AFTER BUFFALOES AND ELANDS--A FORTUNATE
SNAP-SHOT--ANOTHER HUNTER'S GAME.
The question now was whether we should continue our hunting on
horseback or go on on foot. It is a very two-sided question, this
one of hunting buffaloes on horseback or leaving the horses behind
you. The horse gives you the advantage of making a rapid pursuit of
your game when it is trying to run away, and with a good horse you
can easily overtake a buffalo, if you have wounded him at all
severely.
On the other hand, it is difficult, yes, practically impossible, to
shoot from a horse's back with any sort of accuracy. You must
dismount to shoot, and when you do so you necessarily lose a little
time; and quite likely your horse is restive, and will jerk your arm
just as you raise the rifle to your shoulder. Then, when you try to
mount again, he will make it difficult for you to do so by pulling
back on the bridle and acting ugly. Horses that are perfect hunters
are very hard to find in Africa, and I do not believe the rest of the
world is oversupplied with them. I have heard of a great many horses
that would enter into the spirit of the chase, stand like rocks when
their riders wished to fire, follow closely, always be ready to be
mounted, and do everything else that the hunter might desire. I say
I have heard of those horses, but they were always a long way off
from where I was.
We decided that we would leave the horses under the tree, which was a
conspicuous landmark, with two of the Kafirs to take care of them
while we went on foot after the buffaloes.
Just as we were about starting, however, one of the natives reported
a herd of elands about a mile to the south; whereupon Harry and Jack
concluded to go after the elands, leaving the buffaloes to me. "It
will diminish the chance of our hitting one another," said Harry,
"which we might very likely do in the bushes where the buffaloes are;
but there's less danger of that sort of trouble in the open country."
I assented to this suggestion, in which there was good sense, and
remarked that it might make a variety in our stock of provisions for
the next few days.
"Don't give all your attention to shooting bull-buffaloes," said
Jack; "fetch down a yearling cow if you have the chance, as it will
be better eating than the patriarchs of the herd."
"All right," I replied; "I'll endeavor to bring you in an
assortment." And with that I started off, while they were getting
their horses ready. I saw to it that I had plenty of ammunition, and
Kalil was carrying my six-to-the-pound Remington, which I had cleaned
up that morning.
When we reached the neighborhood of the buffaloes I filled my
cartridge-belt and took my rifle from Kalil. Mirogo led the way,
creeping along as cautiously as a cat--an animal which he resembled
in more ways than one. I could hear the buffaloes tramping about in
the bushes; they seemed to be considerably scattered, but evidently
had not been disturbed recently.
The first of the buffaloes to come into my range of vision was a
magnificent bull, who towered considerably above the bushes. Mirogo,
who was a little distance ahead, called my attention to the animal
and then dropped back behind me. I crept along until I had a good
chance at the creature's shoulder, about twenty yards away. I fired,
and my bullet told, as the buffalo gave a loud roar and then looked
around in my direction. Immediately on firing I slipped behind a
tree, and he did not, at first, perceive me. Mirogo and Kalil had
also sought the protection of trees, and the animal was evidently
puzzled to know where the shot came from. He threw his head in the
air, snorted, and then started forward, coming straight to the tree
where I was concealed.
When a buffalo's head is elevated in the way he usually carries it
when on a trot, it affords slight chance for a shot. A bullet on the
forehead is pretty sure to glance off, and if aimed at any other part
of the head the result will be the same. About the only thing to do,
provided no broadside is presented, is to crouch low to the ground
and then aim at the animal's chest. If well planted, a chest-shot is
a fatal, or, at any rate, a demoralizing one.
I had shoved a fresh cartridge into the rifle, and was ready for the
beast when he came on. I crouched almost to the ground behind the
tree, and when he was within about fifteen paces I let him have it in
the chest. He fell forward with a plunge that brought him directly
against the tree. I wiped the perspiration from my forehead, and did
not venture to step out from my place of concealment for at least a
minute. The buffalo has his tricks, as the reader already knows, and
I wanted to be sure he was dead before I came within his reach.
I blew my whistle to summon my tracker and gun-bearer, and when they
came--which was very quickly, as they were concealed close by--I had
them pull the tail of the buffalo and otherwise test him. Then we
marked the spot and went in pursuit of the rest of the herd.
Of course the shot had alarmed the other buffaloes, and they
scattered about considerably. They were difficult to find, and for
nearly half an hour we were uncertain in what direction to go.
Mirogo and I held two or three consultations, and decided to push on
toward the west, where the spoor showed that the animals had gone.
We worked our way along, and in a little while I had the pleasure of
bringing down one of the yearling buffaloes of the kind that Jack
suggested would be desirable. A single bullet sufficed for his case,
as he gave me a good shot at short distance, and, besides, a yearling
does not possess the strength and endurance of one of those old
veterans such as I had first obtained.
During the excitement that immediately followed the shooting of this
second buffalo I thought I heard the report of a gun a mile or so
away to the westward. It was only a surmise, as we were just then
tramping around in the bushes, and paying no attention to anything
except what immediately surrounded us. I gave the subject not a
moment's thought, and speedily forgot all about it, until a sudden
and very unexpected circumstance brought it to my mind again.
