SOMEHOW everything seemed to happen on moving day with the
Buffalo Jones Expedition in East Africa. Exactly why this should
have been it is impossible to tell. Perhaps the reason may be
found in the fact that a considerable part of our time was
occupied in moving. No doubt the circumstance could be traced to
some such perfectly reasonable cause. But we chose to look upon
it otherwise.
When an outfit like ours has been working for a while in the open
country--especially when the undertaking has no precedent and the
outcome is decidedly uncertain--the little happenings of each day
gradually grow to have a peculiar significance of their own, and
finally a brand-new set of superstitions is formed and half
jokingly believed in by every one concerned. In this way an
expedition comes to be regarded as lucky or unlucky, or lucky on
certain days, or at certain hours of the day, or at certain
periods of the moon. The wide reaches of the African veldt have
something to do with it, perhaps.
These superstitions are temporary, local, and often purely
personal affairs. Means, being a cowboy, believed that when he
rode his big-boned bay the drive would be successful. The native
dog-boy insisted that when the long-eared bloodhound and the
little white terrier were coupled together on the march, the rest
of the pack would come through without mishap. Loveless swore by
a particular piece of rope, and Mac--which is short for
Mohammed--discovered propitious omens on every conceivable
occasion.
It was on the first day's march into the Kedong Valley that we
had roped the wart-hog. On the journey from Sewell's Farm to
Rugged Rocks we had rounded up and photographed the eland. Again,
it was on the trek of March 8 to the Wangai River that we had
caught our only glimpses of rhinoceros and lion--faint chances of
making a capture, but still chances, and better than no signs at
all.
And thus, merely because it had turned out so in the past every
member of the expedition had come to entertain a semi-serious
belief that something momentous was bound to happen on moving
day.
A general feeling of expectancy pervaded the entire safari when
we broke camp at the Wangai River at dawn of a hazy morning. The
sky was clear of clouds, but behind the hills of the Mau
escarpment a veldt fire had been burning for several days, so
that a veil of smoke was seen hanging in the air as the dawn
broadened into day. The smell of the burning veldt and the
nearness of the fire lent an oppressive warmth to the still
morning.
"You two boys had better carry your heavy ropes," the Colonel
said at starting. "We might meet something."
We had finished with the Kedong and Rift valleys. We had hunted
every corner of the district within striking distance of the
water. And we had had success of a kind. Cheetah, eland,
hartebeest, and serval-cat we had roped and tied and
photographed. But the really big game had so far escaped us. For
this reason we had decided to take the road over the Mau, where
the smoke haze hung heavy, and so on into the Sotik country,
where both lion and rhino were said to abound.
For the first ten miles of the march our way led across
untraveled country, toward the two deep ruts in the veldt that
were known as the wagon road. We had an extra ox-wagon with us
now, in charge of Mr. Curry, an Africander, who lived with his
partner on a farm on the border of the Sotik, and who on his
return journey home with his wagon had agreed to help us carry
supplies. Curry was slight and round-shouldered, with light
yellow hair. His face was burned a bright red, excepting his
nose, which was white where the skin was peeling. He had a
peculiar, slow, drawling way of talking--when he talked at all,
which was seldom. Being an inhabitant of the district into which
we were going, he was naturally subjected at first to a number of
questions in regard to the big game there.
"Plenty of rhino in your part of the world, I suppose?"
"Y--as," drawled Curry.
"And lion, too, I imagine?"
"Y--as."
"Ought to get some giraffe on the way, hadn't we?"
"Y--as."
"Rhino pretty scarce just now, though, aren't they?"
"Y--as," Curry answered placidly.
Thus it soon became apparent that Curry's chief ambition was to
agree pleasantly with whatever anybody said, which tended to
discredit any information he had to impart. So, as a matter of
course, the questions ceased, and when no more were asked him
Curry's conversation ceased also.
