After the death of Oliver’s cow the herd broke into two divisions, the one trekking off to the south, with Oliver and Prairie Bill after them, the other moving northwards; it would have been no breach of etiquette had we followed these, but they were a long way off—a mile or more—and Captain Vogel preferred going forward in the hope of finding a herd that had not been “skeered.” For some three or four miles we travelled wearily on under a blazing sun, our feet sinking in the dry, hot dust, without seeing anything. At last a change in the level brought us in sight of five huge old bulls lying down about four or five hundred yards away, and close to them, on the left, three antelopes peacefully feeding. Here was a rare piece of luck! I would rather have one antelope than all five bulls, so we crept slowly on towards the left, but we did not dare try to get very near lest they should take fright and gallop off. We halted at between two and three hundred yards from them and lay down, waiting for one to turn his side to me. After what seemed an age of suspense, the psychological moment came. I drew a long breath, took a very deliberate aim, and pulled the trigger. To my bitter disappointment the bullet just grazed the antelope high in the shoulder. Two inches lower and I should have had my trophy. In an instant the three pretty creatures were skimming like swallows over the horizon. I was glad to think that my intended victim was only scratched. Startled by the crack of the rifle the five buffaloes struggled up in their ungainly fashion and looked uneasily about them, but seeing nothing that they considered dangerous—for the clever little mare knew her business too well to budge an inch, and we were acting our strange part most convincingly—they only shuffled lazily a few paces off, we in pursuit, slackening our pace when they turned, hurrying when they went forward. In this way we soon came within easy shot, and I dropped the biggest of the five, the great clumsy creature rolling over and over and raising a cloud of dust. We both thought that he would get up again, but having watched him for a minute or two and seeing his legs stiffen, we accounted him dead and went on after his mates, who had pursued their slow course, in no wise affected by his fate. Just as I was preparing for a second shot we heard a terrific noise and there was the big bull whom we had left for dead coming on at full gallop in the best of health, with his head down, snorting and blowing up the dust, which looked like smoke coming in two volumes out of his nostrils.