We had not gone more than half a mile, when suddenly a single buck jumped from behind a bush, close in, and showed for an instant, in full view, as it bounded behind the cover of the jungle. One breathless instant, and it was gone, untouched. There had been no time to shoot, though we had seen enough to name it a Lesser Koodoo doe, a delicate, graceful thing, near to the size of a red deer, with prominent widespread ears. Eagerly we had realised the valued prize; keenly we realised it had vanished—alarmed, and impossible to follow. In undertone I “swore,” and Gilham muttered “bad luck,” each in mind appraising the venison’s goodly proportions, and hungry friends waiting rations in camp. Regrets were vain. More keen than ever, we moved on again, the actual sight of game whetting our appetite for a kill. But no! the Fates were unkind. At the end of two miles of careful stalking we halted, and had not fired a shot. Spoor in plenty had been encountered, principally the sharp-pointed sand-print of Mpala hoofs or the untidy scraping and burrowing of a family of wart hog. Many were fresh tracks, and promised the momentary appearance of game, but the shadow of the bush held motionless and lifeless, blank cover from which the treasures we sought had travelled at first suspicion of danger’s footfall. Twice we had flashed large flocks of guinea-fowl, magnificent birds and king of spoil for shot-gun in Africa; but, armed with rifles only, we were this day in mind to be impatient with the flutter and disturbance of their cackling, and heavy-winged rise from cover, when we rudely chanced in upon their morning breakfasting. And so, as duty demanded our presence in camp at 9 a.m., we were halted at the turning-point—empty-handed and disconsolate. Gilham wasn’t saying much. He never did when hunting, but one might judge he was mourning his luck, as none too gently he rolled an uncouth cigarette out of notepaper and rough-cut Boer tobacco. While he smoked, we decided to circle up-wind, southward to begin with, and then, when clear of our outbound line, to strike for camp over fresh ground. [Sidenote: GERENUK ANTELOPE KILLED]