It was rough going for the ox-wagons those first ten miles, and
they made slow time of it along the base of the hills. According
to our custom on the march, the Colonel and the two cowboys, the
picture department (composed of Kearton and Gobbet), and Ulyate
(the white hunter) and myself rode in a widely extended line in
front of the safari, sweeping the country for game. It was hot at
the base of the hills--so hot that when your bridle hand dropped
inadvertently to the pommel of the saddle, the brass mounting
there seemed to burn you. Not a breath of air was stirring, and
the sun shone down blazing through the wisps of smoke haze, and
the heat waves rose from the dead, parched veldt so that the
distant southern volcano looked all quivering.
Then from out the blurred vista in front little by little a clump
of comparatively large trees began to take definite shape.
Another half mile farther, and we saw that something was moving
among the trees as high up as the topmost branches.
"Giraffe," said Ulyate, and no sooner had he spoken the word than
the great, towering animals wheeled and fled from their shelter
with that long-legged gallop of theirs which looks so easy and
slow, but which carries them over the ground as fast as a speedy
horse can run.
The Colonel and the two cowboys set off at a hand gallop in a
vain attempt to round them up and drive them back to the cameras.
The race was a hopeless one for the horsemen from the start. But,
according to the general method of operations adopted by the
Colonel from the very beginning, no chance of a capture, however
slim it might appear, was to remain untried so long as men and
horses could endure.
The two ruts of the wagon road led close by the grove of trees,
and when the rest of us reached this spot and dismounted to await
results, the three leading horsemen had disappeared long ago into
the scrub-grown country to the south.
As noon approached, the heat became more and more oppressive. The
cameras had been screwed to the tripods and covered with our
coats to protect them from the sun. The horses grazed near by.
Mac was sent up one of the trees to warn us of the approach of
anything like a giraffe, and the rest of us sat on the ground
round the bole in the small circle of thin shade and lazily
watched the black ants always crawling and climbing and
zigzagging back and forth over the network of fallen twigs and
leaves. It was too hot to talk--it was too hot to sleep or think.
And by and by the ox-wagons came up, and the oxen brought the
flies. For a time then the only sounds were the slow crunching of
the feeding horses and an occasional inarticulate snarl from some
one or other who foolishly tried to brush the flies away from his
face.
Eventually, after a long time had passed, Means rode into the
grove of trees, un-heralded by Mac and alone. The bay horse had
fallen badly, wrenching his rider's back where once he had been
hurt before. Means took his saddle off, threw it on the ground,
and sat on it.
"He dropped into a pig hole," he explained, "an' hopped out again
as neat as could be. But in hoppin' out he hopped into another,
an' that just naturally discouraged him an' he come down with
me."
No comments were made, nor did Means expect any. But evidently he
had considered it only justice to the bay that the mishap should
receive from him the proper explanation.
Then Loveless returned, also alone. He made a few grumbling
remarks about its being all nonsense to run the horses to death
when there was no chance at all. But as his listeners showed not
the slightest interest in the matter, he, too, relapsed into
silence.
The Colonel was the last to come in. He rode straight to the tree
where the company were gathered, dismounted, and sat down. Then
he spoke to the world at large.
"They must be about here somewhere," he said. "And being about
here somewhere, we'll get 'em yet."
When the shadow beneath the tree began to lengthen toward the
east, the safari shook itself together and prepared to move on
once more. But this time, instead of occupying his customary
position at the head of the column, the Colonel lagged behind.
Immediately after leaving the grove of trees, the road commenced
to climb the first rises of the Mau escarpment. As we mounted
higher up the hillside, the view behind us opened out into a
grand panorama of the two valleys and their sentinel volcanoes,
with the smoke haze hanging over all. For a time, those of us who
were in front rode half sideways in the saddle, looking back over
the way we had come and over the district we had grown to know so
well. Then we crossed a small, level park that formed the crest
of the first hill, and as we moved down the western slope the
view behind us disappeared and the new country spread before us.
Kearton was riding with his head sunk on his chest like a sick
man. Gobbet asked if anything was wrong with him.
"Nothing bad; too much heat this morning, likely."
"Want to hunt a bit of shade and lie up awhile? "
"No, I'll go on."
