chance. Simba, his eyes glowing fiercely, staring with almost hypnotic
intensity over his master's shoulder, quivered like an eager dog.

"Hah!" he grunted as the loud spat of the bullet followed the rifle's
crack. "_Na kamata_--he has it!" he added as the wildebeeste plunged into
full view.

The hunter manipulated the bolt to throw in a new cartridge, but did not
shift his position. In less remote countries the sportsman, unlimited in
ammunition but restricted in chances, would probably have pumped in four
or five shots until the quarry was down. The traveller and Simba watched
closely, with expert eyes, to determine whether a precious second
cartridge should be expended.

"Where?" asked the white man briefly.

"Low in the shoulder," replied Simba.

The wildebeeste plunged wildly here and there, kicking, bucking, menacing
the unseen danger with his horns. For several seconds longer the two
watched, then rose leisurely to their feet. Simba motioned to the waiting
safari, who, correctly interpreting the situation, broke into a trot. Both
Simba and his master knew that had the animal not received a mortal wound
it would before this have whirled to look back. The fact that it still ran
proved its extremity. Sure enough, within the hundred yards it suddenly
plunged forward on its nose, rolled over, and lay still.

The fierce countenance of the gun bearer lit up in triumph. He shifted the
heavy rifle and reached out to touch the lighter weapon resting again in
the crook of his master's arm.