To his astonishment Rufus, who had been plucking a few mouthfuls of grass, suddenly threw up his head and trotted off. Tom called to him in his most coaxing voice, but in vain; the pony, seeing that he was followed, broke from a trot to a smart canter, and presently, entering some thick woodland, became lost to sight. Tom blamed himself bitterly for his neglect in not having thrown the reins as usual over the pony’s head, so as to hang down in front of its fore-legs. This is an invariable South African custom, which all ponies understand and obey. Tom had been so desperately intent on shooting and putting an end to the eland that he had for once omitted the act. He had ridden Rufus many times out bird-shooting, but had never hunted heavy game with him before. Why the pony should thus have bolted off, however, he could not imagine. Tom was now in something of a quandary. Should he follow the pony, or turn to and skin the eland? He decided for the latter. He could then spoor up the pony, capture it, bring it back for the meat, and go on for the horns of the bull eland. He would never return to the wagon without those magnificent trophies, which he pictured to himself lying in the veldt a few miles away. It was now one o’clock; Tom had a very respectable thirst already upon him. Most foolishly, as he now remembered, he and Guy had ridden away from camp without their water-bottles--an act of folly of which, as Tom confessed to himself, he at all events ought never to have been guilty. Well, there was nothing for it; he must skin the eland, cut up some meat, and probably by that time the other two would have returned in search of him. He had heard their rifles going. No doubt they had killed a cow, and would be soon on their way again. If they and he should chance not to meet, he must go in search of his pony, and somehow find his way back to the wagon. Thus turning matters over in his mind, Tom drew his hunting-knife from his belt, and, having first fired a couple of shots to try and attract his comrades, began to skin the eland. Meanwhile, Guy and Poeskop had ridden away on the heels of the herd of eland which had run right-handed. After a stiffish three-mile gallop, Guy had ridden up to the finest cow he could pick out, and with two bullets from his Mannlicher brought her down. During the run up he was somewhat astounded at the agility shown by these great antelopes; the bulls, it is true, pushed steadily on at a fast trot, but some of the cows jumped timber and bush in a style that would have done credit to a red deer. And the cow he had shot had, in her anxiety to escape, bucked clean over the stern of an animal running by her side.