the peril so safely.

Another night I was going out to watch for lions. A bait had been placed
near the tree where I was stationed and I had some hopes of seeing, if
not killing, a lion. Night had already fallen, but there was still a
trace of twilight in the air as I walked through the low scrub trees
that lay between our camp and the tree, a mile and a half away. As I was
walking along I heard a loud screaming to my left, and, looking across,
I saw an oribi trying to beat off two jackals that had seized her young
baby oribi. The jackals paid little attention to her and she was frantic
in her efforts to save her little one.

It was too dark to see my sights plainly, but I shot at both of the
jackals and sent them slinking away. I didn't go over to see if the
little oribi was still alive, for I was certain that it had been killed.
If it were dead I didn't want to see it and could not help either it or
its mother; if it were alive its mother could get it safely away from
the jackals. Since that moment I have hated jackals above all animals,
not even excepting the odious hyena, and it is the chief regret of my
hunting experience in East Africa that I did not kill those two cowardly
vandals.

When the American reader picks up his paper and reads that Colonel
Roosevelt has shot a Uganda cob, it is quite natural that he should not
know what kind of a thing a cob is. If the colonel was out shooting
"singing topis" or "singing sun hats," why, then, should he not also
shoot corn cobs or cob pipes?

The cob, sometimes spelled kob, however, is only an antelope, although a
graceful and handsome one. It is divided into several subspecies which
live in different parts of the country. In one part will be found the
large cob, almost the size of a waterbuck, which is called Mrs. Gray's
cob, in honor of the wife of one of the former keepers in the London
zoo; in another part is the species known as Vaughan's cob, and in still
other parts are the dusky cob, the puku cob, the lechwi cob, the black
lechwi, the Uganda cob and Buffon's cob.

It was Lady Constance Stewart-Richardson, the remarkable young English
woman who is now dancing barefooted on the London music stage, who
killed the record head of this last named species in Nigeria.

[Drawing: _The Gregarious Cob_]

It is of the Uganda cob only that I am able to write about from my own
observation and experience. We found them only in one place, on the
banks of the Nzoia River