"Missed, by all that's unlucky!" cried Tom. "Here goes again!" He then discharged his second barrel with no better effect; and the herd, alarmed by the report of the rifles, galloped off towards the hills. George Weston had wounded his buck slightly, but not sufficiently to prevent him from following his companions. The boys at once doubled back to the spot where they had left their horses, and untethering them, sprang in the saddle. Away they raced after the herd, but the latter had got a splendid start and kept well ahead, until they reached some low, forest-clad hills, which crossed the plain from north to south. Beyond these hills the ground was covered with trees and tangled brushwood. The hartebeest ascended the nearest hill and disappeared from sight, and the boys then pulled up their distressed and panting horses and looked at each other with inquiring eyes. "What's to be done?" asked Tom. "The nags are pretty well pumped, I guess." "Yes, indeed," assented his companion; "we came the last mile or so at racing pace. I should never have thought the hartebeest could travel so fast! Shall we go back?" "What! empty-handed?" cried Tom. "Not if I know it, old chap. At any rate we might overtake the beast you wounded. I'm sure you hit him hard." "Well, we can't gallop up those hills, that's certain," returned young Weston. "Suppose we make for that ravine; no doubt we shall meet the herd again, if we have patience. But it's no use making a `stern chase' of it; we must try and get round him." Tom nodding assent, they rode forward at a gentle pace, to allow their horses to recover wind, and presently they entered a narrow ravine, the precipitous sides of which were covered with arboreous and succulent plants. George Weston was some four horses' lengths in advance, when of a sudden he gave a shout of delight, as a magnificent female tree-leopard bounded across his path, and turned up the ravine. Tom saw the brute, too; and unslinging their rifles, the boys gave chase--George maintaining his position ahead. The tree-leopard of South Africa (though called by Africanders the "Cape-tiger") is to all intents and purposes identical with the _Felis leopardus_ of the naturalists; in plain English, is an ordinary leopard, and partakes of all the characteristics of that beautiful, but dangerous animal--the terror alike of the timid Hindoo, the Chinee, and the savage islander of Sumatra. Now though the leopard will rarely attack a full-grown man, unless driven into a corner, he is a very awkward customer to deal with when he does turn; and many fatal encounters have been chronicled. [Some of our readers may remember the sad fate of Captain Bowlby, 94th Regiment, who, shortly before the Transvaal war broke out, was fatally injured by a "Cape-tiger."]