She made an impatient movement—something, we believe, of the nature of that which our grandmothers called a ‘flounce.’
“Why shouldn’t I shoot bushbucks?” she said, defiantly. “Tell me.”
“When you have told me when I said you shouldn’t. Now why on earth have you raised all this bother about nothing in the world? Tell me.”
She looked at him for a moment as though not knowing whether to be angry or not. But the insidious imitation of her tone in the last two words was too much, and she burst out laughing.
“Ssh!” he said, reprovingly. “We mustn’t make such a row, or Prior will get all the shots. Nothing will come our way.”
Hardly were the words out of his mouth than the dogs burst into cry again. But the sound did not come their way, whatever had been roused had broken away at right angles. Then away back and above there rang out a shot.
“Prior again,” whispered Elvesdon. “What did I tell you?”
They waited in silence. Then Edala whispered:
“Poor chance now. There’s Manamandhla just underneath. The drive is nearly over.”
The Zulu was, as she had said, just beneath. He had halted, and bending down seemed to be trying to get a thorn out of his foot. At the same time Thornhill appeared in sight riding slowly down the other side. Suddenly he caught sight of Manamandhla.