Gobbet shrugged his shoulders. "You're the judge," he said.
Hill after hill stretched away in front to the one upstanding
kopje that marked the top of the Mau. The district was wooded
with small, twisted trees, and the fire had crossed here, so that
the ground was black and the air smelled stronger of burning.
Presently Means stopped. "I'd better wait till the Colonel comes
along," he explained. "The Colonel don't carry any weapons."
Loveless stopped with him, and, as Ulyate was somewhere behind
with the ox-wagons and porters, this left Kearton, Gobbet, and
myself to ride on by ourselves. For a mile or more the road
lifted and dipped with monotonous regularity, and the burnt land
was still on either hand, without a sign of life anywhere to be
seen. So when the sun really began to decline toward the west,
Gobbet, who had once been assistant manager of the Alhambra Music
Hall in Brighton, told the story of Harry Lauder and the liquid
air biscuits, and it seemed to do Kearton good. Kearton had just
told Gobbet to quit his lying, when all three of us realized that
for the last half minute we had been unconsciously listening to
the beat of a galloping horse on the road behind.
The next instant Ulyate pulled up in a cloud of dust.
"Colonel wants you," he said. "They've rounded up a giraffe."
We wheeled the horses and started back on the run.
"About--three--miles! Left--of the--road!" Ulyate shouted after
us.
There were various reasons that called for haste. How long the
ropers could keep the giraffe rounded up was especially
uncertain, and then, besides, it was near the end of the day and
soon the light would be too far gone for a picture.
We met the line of porters and they scattered right and left.
Farther on, the ox-teams crowded one side to give us room. Then
we came upon the four special porters with the cameras. Kearton
took his machine on the saddle with him, and Gobbet caught up the
tripod from another pair of outstretched arms.
When we reached the bit of clearing and looked to the left of the
road, we saw the long neck and head of a giraffe sharply outlined
against the sky.
The giraffe stood motionless. His feet were spread a little apart
as though he was prepared to dash away again at the first
opportunity, and he gazed in a curious way first at one, then at
another of the three ropers that surrounded him and now sat their
horses, waiting. There was still enough light left for a picture,
but Kearton was nearly done.
"Give him a minute's breather," said the Colonel. " We'll hold
the critter till he's ready."
We took Kearton off his horse and stretched him on the ground and
poured the lukewarm water from a canteen on his head. Meanwhile
Cobbet screwed the camera to the tripod and set it up.
By the time Gobbet had finished, Kearton was on his feet again.
From his position near by, Means ventured the opinion that it was
too much excitement that had knocked him over, and Kearton swore
back at him pleasantly and went to work.
A high-pitched yell from the Colonel sent the giraffe away across
the open with that clumsy-looking, powerful gallop that is all
his own, and with his long neck plunging slowly back and forth.
Loveless's black, one of the fastest horses in the string, had
hard work to gain on the giraffe, expecially as the animal
swerved quickly at the last moment and fled down the eastern
slope of the hill through the scrub where the going was none too
good.
It was a difficult throw--and a new one for a Western cowboy--to
send the noose so far up into the air over the head perched high
on the long, swaying neck.
But at the first attempt Loveless succeeded, and then reined in
gently so as not to throw the beast, because a giraffe would fall
heavily, and would very likely break his neck or a leg if tumbled
over.
Finally he was brought to a standstill, his feet spread apart as
before, and for a while the two stood facing each other--the
cowboy and the towering giraffe, with the rope from the saddle
horn leading up at a considerable angle to the shoulders of the
prize. The rest of the hunt soon gathered about them. Although
the light was rapidly failing, Kearton finished what was left of
his roll of film. The whir of the camera ended with a peculiar
flapping sound.
"That's all," said Kearton, and sank down on a near-by stone.
But Loveless and the giraffe continued to face each other
undisturbed.
"Well?" said Loveless, presently.
"Well?" echoed the Colonel.
"Well, how are we going to take this rope off him? We've got none
to spare, you know."
"Get a ladder," suggested Means.
"No, we won't need a ladder," said the Colonel seriously, "but
we'll have to throw him, after all. We can do it gently, I guess,
without hurting him."
