un, he walked to a point on
the right overlooking the bed of the little river, and there he sat
down with his back to a rock and his gun over his knees. Scarcely
was he seated when the jackal startled him by its sudden appearance
at his side. He scratched its ears, and it sat close to him, staring
fixedly down on the river. Just below there was a stretch of sand in
the bed gleaming white under the moonlight, and Venning watched this
with the eye of a naturalist, in the hope of seeing some of the
great forms of animal life. And he had his hope, for several
creatures crossed the white patch, and each time the jackal was the
first to see them. The round ears would suddenly prick forward, the
sharp nose would twitch, and then Venning would dimly discover
something down there in the uncertain light. A porcupine he made
out, its quills gleaming and rustling as it went down to the water;
then a great wart-pig with curved tusks; and next, after a long
interval, a fine buck with long powerful horns. A water-buck he
judged it to be from the length of its horns, and it stood there
long with its face up-stream, motionless, save for the constant
twitching of the large ears. He rested his elbows on his knees as he
sat and aimed at the shoulders, but did not fire, for fear of
alarming the camp; and presently the buck, even as he watched,
vanished as softly and silently as it came. Then Venning's eyes
closed, his chin dropped, the gun settled between his knees, and he
was asleep.

He was asleep, and he was awake again so suddenly that he did not
know he had slept until he saw the position of the gun. The jackal
plucked at his blanket. He remembered that something had disturbed
him, and he judged that the jackal had done the same thing just
before. He yawned and patted its head; but, instead of sitting down,
it ran a few yards, sniffed the air, whined, came back, glanced long
over its shoulder into the riverbed, looked into Venning's face,
then ran off in the direction of the camp. As soon as it was gone
Venning felt lonely. He stood up, thinking to return to the camp,
then sat down again, for he heard the sharp stamp that an antelope
makes when alarmed, and he hoped to see it come into the moonlight.
So he settled down to watch again, and drowsiness fell upon his
eyes. He could see the white patch of sand, and as his heavy lids
were lowered and lifted between the drowsy intervals, he became
dimly conscious that there was something