"That must be eland spoor," said Tom, pointing to a quantity of footprints, which showed that a large herd had gone by. "I never saw it before, but there’s no mistaking it. It looks something like a buffalo spoor, or, better still, that of Alderney cattle." Just then Poeskop, who had heard Tom’s remark, rode up. "Ja, baas," he said. "That is eland spoor right enough. It is a big troop, seventy or eighty at least. Something has startled them: they are running." "That’s a nuisance," rejoined Tom. "We may have to ride farther than we thought." "Never mind," added Guy. "Once we get up to them, we shall soon run them down. At least, all the books I have ever read on African sport speak of eland as being very easily ridden in to." They moved rapidly on the spoor, now walking their horses at a brisk pace; but the troop had, by some means or other, been thoroughly alarmed, and had trotted ahead of them, without halting, for miles, bent manifestly on seeking more secluded pastures. It was not until twelve o’clock, after a short off-saddle to rest their nags, that the hunters came up with them. They were riding through a thickish belt of mopani forest, a tree which grows as a rule in light, gray, tufaceous soil, and abounds in "thirst" country. Suddenly Guy whispered to his companions,-- "Look! these must be elands." Tom and Poeskop turned their heads quickly, and saw, through the trees on the right, some two hundred yards ahead, a number of big, fawn-coloured forms disappearing into the woodland. "Ja, those are elands, baas," answered Poeskop. "They are running; we must hartloup." They put spurs to their willing nags and dashed after the game. Clearing the thicker part of the forest, they emerged into much more open country, where for the first time they obtained a fair view of the noble herd of game in front of them. It was a goodly sight indeed. Nearly a hundred great elands, the biggest of them enormous creatures, heavier and fatter than a heavy ox in the prime of condition, were trotting along briskly in front of them. The eland seldom runs at a gallop until very hard pressed; but the fine, slinging trot at which the great antelopes moved was fast enough to keep the hunters at a steady canter to hold them in view. Seven or eight enormous bulls ran with the herd--huge, ponderous fellows, with coats of pale fawn, heavy dewlaps, massive horns twisted at the base, and dark-brown patches of thick, brush-like hair growing in the middle of their foreheads. Some fine young bulls, many splendid cows, and numbers of younger animals, completed the company. As Guy and Tom cantered side by side, watching this entrancing spectacle with the keenest interest, Tom exclaimed,-- "What magnificent fellows! We must get a bull as well as the two cows the pater spoke of. I shall bear to the left; the troop seems to me to be splitting up. You take those on the right hand, Guy. Now we must gallop hard."