After a ten-mile tramp in a direction almost at right angles to the river, I discovered a herd of seven or eight giraffe quietly feeding at the base of a hill half a mile distant. I dismounted and examined them through the binoculars. They had not observed me, but there was no possible chance of my reaching them from where I was, as the plain was quite open between us, and, in addition, I was dead up-wind. Leaving the mule in charge of the two men, I made a long _détour_ on foot, which occupied me nearly an hour. Finally, by careful stalking, taking advantage of every scrap of cover afforded by dongas and thorn-bush, I got to leeward of them and about 250 yards distant. There was a gentle dip in the ground between myself and my proposed quarry; I had reached a point on the summit of the rise, while they were halfway up the slope on the opposite bank. In spite of all my care, they were evidently aware of the presence of danger, though they had not as yet located it. As they showed an inclination to stampede, I determined, unsportsmanlike as it was, to risk a long shot. I picked out the largest bull I could see and banged off at him. They immediately made off, and though I had distinctly heard the thud of my bullet, I saw no sign of weakness on the part of the beast I had hit. They galloped away to the top of the opposite rise, and from there sighted the two men with the mule. They doubled sharply back, and bore down straight for the spot where I was glued to the earth behind a small tuft of grass. When they had approached to within thirty yards, they became aware of my presence and turned off to my left. As they did so, the old bull gave me a capital shoulder shot, of which I was not slow to take advantage. He seemed to take no notice whatever of it, but, to my great disappointment, disappeared with the others among the trees which covered the lower slopes of a small hill on my left. I set off in chase, but before I had gone many yards I heard the crash of a heavy body, breaking trees and branches in its fall. Hurrying to the spot, I found my giraffe, dead. There were two wounds in its body, one in the stomach, evidently my first shot, and the other fairly through the shoulder. I found, on cutting the beast up, that my second bullet had smashed through the shoulder-blade and ribs, and then, having been slightly flattened, had passed clean through the heart, tearing a great hole in that organ, and then passing through the ribs and shoulder-blade on the opposite side, it lodged under the skin, where it formed a small lump, which was distinctly visible from the outside. In spite of the extensive nature of its injuries, the stricken giraffe had galloped over a hundred yards without giving any sign that it was hurt. With regard to the injuries themselves, I do not think the most expensive express rifle made would have done better. Certainly the Martini is a wonderfully useful all-round weapon.