a charge in such confined quarters. But to
many Englishmen the constant spice of clanger adds greatly to the charm
of sport in Africa. Bill quietly pulls Cobus behind him, knits his
brow, and prepares to creep forward. Ralph in his turn supersedes
Cobus, and dogs the heels of his friend. It looks like a nasty
business, and he wishes them all well out of it; but he can't now go
back on his chum.

Breathlessly, cautiously, they pick their way down the narrow game-path.
The dense thicket shuts out every trace of the cool outer breeze; the
sun beats down hotly upon their heads; lightly clad though they are, the
sweat starts freely from their bodies. Silently they move on. They
turn an angle or two, pass safely some dark shadows in the bush-wall,
and then, without a fiftieth part of a second of warning, from a piece
of bush where you might swear a steinbok could not have hidden itself, a
great dark form comes charging forth, with eyes of fire, blood-dripping
nostrils, and head well up.

In an instant the revengeful beast has cleared the angle of bush where
it had lain silently biding its time, and is almost on top of Bill.
Bill fires one shot,--he has no time for more,--and then, to save
himself, springs as far to the left as possible. In vain! His bullet
glances harmlessly from the tremendous frontal horn of the buffalo
without stopping or even injuring the brute. Another half instant and
the great grim beast has taken terrible revenge.

There is a single lightning-like sweep of the heavy head, a dull,
sickening thud, and Bill is sent crashing into the thorny thicket yards
away.

The buffalo stands in devilish wrath for a brief moment, a terrible
picture, meditating its next attack; its left chest is exposed.

Ralph instantly seizes his only hope of salvation and poor Bill's. His
eight-bore rifle is at his shoulder, the loud report roars out, and the
bull staggers to earth, sore-stricken yet not vanquished. Fiercely he
struggles for his feet again, the blood pouring from his mouth and
nostrils with the tremendous exertion. In the next instant another
bullet, planted in the centre of his forehead, just below the rugged
mass of horn, ends his career, and he breathes out his last with that
fierce complaining bellow peculiar to the death-throe of his race.

Ralph and the native turn at once to Bill, lying senseless and bleeding,
deeply embedded in the frightful mass of thorny bush. It is a tough
task even to