“If we shoot one,” said the General quietly, “I get plenty.”
But the job was to shoot the first one. The General tried creeping continually from bush to bush, out and over the plain; but either the ostriches saw the glint of the sun upon the gun-barrel, or caught a glimpse of his dark skin, for they were off swift as the wind, with their legs twinkling like the spokes of a carriage wheel as they ran.
Then Mr Rogers tried again and again with the boys; but they had worse luck than the Zulu, for they never got near enough for anything but very doubtful long shots at many hundred yards, with the sole result of making the birds more shy.
If they could have known where the ostriches were likely to appear, and could have gone and lain wait, the task would have been easy; but the birds came into sight in the most out-of-the-way places, and at the most unexpected times, and not a plume came to be stuck up as a valuable trophy in the waggon.
The General, clever hunter as he was, felt hurt at his ill-success, and pointed out the reason; and that was that the few birds about them had taken refuge here from the pursuit of hunters, having been chased most persistently in all the country round.
“You must get an ostrich, Chicory,” he said to his son in his own language, as the boy was squatted down by his brother, who was recovering with rapid strides.
“Chicory shoot one,” said the boy.
And without a word he went to Dinny, and obtained some strips of dried bok for provender, and then started off upon his quest.