“That’s not likely. Everything will have run out too far ahead of him by the time he gets there. Come.”
“Oh, all right.”
They dived into the bush, penetrating it higher up into the kloof. By the time they halted it was not the hundred yards it looked, but over two.
“This will do,” she said. “Now you’re not to miss.”
Their position was a little plateau, whence they could see without being seen. First-rate shots could be obtained of everything that ran out—and everything that did run out would pass within easy range, by reason of the narrowness of the way. Above, too, they would have ample warning of anything coming, for the bush though just thick enough, was not too dense.
“Diane chasseresse, you are splendid to-day,” whispered Elvesdon as they took up their position. She looked straight into his face, and on hers came a half resentful expression.
“Oh now, now. That’ll do,” she answered, half pettishly. “I suppose you think because I’m a girl I’ve no business in this sort of thing at all. I know I’m about the only one who goes in for it—except in England. There you get the Duchess of this and the Countess of that, and Lady Tom Noddy and all the rest of them placarded in the illustrated weeklies in shooting costume, with their guns, and so on; but here—oh no, the ordinary she-mortal mustn’t touch sport, just because she is a she. What?”
“Nothing. Don’t be so petulant.”
“Ah—ah! That’s what you were thinking. I know it.”
“Don’t crow now. You’re not a thought-reader. And,”—he added to himself, “I sometimes wish you were.”