Accordingly, Means roped the giraffe by one hind leg and pulled
it out from under him, so that he sank easily to the ground and
both the ropes were loosened and freed.
The sun had set and the short twilight was rapidly deepening. The
ox-wagons and porters were several miles ahead. So we packed up
the camera, coiled up the ropes, mounted, and rode away, and the
giraffe raised himself on his haunches among the bushes and
watched us go.
We camped at a water hole that night, and started on again the
next morning in the darkness before the dawn, with a porter ahead
carrying a lantern to show the way. With ox-wagons it is a three
days' journey from that water hole to the Guas Nyiro River at the
border of the Sotik. The country through which we passed
continued to be the same as that of the Mau escarpment--a
succession of low hills and shallow valleys covered with the
small, twisted trees. And there was plenty of water on the way.
But there was no game in the district.
We had been told before starting that we need not expect to see
anything on the way, because antelope, zebra, and such like
animals avoid the wooded section so as not to be caught unaware
by lions, and, since the prey seek the safety of the open plains,
the lions are compelled to follow.
In spite of this fact, and although the dense woods and broken
ground generally forced the safari to keep to the road, the
cowboys were always ready and the cameras, always loaded with
film. But the land on either side remained silent and deserted.
And each day's journey was the same as the one before; the start
in the gray of the morning, the long, hot ride, with the road
gently rising and falling over the hills, and the sudden cool of
the evening when the sun went down. At times the camera
department would take moving pictures of the wagons and porters
crossing a river, where an especially picturesque bit of scenery
offered an attractive setting. Occasionally Means, as he rode
along, would commence singing one of the songs of our Western
plains, verse after verse, seemingly without end, recounting in
detail some local historical event, such as an Indian attack on
an army post, a shooting affair at a dance, or a train-robber's
hanging. He would sing more to himself than to anybody else, and
if this began to bore him at all, he would stop in the middle and
leave the story untold.
Then sometimes, when we outspanned for an hour at noon, the four
special camera porters would give imitations of Kearton and
Gobbet taking pictures, of Loveless shoeing horses, or of Means
in the act of roping. And in the evenings, when the day's march
was done and the outpost fires had been lighted, the talk of the
company would turn to our chances of finding luck in the Sotik
country that lay ahead.
In the afternoon of March 16 we reached Webb's Farm, in the Guas
Nyiro valley, which lies at the edge of the big plains. In this
neighborhood there were three farms--Webb's, Curry's, and
Agate's--and on the evening of our arrival some of their men paid
a visit to the camp. They had heard of the expedition, and each
in turn examined the horses, the dogs, the ropes, and the
saddles, and then, like the hunters at Nairobi, asked the
inevitable question:
"But how are you going to do it?"
"Oh, we'll do it somehow," the Colonel replied good-naturedly.
And the visitors shook their heads a little and smiled and
changed the subject.
But to attempt to rope a rhinoceros or a lion required fresh
horses, and ever since we had left Nairobi, nearly a fortnight
ago, we had worked our horses hard every day. Now that we had
reached the land of the big game, the Colonel for the first time
called a day of rest. So we loafed about camp from sunrise to
sunset and by evening were heartily sick of it all.
Perhaps we had expected too much of this Sotik country; perhaps
the expedition was running, temporarily, in a streak of bad luck;
but the fact remains that when we resumed hunting on March 18,
disappointment only followed disappointment.
As we had done in the Rift Valley, so here we adopted the method
of sweeping the country with a widely extended line. The first
day we rode far to the southward, to the Hot Springs and back,
and found nothing, and an unreasoning depression settled upon the
expedition. The next day we rode still farther, to the westward
this time, and again found nothing, and so the depression
deepened. Also on the afternoon of this day it rained heavily,
and Curry agreed with Ulyate that this probably meant the
beginning of the rainy season, which was already overdue.
That night at the supper table the Colonel spoke his mind. The
rain was dripping through the canvas fly overhead, and the
Colonel wore his broad-brimmed hat to help keep the water off his
plate.
