Next morning happened to be mail day, and as Reinecke had letters to write, Tom feared that he was to be disappointed. But the German was again in excellent temper. "You can start without me," he said. "I shall be through with my letters in an hour or so, and I’ll follow you and meet you near the edge of the lake--you remember, by that fallen tree where we ate our lunch. Don’t startle the game away: it will be a little practice in stalking for you. I’ll bring the men along with me." Tom set off, determined to show that the woodcraft he had picked up during the past few weeks was not inconsiderable. He reached the appointed spot, and ventured to cast about in various directions, without, however, finding any traces of the eland. Returning to the rendezvous, he was there joined by Reinecke, alone. "I’m afraid the bird has flown," he said ruefully. "I haven’t seen a sign of them." "I will show you," replied Reinecke with a smile. "We shall have to stalk them, and we’ll see what we can do without Mirambo’s assistance. He’ll bring up some men presently to carry home the game." He set off along a faint native track, so long disused and so much overgrown that Tom by himself would hardly have discovered it. They pushed their way through the vegetation, and after about a quarter of an hour Reinecke whispered to Tom to stop and be careful to make no noise. "We ought to find our quarry in a glade just ahead," he said. "I’ll go on: follow when I call." He disappeared among the undergrowth. In a few minutes Tom heard a shot, then a faint call, and hurried eagerly on. The track widened a little, and Tom was quickening his steps when he suddenly felt the earth give way beneath his feet, and next moment found himself lying at the bottom of a deep pit, amidst a litter of earth and brushwood, and conscious of a sharp pain in the calf of his left leg. Almost stunned by the fall, he lay for a moment or two scarcely able to realise what had happened. Then he shouted for help. There was no answer. All was silent except for the hum of insects and the rustling of some small animals which his sudden descent upon their lair had disturbed. He shouted again, more loudly; then, supposing that his voice from the depth of the pit had not penetrated to Reinecke’s ears through the vegetation above, he reached for his rifle, which lay beside him, and fired a couple of shots into the air. Not yet seriously uneasy, he stooped to see what caused the pain in his leg, and found that it had been gashed by one of some half-dozen sharp-pointed stakes that were planted in the bottom of the pit. "A native game-pit," he thought. "Reinecke might have warned me." Standing up, he discovered that his right ankle was sprained. "They’ll have to carry me home," he thought, "and the sooner the better; the stuff here must have been rotting for years. I wish to goodness Reinecke would come."