It was a ride of some hours’ duration to get to the high ground where the giraffe had been seen, the fact of there being one, Mr Rogers said, showing that there was a little herd somewhere close by, and so it proved, for after cautiously approaching the place, riding with the greatest care, so as to avoid the great masses of stone hidden amongst the grass, three tall heads were seen peering about in a patch of trees quite half a mile away.
A quiet approach was contrived, the hunters making, their way round to the far side of the clump of bushes, where some higher trees sheltered their approach—very barely though, for the giraffe’s long necks enabled them to peer over bushes and saplings of no mean height.
But for this shelter the little herd would have been off at once, and they could have followed them at little better than a walk, on account of the rough stones and masses of rock.
Practice had made them skilful at stalking, and keeping pretty close together, they gradually approached the patch of tall growth, when, in obedience to a signal from Mr Rogers, they separated, Dick and Jack going in opposite directions, and Mr Rogers waiting for a few moments to let the boys get a start, and then entering the bush himself.
So well had the arrangement been timed, that father and sons met together just upon the other side, staring the one at the other.
“Why, where are the giraffes?” cried Jack.
“Yes, where are they?” said Dick, looking at his father, as if he thought he had taken them away. “Haven’t you seen them?”
“Not I,” said Mr Rogers, laughing. “Why, boys, we must be sharper than this another time.”
“But when did they go?” cried Dick.
“I cannot tell,” replied his father, “unless it was when we were out of sight. They must have suspected danger, and gone off at full speed.”