We were soon off again. The sun was now up and beginning to make itself felt in the bush. In an hour it would be stifling hot in those enclosed surroundings. We had not gone far—a half-mile or so—and we were crossing some open bush—abreast in open order—when a low whistle from Gilham, on my right, warned me to halt my cautious walk abruptly. He was not in view, but I caught the movement of his rifle rising, and almost instantly the report followed. Fifty yards ahead a buck jumped from behind a bush and stood face on, startled; fearful astonishment and bewilderment apparently making it unable to run for its life. Hurriedly, too hurriedly! I fired—and missed to the left, and off went our quarry bounding through the bush, we following at a run, not certain the animal was unscathed, and hoping it might be wounded. But the buck had vanished, and no sight of blood rewarded an inspection of his tracks. We had missed. Fools we felt, and deserved our self-condemnation—too keen! over-anxious! the certain temperament to make even the old hand miss “a sure thing.” The buck had attracted my notice. During our fourteen months of patrolling the German-East-British-East frontier I had not seen its kind before. It was a buck like an Mpala antelope, but it stood slightly taller, and was of extremely delicate build, while the neck was noticeably very long and very slender; the horns curved back, as with the buck Mpala, but were more closely set together than with that species. Gilham named it a Gerenuk antelope. Again we moved on, and by and by drew near to the distance from camp where we dare not fire. Suddenly a shot rang out, again from Gilham, on my right. I could neither see him nor his object as the bush was dense, and I paused anxiously. A moment, and a cheery shout rang out—“All right, come on!” and I hurried over to find my partner proudly surveying a prostrate Gerenuk doe, for, strangely enough, it was again this novel species which Gilham had spotted and dropped with a bullet high in the shoulder. It was a beautiful beast, though a doe, killed by fate of the pot-hunter’s need, slender and delightfully delicate of build, with a coat of close, short, glossy hair, dark chocolate brown, above the central sides, where a distinctive horizontal line clearly separated the darker upper parts from those a shade or two lighter below. Many were our ejaculations of joy over our prize! Here was meat at last!—and venison!—fit reward for our strenuous stalk. Proudly now we would steal in upon our camp comrades and revel in a goodly feed all round. For one day at least bully beef would not plague our palate. Without loss of time we cut the meat up, loaded the black boy, and, carrying the remainder ourselves, we set off for camp, deciding we were now too close in to shoot further.