istance of about
six miles from the house; when, dismounting, I took my rifle from its
slings under the wagon tent, loaded it, slung my powder horn over my
shoulder, slipped a few wads and bullets into my pocket, and then,
accompanied by the two dogs, walked on ahead of the wagon toward our
first outspanning place, my horse Prince following me, as he had been
trained to do, with the bridle hanging loose upon his neck. I had of
course an ample supply of provisions in the wagon, including the
shoulder of a sheep that had been slaughtered that morning; but mutton
naturally formed the staple of our fare at Bella Vista when there was no
buck meat in the house, and I was very heartily tired of both. I was
therefore on the lookout for a pauw or a koraan--the great and small
bustards of South Africa--and hoped to get one in time to have it cooked
for my luncheon instead of the shoulder of mutton. And presently, when
I had got about half a mile ahead of the wagon, I suddenly caught sight
of a fine koraan on the ground about three hundred yards to my right
front, as it emerged from behind a big clump of melkboem, feeding
busily. The bird instantly sighted me and, pausing but the fraction of
a second to look straight at me, took to flight, making the air throb
with its harsh, discordant cry of alarm as it did so.

It was a long shot for my old rifle, which was only sighted up to one
hundred yards; but I had used the piece for six years and knew to a
nicety what it would do. Moreover--I am now an old man and may
therefore perhaps venture to speak the simple truth without being
suspected of boasting--I seem to have been endowed, from my earliest
years, with the gift of straight shooting; it was just a knack, I
suppose, but I seemed to be able to judge distances accurately by
intuition, and to allow the correct elevation and windage under the most
diversified conditions, so that I very rarely made use of the sights on
my rifle. Nor did I ever need to aim consciously; I just flung the
weapon to my shoulder, keeping my eye meanwhile upon my mark, pressed
the trigger at precisely the right instant, and--down dropped the
quarry: I had in fact by long practice become a dead shot, and could
scarcely remember when I had last failed to bring down what I aimed at.
Nor did I fail now; as the bird rose it flew straight away from me, and
it was still uttering its alarm cry when I pressed the trigger and down
it fell, stone-dead, shot clean