Almost at the same moment they saw Jack run out from the clump of timber, gun in one hand, cap in the other, which latter he began to wave frantically above his head.
“Well done, boy! A good shot,” cried Mr Rogers. “Ah, there’s Dick.”
For Dick now showed himself, a mile away to the left, and began to cross the open to join his brother, whose success he must have seen.
“The next thing is to get the game home,” said Mr Rogers. “We’ll go back, and send Peter and Dirk.”
He placed a shrill little whistle to his lips as he spoke, and as its piercing note rang out, the boys, who had been making for the fallen gnu, turned to come back.
“I’ll go!” said the General. “Mustn’t leave the game. Look, boss.”
He pointed, and in the distance there was a great vulture winging its way towards the fallen gnu; and, directly after, another and another came into sight, sailing heavily along upon its great dusky flapping wings.
It seemed as if telegrams had been sent in all directions to the vultures’ roosting-places that there had been a wildebeeste slain; and it was so evident that, if steps were not taken to save it, the vultures would destroy the provisions of three or four days, that Mr Rogers rapidly blew twice upon his whistle—a preconcerted signal, which made the boys turn and go towards the game.
As it was, a vulture would have reached the fallen animal before them but for a shot from Dick’s gun, which had the effect of more than scaring it as it was just alighting, for, evidently hit by the bullet, it flew a few yards, and then fell, flapping its wings for a few moments, and then lay still.
This checked the others for the time, and Mr Rogers waited till the General should set the boys at liberty, when he meant to return to the waggon.