Delia could hardly restrain a cry of delight. About twenty yards away a couple of white-tailed gnus were feeding, and just beyond three more of the larger and brindled kind, and a little apart from these a fine specimen of the sable antelope. It was as if some fortunate freak of Nature had grouped and focussed the lot for her own especial benefit.
“Got ’em,” she whispered, clicking the trigger.
Up went every head. The white-tailed gnus, their wild eyes staring out of fierce-looking, whiskered countenances surmounted by sharp meat-hook-like horns, began to snort and prance round and round. Those of the other kind drew nearer, uttering a raucous bellow.
“Now, snap them again,” whispered Wagram; “you’ll never get a better chance.”
“There; that’ll be perfect. Are there any more, Mr Wagram?”
“None worth taking. Some of the smaller kinds of antelope; but we hope to get some more specimens. Haldane got these for us. He’s been an up-country sportsman in his time, and shot lots of them.”
“How picturesque they look; but they are very ugly.”
“Not the sable antelope?”
“Oh no; the others. They look as if Nature had started to make a goat, then changed her mind, and manufactured a bad attempt at a buffalo, with a dash of the camel thrown in.”
“Good description,” laughed Wagram. The creatures, excited by the sound, snorted and bellowed, pawing the ground or capering in absurd antics, while two had got up a sham fight on their own account.