"There's no use hanging round here any longer," he said, "not a
bit of use. We haven't seen anything, nor a sign of anything.
When the rains begin in earnest, this ground will soften fast an'
the horses will get bogged an' we'll have to quit. So from now on
we've got to work fast. Now Ulyate says there's water about
twelve miles from here to the north--called the Soda Swamp. We'll
start for the Soda Swamp in the morning."
Again it was moving day. The morning dawned fine after the rain,
and the air was clear, and the country looked greener and fresher
than it had ever looked before. By the time the sun rose, the
first wagon was packed, so the safari set out on the journey,
leaving the second wagon to load and follow our tracks, for there
was no road to the Soda Swamp.
At the last moment the Colonel decided that he and the cowboys
might just as well make a circuit to the westward of the line of
march on the off chance of finding game.
"We covered that district pretty thoroughly yesterday," he said.
"But still, you never can tell."
Yet nobody thought it worth while for the camera department to go
with them, and so Kearton and Gobbet and the four special porters
trailed along with the slow, plodding wagon. In the first place,
the wagons would follow the shortest route and the horses would
be none the worse for an easy day; in the second, if by the
remotest chance the Colonel flushed anything worth while, he
could more easily find the cameras.
Curry had remained behind to bring on the second load, and soon
Ulyate left us to make a detour past Agate's farm to procure
another sack of rice that was badly needed. Ours was a large
safari, and the details of transportation required close
attention.
The morning wore on. The sky remained clear and the heat became
intense. The direction in which we were traveling led us along
the border of the plains, through small green parks, scattered
groves of trees, and scrub.
So far as the mounted men were concerned, the march was a
succession of rides and halts. The heavily laden ox-wagon
traveled slowly, and it soon became our custom to dismount in a
bit of shade and let the wagon pass ahead about a mile, when we
would mount again and catch up with it and then repeat the
process.
At one of these places there was a grass-grown mound against
which we sat, leaning comfortably, and speculated on the distance
we had come and the distance we had to go. When, after a while,
it became evident that we should never agree in the matter, the
conversation altered to a sort of spasmodic affair.
"I thought this district was so full of big game that you
couldn't sleep at night for the lions roaring around you," Gobbet
remarked lazily.
"Wait till you get among them," said Kearton. "Sais, keep that
horse farther away; he'll be walking on us next."
"Well, I haven't been kept awake any yet," Gobbet replied.
"I wonder where that wagon's got to," and Kearton raised himself
on one elbow and peered ahead from beneath the down-tilted brim
of his helmet. Then he lay back again and shut his eyes.
"Means is coming," he said.
The announcement occasioned no surprise. Undoubtedly Means had
some reason for returning over the trail, and when he reached the
mound we should probably learn what he wanted.
Means dismounted and sat down beside us. "We've found a rhino
over in the next valley yonder," he remarked, and nodded his head
toward the west.
"A rhino is no matter to joke about," said Gobbet. "Please
remember that in future."
"I'm not jokin'," said Means. "Colonel's watchin' him. Loveless
stopped halfway here, about three miles off. Colonel sent me to
bring the rest of you and get the heavy rope."
"Is that right, Means?" Kearton asked sharply.
"Sure."
"Come on, then."
In five minutes we had overtaken the wagon and stopped it, and
while Means clambered up on to the load to hunt for the heavy
rope, Kearton collected the camera porters and started ahead with
them in the direction Means pointed out.
But Means could not find the rope he wanted. He threw off half
the load without success.
"It's on the other wagon. There's where it is," he finally
concluded. "No time to wait now. Other wagon likely hasn't
started yet. We'll have to do with what we've got."
We rode on at an easy jog to keep the horses fresh, and at the
end of half an hour we came upon Loveless waiting for us just
beneath the crest of a rise. He had off-saddled his horse and had
turned him loose to graze a bit before the coming work, and a few
minutes were occupied while Loveless saddled up again and Kearton
and Gobbet adjusted their cameras and took them on their horses.
