seizing the double rifle with his left.

But at the _spat_ of the bullet the rhino veered toward the direction from
which it seemed to his stupid brain the hurt had come. Tail erect, he
thundered away down the slope.

For a hundred yards he careered full speed, then slowed to a trot, finally
stopped, whirled, and faced to a new direction. The sound of his blowing
came clearly across the intervening distance.

A low bush grew near. The rhino attacked this savagely, horning it,
trampling it down. The dust arose in clouds. Then the huge brute trotted
slowly away, still snorting angrily, pausing to butt violently the larger
trees, or to tear into shreds some bush or ant hill that loomed
dangerously in the primeval fogs of his brain.

"Sorry, old chap," commented Kingozi in his own language, "but you're none
the worse. Only I'm afraid your naturally sweet temper is spoiled for to-
day, at least."

He turned to exchange guns with Mali-ya-bwana.

"_N'dio, bwana_," assented the latter to a speech of which he understood
not one word. Mali-ya-bwana was secretly a little proud of himself for
having stuck like a gun bearer, instead of shinning up a thorn tree like a
porter.

Kingozi slipped a cartridge into the rifle, and the two resumed their walk
toward the kopje.