alas! will be seen no more--at any
rate upon the Transvaal veld; wilderbeeste, blesbok, springbok, in
countless multitudes, and amongst them a few quagga and hartebeeste.
With a sound like that of thunder, their flashing myriad hoofs casting
up clouds of dust from the fire-blackened veld, the great herds
separated at the appearance of their enemy, man. This way and that they
went in groups and long brown lines, leaving the wounded and exhausted
wilderbeeste behind them, so that presently he was the sole tenant of
that great cup of land.

At him they rode till Mr. Clifford, who was a little ahead of his
daughter, drew almost alongside. Then the poor maddened brute tried its
last shift. Stopping suddenly, it wheeled round and charged head down.
Mr. Clifford, as it came, held out his rifle in his right hand and fired
at a hazard. The bullet passed through the bull, but could not stop its
charge. Its horns, held low, struck the forelegs of the horse, and next
instant horse, man, and wilderbeeste rolled on the veld together.

Benita, who was fifty yards behind, uttered a little cry of fear, but
before ever she reached him, her father had risen laughing, for he was
quite unhurt. The horse, too, was getting up, but the bull could rise
no more. It struggled to its forefeet, uttered a kind of sobbing groan,
stared round wildly, and rolled over, dead.

"I never knew a wilderbeeste charge like that before," said Mr.
Clifford. "Confound it! I believe my horse is lamed."

Lamed it was, indeed, where the bull had struck the foreleg, though,
as it chanced, not badly. Having tied a handkerchief to the horn of the
buck in order to scare away the vultures, and thrown some tufts of dry
grass upon its body, which he proposed, if possible, to fetch or send
for, Mr. Clifford mounted his lame horse and headed for the waggon. But
they had galloped farther than they thought, and it was midday before
they came to what they took to be the road. As there was no spoor upon
it, they followed this track backwards, expecting to find the waggon
outspanned, but although they rode for mile upon mile,