The Land of Footprints | Page 6

suddenly looks
very intently in his direction, he must freeze into no matter what
uncomfortable position, and so remain an indefinite time. Even a
hotel-bred child to whom you have rashly made advances stares no
longer nor more intently than a buck that cannot make you out.

I had no great difficulty with this lot, but slipped up quite successfully
to within one hundred and fifty yards. There I raised my head behind a
little bush to look. Three does grazed nearest me, their coats rough
against the chill of early morning. Up the slope were two more does
and two funny, fuzzy babies. An immature buck occupied the extreme
left with three young ladies. But the big buck, the leader, the boss of
the lot, I could not see anywhere. Of course he must be about, and I
craned my neck cautiously here and there trying to make him out.
Suddenly, with one accord, all turned and began to trot rapidly away to
the right, their heads high. In the strange manner of animals, they had
received telepathic alarm, and had instantly obeyed. Then beyond and
far to the right I at last saw the beast I had been looking for. The old
villain had been watching me all the time!
The little herd in single file made their way rapidly along the face of
the rise. They were headed in the direction of the stream. Now, I
happened to know that at this point the stream-canyon was bordered by
sheer cliffs. Therefore, the sing-sing must round the hill, and not cross
the stream. By running to the top of the hill I might catch a glimpse of
them somewhere below. So I started on a jog trot, trying to hit the
golden mean of speed that would still leave me breath to shoot. This
was an affair of some nicety in the tall grass. Just before I reached the
actual slope, however, I revised my schedule. The reason was supplied
by a rhino that came grunting to his feet about seventy yards away. He
had not seen me, and he had not smelled me, but the general
disturbance of all these events had broken into his early morning nap.
He looked to me like a person who is cross before breakfast, so I
ducked low and ran around him. The last I saw of him he was still
standing there, quite disgruntled, and evidently intending to write to the
directors about it.
Arriving at the top, I looked eagerly down. The cliff fell away at an
impossible angle, but sheer below ran out a narrow bench fifty yards
wide. Around the point of the hill to my right-where the herd had
gone-a game trail dropped steeply to this bench. I arrived just in time to
see the sing-sing, still trotting, file across the bench and over its edge,
on some other invisible game trail, to continue their descent of the cliff.
The big buck brought up the rear. At the very edge he came to a halt,
and looked back, throwing his head up and his nose out so that the

heavy fur on his neck stood forward like a ruff. It was a last glimpse of
him, so I held my little best, and pulled trigger.
This happened to be one of those shots I spoke of-which the perpetrator
accepts with a thankful and humble spirit. The sing-sing leaped high in
the air and plunged over the edge of the bench. I signalled the camp-in
plain sight-to come and get the head and meat, and sat down to wait.
And while waiting, I looked out on a scene that has since been to me
one of my four symbolizations of Africa.
The morning was dull, with gray clouds through which at wide
intervals streamed broad bands of misty light. Below me the cliff fell
away clear to a gorge in the depths of which flowed a river. Then the
land began to rise, broken, sharp, tumbled, terrible, tier after tier, gorge
after gorge, one twisted range after the other, across a breathlessly
immeasurable distance. The prospect was full of shadows thrown by
the tumult of lava. In those shadows one imagined stranger abysses. Far
down to the right a long narrow lake inaugurated a flatter,
alkali-whitened country of low cliffs in long straight lines. Across the
distances proper to a dozen horizons the tumbled chaos heaved and fell.
The eye sought rest at the bounds usual to its accustomed world-and
went on. There was no roundness to the earth, no grateful curve to drop
this great fierce country beyond a healing horizon out of sight. The
immensity of primal space was in it, and the simplicity of primal
things-rough, unfinished, full of mystery. There was no colour. The
scene