In the meantime the others had worked down wind of the rhino, and then laid down on the plain in the brute’s path and waited until it almost walked over them. When he was quite close El Hakim put a bullet into its shoulder. The rhinoceros immediately charged, but the left barrel of the ·577 got home, and it turned and fled in a direction at right-angles to its previous course. El Hakim then took a running shot at the beast, smashing its front horn, but it continued its flight. As it was by that time quite 200 yards away, George took a shot at it with his ·303, and once more hit it, with the result that it only fled the faster, and they finally had the mortification of seeing it disappear in a belt of bush a couple of miles distant. They therefore gave up the chase and returned to camp. On their way back they were caught in a terrific thunderstorm, and got into camp half-drowned, much chagrined at their non-success. It rained all night and until half-past nine the following morning, when we made another start. Some more of the sheep died during the night, which the men used as food. Latterly the sheep had been dying in batches of ten or twelve every night, and their numbers were now greatly reduced, with, of course, a corresponding reduction in our prospective dividends; so that, what with the weather and other things, we did not feel so cheerful as we might otherwise have done. “Sherlock Holmes” died on the 4th, and we buried him beneath a heap of stones, in spite of the energetic protests of his companions, who desired that he should be left to the hyænas—the usual Wakamba funeral—as, strange to say, they appear to have a violent prejudice against burial. We only travelled an hour on that day, as the rain once more descended in torrents and put a stop on our further progress. The country hereabouts was absolutely open, not a tree or a bush showing up anywhere, so that we were unable to build an enclosure for the sheep, or even, for lack of fuel, to light fires. On our right hand rose the lofty heights of the Aberdare Range, and behind them again the isolated mass of Kinangop reared its stately peak 13,120 feet above the level of the sea. The next day or two were among some of the most miserable we had spent so far. It rained morning, noon, and night, and the poor sheep succumbed in ever increasing numbers. We were out of fresh meat. Mutton had grown distasteful to us, so we lived on beans boiled in hippo fat—a nourishing but monotonous dish.