Suddenly there was a puff of smoke from a clump of bushes quite a mile away, and after an interval the faint crack of a rifle.
“That’s Dick’s gun, General,” said Mr Rogers, bringing his glass to bear upon a little herd of antelopes that must have formed the object of the shot; but not one of them fell, neither did either of them seem to be lamed.
“Miss, this time,” said the General, quietly.
Just then there was another report, evidently a shot at long range; but the only effect was to drive the game more in the direction of Jack’s position, or what they supposed to be Jack’s position.
Seeing then that Dick was not likely to get another shot, Mr Rogers turned his glass in the other direction; but there was nothing to see but the great herds of game, going more and more towards a clump of timber—trees that were of glorious shades of green in the morning sun. But, all at once, as a troop of gnus were trotting by, three or four large birds came rushing out, as if alarmed, and the gnus took fright, tearing off at a frantic pace. But before they had gone far there was a white puff of smoke from the end of the clump.
“Well done!” cried Mr Rogers. “He did well to get so far. But it is another miss. We must not depend on the boys yet for our dinners.”
The whole plain seemed to be now alive, and herd after herd of game, that had been hidden from them by the trees, had rushed into sight, and was now careering onward, and away from the dangerous proximity to the woods.
“Poor boys! All their trouble for nothing,” said Mr Rogers, closing his glass. “I wish I had gone too. I might have hit something.”
“Boss Jack has hit,” said the Zulu, pointing.
And just then, to the father’s great delight, he saw one of the curious antelopes suddenly stop short, the rest of the herd galloping onwards. Then it shook its head, turned, and seemed giddily to gallop back, and finally fell dead.