a great herd of springbok trekking along in single file. Ah, they have
come to the waggon-track and do not like the look of it. What will they
do?--go back? Not a bit of it. It is nearly thirty feet wide, but that
is nothing to a springbok. See, the first of them bounds into the air
like a ball. How beautifully the sunshine gleams upon his golden
hide! He has cleared it, and the others come after him in numberless
succession, all except the fawns, who cannot jump so far, and have to
scamper over the doubtful path with a terrified _bah_. What is that
yonder, moving above the tops of the mimosa, in the little dell at the
foot of the koppie? Giraffes, by George! three of them; there will be
marrow-bones for supper to-night. Hark! the ground shakes behind us, and
over the brow of the rise rush a vast herd of blesbock. On they come at
full gallop, their long heads held low, they look like so many bearded
goats. I thought so--behind them is a pack of wild dogs, their fur
draggled, their tongues lolling. They are in full cry; the giraffes hear
them and are away, rolling round the koppie like a ship in a heavy sea.
No marrow-bones after all. See! the foremost dogs are close on a buck.
He has galloped far and is outworn. One springs at his flank and misses
him. The buck gives a kind of groan, looks wildly round and sees the
waggon. He seems to hesitate a moment, then in his despair rushes up
to it, and falls exhausted among the oxen. The dogs pull up some thirty
paces away, panting and snarling. Now, boy, the gun--no, not the rifle,
the shot-gun loaded with loopers.

Bang! bang! there, my friends, two of you will never hunt buck again.
No, don't touch the buck, for he has come to us for shelter, and he
shall have it.

Ah, how beautiful is nature before man comes to spoil it!