This homely, cheerful little sound roused us. We went forth to count
damages and to put our house in order. The men hunted out dry wood and
made another fire; the creatures of the jungle and the stars above them
ventured forth.

Next morning we marched into a world swept clean. The ground was as
smooth as though a new broom had gone over it. Every track now was
fresh, and meant an animal near at hand. The bushes and grasses were
hung with jewels. Merry little showers shook down from trees sharing a
joke with some tiny wind. White steam rose from a moist, fertile-looking
soil. The smell of greenhouses was in the air. Looking back, we were
stricken motionless by the sight of Kilimanjaro, its twin peaks
suspended a clean blue sky, fresh snow mantling its shoulders.

This day, so cheeringly opened, was destined to fulfil its promise. In
the dense scrub dwell a shy and rare animal called the lesser kudu
specimens of which we greatly desired. The beast keeps to the thickest
and driest cove where it is impossible to see fifty yards ahead but
where the slightest movement breaks the numberless dry interlacements of
which the place seems made. To move really quietly one could not cover
over a half-mile in an hour. As the countryside extends a thousand
square miles or more, and the lesser kudu is rare, it can be seen that
hunting them might have to be a slow and painful process. We had twice
seen the peculiar tracks.

On this morning, however, we caught a glimpse of the beast itself. A
flash of gray, with an impression of the characteristic harness-like
stripes--that was all. The trail, in the ground, was of course very
plain. I left the others and followed it into the brush. As usual the