“Well, we can reckon the day as over,” said Thornhill, as Prior and Evelyn joined them at the bottom of the kloof—the latter had bagged what had been driven out in front of him, a duiker ram to wit. “We might have done better, and we might have done worse. Five bushbucks and a duiker among four guns—”
“And a vaal koorhaan,” put in Elvesdon. “Don’t forget the vaal koorhaan, Thornhill. Diane chasseresse has the honours of the day.”
“Hear, hear!” cried Prior.
Thornhill laughed—easily, carelessly. He instinctively felt that both his daughter and Elvesdon were aware that if his last shot had been successful Manamandhla would have met his death by no accident at all. But he was not the man to give himself away.
“Sorry for your ill luck, Elvesdon,” he said. “We may get another chance on the way home, even now.”
“Oh that’s all right. I’m a bit ‘off’ to-day, I suppose. Better luck next time.”