as Mr. Clifford was about to dismount to risk a long shot, the beast
took to its heels in earnest.

"Come on," he said; "don't let's be beat," for by this time the hunter
was alive in him.

So off they went at a gallop, up slopes and down slopes that reminded
Benita of the Bay of Biscay in a storm, across half-dried vleis that in
the wet season were ponds, through stony ground and patches of ant-bear
holes in which they nearly came to grief. For five miles at least the
chase went on, since at the end of winter the wilderbeeste was thin and
could gallop well, notwithstanding its injury, faster even than their
good horses. At last, rising a ridge, they found whither it was going,
for suddenly they were in the midst of vast herds of game, thousands and
tens of thousands of them stretching as far as the eye could reach.

It was a wondrous sight that now, alas! will be seen no more--at any
rate upon the Transvaal veld; wilderbeeste, blesbok, springbok, in
countless multitudes, and amongst them a few quagga and hartebeeste.
With a sound like that of thunder, their flashing myriad hoofs casting
up clouds of dust from the fire-blackened veld, the great herds
separated at the appearance of their enemy, man. This way and that they
went in groups and long brown lines, leaving the wounded and exhausted
wilderbeeste behind them, so that presently he was the sole tenant of
that great cup of land.

At him they rode till Mr. Clifford, who was a little ahead of his
daughter, drew almost alongside. Then the poor maddened brute tried its
last shift. Stopping suddenly, it wheeled round and charged head down.
Mr. Clifford, as it came, held out his rifle in his right hand and fired