One of the dangers of shooting in company, in addition to hitting one
another, is that of coming unexpectedly upon an infuriated beast that
has been wounded by somebody else than yourself. If you are
following an animal wounded by yourself you will exercise proper
caution, but no skill in the art of hunting, and no amount of
caution, can protect you from the charge of an ugly animal that has
been wounded by some other hunter. This has happened to me on
several occasions, and it happened on the buffalo-hunt which I have
just been describing.
We were going along through the forest peaceably enough, Mirogo
leading the way and I following, with Kalil, carrying my gun, close
at my heels. No buffaloes were in sight, and there was no occasion
for me to be burdened with my rifle just at that moment.
Suddenly we heard a great crashing in the bushes twenty or thirty
yards away, and out of them sprang an infuriated bull, who made
directly at us.
Mirogo had just time to shout "Look out, sir!" when he sprang into a
small tree; but there was no tree for me to spring into. I jumped to
one side of the path, and at the same time brought my rifle around,
which Kalil, with great presence of mind, had shoved into my hands
the moment he heard the crash. I gave the buffalo a snap-shot just
behind the left shoulder as he passed me, not having time to bring
the weapon to an aim. It was one of the luckiest shots I ever
planted, as it brought him, dead, to the ground.
The manner of this buffalo indicated that he had been wounded, and I
was sure that he had not been wounded by me. It naturally occurred
to me that our amazon neighbors had been trying their skill, and had
been unsuccessful in bringing down their game, at least in this
instance.
I told Mirogo to examine the buffalo for bullet-marks other than my
own. He examined the body of the brute, and it turned out as I
expected: the animal had been wounded, having received a bullet in
the right shoulder.
It is a rule of the chase in Africa that, when several people are
hunting together, the first shot is the counting one. If I fire at
an animal and wound it, and it runs off in your direction, and you
shoot and bring it down, the prize is mine, not yours. In some cases
such a decision seems to be very unjust, but on a moment's reflection
the reader will see that it is founded on justice. The first one who
hits a creature disables it more or less, and through the disability
that he creates the subsequent hunter or hunters are enabled to kill
it.
I told Mirogo to mark the spot by attaching a rag to the tallest bush
in the vicinity, and then continue in the same general direction we
had been traveling. He acted accordingly, and we proceeded with our
hunting, the impression being very strong on my mind that before we
saw any more buffaloes we would pretty certainly meet the hunter who
had planted the initial shot in the animal I had recently finished.
We went on for a mile or more without seeing or hearing anything.
Then we came to a little mound, perhaps twenty feet in height, whose
top gave us a view over the bushes for quite a distance. We ascended
the mound and took a careful survey, knowing that if any buffaloes
were in range of the spot we could not easily miss them.
Not a buffalo was in sight, but there was visible, two or three
hundred yards away, a hunter with tracker and gun-bearer. I looked
very carefully at the hunter, and speedily saw that it was none of
our party. As the stranger came nearer I perceived that it was not
the fair one whom I met the day before, but was dressed in precisely
the same manner, and the movements and general appearance told me it
was a woman.
"Aha!" I said to myself, "I think I am about to meet Mrs. Roberts.
Miss Boland is at the camp with a headache--no, let me think! Africa
is no place for headaches such as women complain of in civilized
lands. Perhaps the two are hunting together, and are working the
buffalo-herd from opposite sides. She continues to come this way, so
I presume she has no objection to meeting me. Miss Boland evidently
gave me a good character when she got back to camp. Perhaps she
didn't mention me at all; may have considered the incident, and the
man, too trivial to refer to. However, I'll descend from the mound
and meet the lady, who quite likely will ask if I've seen any
buffaloes belonging to her."
I descended from the mound and moved in the direction of the
stranger. I saluted respectfully, raising my hat as I did so, and
remarking that it was a fine day for hunting. What a blessing the
weather is for breaking the ice in a conversation!
"Yes," was the response of the stranger, "it is a fine day for
hunting, or for a promenade, and what more agreeable promenade can
there be than in the forest at this time?"
"I certainly know of nothing to surpass it," I replied, "and it is my
fondness for the sport that brought me to this part of the world.
But let me come from generalities to particulars: have you wounded a
buffalo this morning?"
"Yes," was the reply, "I have killed one and wounded another. I'm
afraid I'm not a first-class shot, as I ought to have brought down
the last buffalo I fired at; he was not more than twenty yards away,
and I had an excellent chance at him."
"What did you aim for?"
"I tried to aim just back of the right foreshoulder, but from the way
he went off I don't think I hit him there; perhaps did not hit him at
all."
"It is my pleasure to inform you," said I, "that your game is secure.
I heard your shot, and a little while afterward a buffalo came in my
direction. He came crashing through the bushes, and charged directly
at me. I was fortunate enough to be able to bring him
down--fortunate in more ways than one, as he would have brought me
down with a vengeance if I had not done so."