Finally every one was ready, and we set forth once more on a wide
detour to the north to approach the beast from down the wind.
Loveless gave us the latest news: "The Colonel came over the rise
a half hour ago and said the rhino was laying down resting quiet.
The Colonel went back again at once to keep watch."
As we proceeded farther on the circuit and began to ride down the
gentle slope into the adjacent valley, we slowed down the pace to
a cautious walk. No one spoke, and on the grass of the veldt the
tread of the horses made scarcely any sound.
Suddenly the Colonel appeared, walking toward us, bent low. He
had backed out o' his hiding-place behind a clump of scrub.
"He's laying down over there about a hundred yards away," he
whispered. "Now we want to catch the start of the show. You boys
ready?"
Means tightened his cinch, and shook his rope loose and coiled it
up again. Loveless said he was ready. One of the saises produced
the Colonel's horse from behind another clump of scrub, and
Kearton dismounted and began creeping forward with his camera.
"Don't start him up till I get my position," he cautioned. "I'll
wave my hand."
On account of the growth of low bushes, we could not see the
rhino, but in silence we watched Kearton tiptoeing farther and
farther ahead toward the spot where the Colonel had said the
beast was lying down. The time was approximately a little after
noon. The wind that was blowing was light, and same to us hot
over the sunny reaches of veldt. The sky was cloudless.
Then the three ropers commenced maneuvering forward, swinging out
a little to the right. Kearton stopped. He set up his camera and
sighted it, and took out his handkerchief and carefully wiped the
lens.
When Kearton waved his hand, the Colonel's yell shattered the
stillness and the great beast heaved up out of the grass and
tossed his head and sniffed the air and snorted. The horsemen
rode full tilt at him, and with surprising quickness the rhino
wheeled and broke away south down the valley.
For a good three miles the rhino ran straight and fast. Finally
he came into more open country, which was dotted here and
therewith small thorn trees. Here, also, in one place there was a
fair-sized pool of water, left over from the rains of the night
before. The rhino selected this pool as a good position from
which to act on the defensive. He splashed into the water,
stopped, and faced the horsemen.
Then followed a few minutes' respite for all concerned. The
horses were panting heavily after the sharp run, and the rhino's
position in the pool rendered it difficult to approach him for a
chance to throw a rope. Evidently considering himself safe for
the moment, the beast rolled once or twice in the water and then
stood on guard as before, but with his black sides dripping.
"We've got to get him out of that," said the Colonel. "A horse
wouldn't stand a show there. Now when I get him to charge me, you
boys stand by."
Before the Colonel finished speaking, he was already edging
toward the pool. For fifteen yards the rhino watched him coming.
Then with a great snort he charged out of the water, sending the
white spray flying in every direction, and the Colonel had to
ride hard to keep ahead of the tossing horn. But Means was after
the rhino like a flash, and with a quick throw caught him round
the neck. The big bay fell back on his haunches and the rope
snapped like twine.
"We'll miss that heavy rope to-day," Means said.
"We'll tie him up with what we've got," the Colonel replied.
"Only we've got to tire him out some first. What we'll do is to
make him charge us one after the other, so he'll run three times
to the horses' running once."
It was a full half hour before the next attempt was made to throw
a rope. Time after time the rhino came plunging out of the water
to charge the nearest horseman. Our Western horses proved to be
only just a trifle faster than the rhino, so that each time the
beast nearly caught them. Besides, here and there, the ground was
bad with ant-bear holes, which had to be avoided, for a fall
would mean disaster. But little by little it became apparent that
the rhino's continual charging was beginning to produce an
effect.
In the meanwhile the rest of the chase was coming up. In the
distance we could see them hurrying down the valley--horsemen and
porters considerably scattered, as if each one followed a route
of his own choosing Kearton led on his big chestnut. He was
carrying the heavy camera under his arm, the tripod over his
shoulder. The reins were hanging loose over his saddle horn, his
heels were thumping the horse's sides, and the perspiration was
streaming down his face.
"We lost you," he panted. "How's it going? What a picture!"
