Here I came upon a troop of six fine, old bull buffaloes, into which I
stalked, and wounded one princely fellow very severely, behind the
shoulder, bringing blood from his mouth; he, however, made off with his
comrades, and, the ground being very rough, we failed to overtake him.
They held for Ngotwani. After following the spoor for a couple of miles,
we dropped it, as it led right away from camp.

Returning from this chase, we had an adventure with another old bull
buffalo, which shows the extreme danger of hunting buffaloes without
dogs. We started him in a green hollow, among the hills, and his course
inclining for camp. I gave him chase. He crossed the level, broad
strath, and made for the opposite densely-wooded range of mountains.
Along the base of these we followed him, sometimes in view, sometimes on
the spoor, keeping the old fellow at a pace which made him pant. At
length, finding himself much distressed, he had recourse to a singular
stratagem. Doubling round some thick bushes, which obscured him from our
view, he found himself beside a small pool of rain-water, just deep
enough to cover his body; into this he walked, and, facing about, lay
gently down and awaited our on-coming, with nothing but his old, gray
face, and massive horns above the water, and these concealed from view
by the overhanging herbage.

[Illustration: CHARGE OF THE BUFFALO.]

Our attention was entirely engrossed with the spoor, and thus we rode
boldly on until within a few feet of him, when, springing to his feet,
he made a desperate charge after Ruyter, uttering a low, stifled roar,
peculiar to buffaloes, (somewhat similar to the growl of a lion,) and
hurled horse and rider to the earth with fearful violence. His horn laid
the poor horse's haunch open to the bone, making the most fearful rugged