Von Hofe received his full share of the praise, for his bird-shot had contributed no little to the rout of the giant buffaloes. He, however, was already busy with his camera, and only the assurance of Schoverling that they could get a skin at another time got him to his horse. Half an hour later they were away from the scene of the battle, to which the kites and vultures were already flocking through the sky.
"We won't go far," announced the leader. "I don't mind confessing that I'm pretty badly shaken up and want to rest for the remainder of the day. We got out of that scrape almighty well, boys, if you want to know it!"
"Guess we did," returned Charlie with an uneasy glance around. "I won't forget that for many a long day! If the Indians hadn't stood by us—"
He did not need to finish, and the explorer nodded. Two miles farther on, and a mile from the river; they halted beside a little creek. They had learned the value of a big tree, and the oxen were outspanned around a spreading fig-tree of gigantic size. The Masai built a zareba around, and for the rest of the afternoon they stayed quietly recuperating from the terrible exertions of that battle. In the evening great fires were built and the traps set out again.
Nothing disturbed them that night. They slept in their blankets under the shelter of the giant tree, but as they rolled up—von Hofe being on guard for the first three hours—Jack whispered to Charlie.
"If we struck a herd of them fellows while we were down on low ground—good-bye!"
"You shut up and go to sleep," retorted Charlie. "Every time I close my eyes I think of those tossin' heads. I don't want to dream about them."
"Bet a cookie you will," chuckled Jack. "Remember how their eyes rolled, and the first ones we shot got all trampled out of shape, and—"
Charlie reached over with a mimosa thorn and ended the discussion suddenly. But, nevertheless, his dreams that night were none too pleasant, and he woke more than once, almost feeling a herd of those giant buffaloes grinding him beneath their hoofs.