en them and the
buffalo, principally thorn-bush, and the hunters picked their way as
noiselessly as possible, following the lead of Cobus.

A noble koodoo bull, carrying a magnificent pair of spiral horns, stared
at them for a second as they entered a grassy clearing, and then with
his three cows fled away before them.

But they were after heavier game even than the gallant koodoo, and he
went unscathed.

Now they are nearing the buffalo. Beyond the fringe of bush which yet
masks them they can hear the great beasts grunting, wallowing,
splashing, nay, even hear them plucking the sweet grass that margins the
lagoon. The wind, what there is of it, is right in their faces. The
game here has scarcely ever yet been disturbed by gunners; they are safe
for sport.

Old hands though they are, they now steal breathlessly through the bush.
Cobus has resigned the lead, and the two friends stalk in with the
greatest care together. At last they peer through a small opening.
What a scene lies before them! A troop of at least three hundred mighty
buffalo, bulls, cows, and calves, some feeding, some drinking, some
rolling in the shallow lagoon, some playfully butting at one another.
All, utterly unconscious of impending danger, stand there within a
radius of two hundred yards; the nearest of them are within fifty. A
more inspiring prospect hunter's eye never beheld.

Numbers of the weaver birds (_Bubalornis erythrorhyncus_), always found
associating with buffalo, are here, some picking busily at the parasites
on the great creatures' backs; others flitting hither and thither,
chattering noisily, intent on business or pleasure. Even the sharp
weaver birds detect no enemy--much less their allies the buffaloes. A
few white egrets, apparently as fearless of the great quadrupeds as the
buffalo birds, add beauty to the scene. Some of these charming herons,
too, are perched upon the buffalo, their snowy plumes contrasting
sharply with the sombre hides of their gigantic friends. Birds and
quadrupeds alike are all void of suspicion upon this bright, quiet
morning in the far African wilderness.

Having taken in with an eager glance or two this wonderful picture, the
two men and their gun-bearers crouch down behind the thick screen of
bush and wait. It seems half an hour to them. At length, in about five
minutes, two massive old bulls, grim, heavy-fronted, and carrying
immense horns, nearly devoid of hair, short in the legs, yet