rts and bellows, rushed off towards the river, for
having their senses about them, they had no mind to be trapped in
the kloof. I could only manage a shot at one of them, a large
and long-horned cow which I knocked over quite dead. If I had
fired again it would have been but to wound, a thing I hate. The
whole business was over in a minute. We went and looked at my
dead cow which I had caught through the heart.

"It's cruel to kill these things," I said, "for I don't know what
use we are going to make of them, and they must love life as much
as we do."

"We'll cut the horns off," said Anscombe.

"You may if you like," I answered, "but you will find it a tough
job with a sheath knife."

"Yes, I think that shall be the task of the worthy Footsack
to-morrow," he replied. "Meanwhile let us go and finish off my
bull, as Footsack & Co. may as well bring home two pair of horns
as one."

I looked at the dense bush, and knowing something of the habits
of wounded buffaloes, reflected that it would be a nasty job.
Still I said nothing, because if I hesitated, I knew he would
want to go alone. So we started. Evidently the beast had been
badly hit, for the blood spoor was easy to follow. Yet it had
been able to retreat up to the end of the kloof that terminated
in a cliff over which trickled a stream of water. Here it was
not more than a hundred paces wide, and on either side of it were
other precipitous cliffs. As we went from one of these a
war-horn, such as the Basutos use, was blown. Although I heard
it, oddly enough, I paid no attention to it at the time, being
utterly intent upon the business in hand.

Following a wounded buffalo bull up a tree-clad and stony kloof
is no game for children, as these beasts have a habit of
returning on their tracks and then rushing out to gore you. So I
went on with every sense alert, keeping Anscombe well behind me.
As it happened our bull had either been knocked silly or
inherited no guile from his parents. When he found he could go
no further he stopped, waited behind a bush, and when he saw us
he charged in a simple and primitive fashion. I let Anscombe
fire, as I wished him to have the credit of killing it all to
himself, but somehow or other he managed to miss both barrels.
Then, trouble being imminent, I let drive as the beast lowered
its head, and was lucky enough to break its spine (to shoot at
the head of a buffalo is useless), so that it rolled over quite
dead