About midday the sun grew intensely hot, and the stench drawn up by it
from the marshes which the river drains was something too awful, and
caused us instantly to swallow precautionary doses of quinine. Shortly
afterwards the breeze died away altogether, and as rowing our heavy boat
against stream in the heat was out of the question, we were thankful
enough to get under the shade of a group of trees--a species of
willow--that grew by the edge of the river, and lie there and gasp till
at length the approach of sunset put a period to our miseries. Seeing
what appeared to be an open space of water straight ahead of us, we
determined to row there before settling what to do for the night. Just
as we were about to loosen the boat, however, a beautiful waterbuck,
with great horns curving forward, and a white stripe across the rump,
came down to the river to drink, without perceiving us hidden away
within fifty yards under the willows. Leo was the first to catch sight
of it, and, being an ardent sportsman, thirsting for the blood of
big game, about which he had been dreaming for months, he instantly
stiffened all over, and pointed like a setter dog. Seeing what was the
matter, I handed him his express rifle, at the same time taking my own.

"Now then," I whispered, "mind you don't miss."

"Miss!" he whispered back contemptuously; "I could not miss it if I
tried."

He lifted the rifle, and the roan-coloured buck, having drunk his fill,
raised his head and looked out across the river. He was standing right
against the sunset sky on a little eminence, or ridge of ground, which
ran across the swamp, evidently a favourite path for game, and there
was something very beautiful about him. Indeed, I do not think that if