Mac, the Mohammedan, and Aro, the Masai warrior, took the
apparatus from him, and he dismounted and went to work.
At the second attempt to rope the beast, Loveless caught him by
one hind leg, and the rhino decided to shift his base of
operations to an ant-hill in the neighboring clearing. His mode
of progression was to walk on three legs and to drag the black
horse after him with the other. He reached the ant-hill and
demolished it and paused for a breathing spell.
The chase followed after, and Kearton went into action on the
north and Gobbet on the south, near a small thorn tree, with a
negro porter beside him. The rhino caught sight of Gobbet's
camera and charged. The porter went up the tree like a flash.
Gobbet was bent over, looking through his view-finder, which, of
course, gave him no idea of how fast the beast was bearing down
on him nor how close he had already come.
"Look out!" yelled the Colonel.
Gobbet glanced up over the top of the camera and made a jump for
the tree. But the porter was already in the branches, and the
tree was so small there was not room for two, and Gobbet had to
run for it. The next second, with a powerful upward stroke of his
horn, the rhino sent the apparatus flying. Then Means succeeded
in attracting his attention and he charged the horseman instead.
Gobbet picked up the debris, found that the tripod-head was split
clean in two as with an axe, found the camera itself undamaged,
found there was enough head left to support the camera, quickly
mounted his machine again, and was just in time to catch the end
of the rhino's chase after Means.
And all the while Kearton had his camera trained upon the scene
in which his assistant was playing the conspicuous part.
"I hope I got that good," he said; "it'll make fine
action--fine."
From one position to another, from ant-hill to thorn tree and
back to ant-hill once more, the fight went on through the long,
hot afternoon. Ropes were thrown and caught and broken, mended
and thrown again. The horses were pulled, all standing, one way
and another. Rolls of film were exposed and replaced by fresh
ones. The rhino sulked and stormed and charged in turn.
At the end of the fourth hour Loveless had one short length of
light line left. The rest of the ropes were dangling, broken,
from the rhino's legs and neck as he stood at bay over the ruins
of the ant-hill.
The sun was rapidly canting toward the west. The continual work
in the intense heat, without food or water, was beginning to tell
on both horses and men. The rhino was weakening faster. But only
one hour of daylight remained, and if the beast could hold out
till dark we should lose him.
There was the dead stump of a tree with the roots protruding
lying in the grass near by. The Colonel told Means to fasten the
stump to the last piece of line, and Loveless rode toward
Kearton's machine, past the rhino, dragging the stump behind him.
As the Colonel had foreseen, the beast charged at the stump, and
the loose ropes hanging from him became entangled in the roots.
So on they went at a run, first Loveless, then the stump,
bounding over the ground, then the charging rhino, headed
straight for Kearton's camera. The Masai warrior stood by the
tripod with his long spear poised high, and Kearton turned the
handle and shouted at Loveless:
"How many times have I got to tell you not to come straight into
the lens? Bring him on at an angle! . . . I don't want to be
unreasonable," he added, when the rhino stopped, "but you ought
to have learned better by this time."
Then, by hauling in gently, Loveless succeeded in recovering two
of the ropes, and they were pieced together and thrown again,
catching the rhino by one hind leg. Both the cowboys put their
horses to work pulling forward on the rope, and they lifted that
one hind leg ahead. The tired beast shifted his great body after
it, and thus step by step the horses dragged him up to a tree,
where Loveless passed the end of the rope two turns around the
bole and made it fast.
The rhino charged once just before the knot was tied, and
Loveless had to jump into the branches through the thorns to
escape. He charged again, rather feebly this time, trying to get
free, but the rope held well and tripped him up. After that he
stood quietly at the end of his tether, watching the camera in a
sullen way while Kearton took his picture with the last few feet
of film.
By this time the light was almost gone, the films were finished,
horses and men were nearly done, and, besides, it was moving day
and high time we resumed the march.
In the November number Mr. Scull will relate the adventures of
the Buffalo Jones African Expedition in Lassoing Lion.
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Vol. XXIII No. 5 NOVEMBER, 1910