"All right, uncle," said Guy. "We shall be back soon. Good-bye."
The lads took their rifles and bandoliers, saddled their ponies quickly, and were in such a hurry to be gone, believing the eland to be quite close, that they took with them neither coats nor water-bottles, but just rode gaily off, calling to Poeskop, who was still saddling his pony, to follow them. Seleti had given them the direction in which the elands had been grazing, and it was not very long before they had found traces of the animals they sought.
"That must be eland spoor," said Tom, pointing to a quantity of footprints, which showed that a large herd had gone by. "I never saw it before, but there's no mistaking it. It looks something like a buffalo spoor, or, better still, that of Alderney cattle."
Just then Poeskop, who had heard Tom's remark, rode up.
"Ja, baas," he said. "That is eland spoor right enough. It is a big troop, seventy or eighty at least. Something has startled them: they are running."
"That's a nuisance," rejoined Tom. "We may have to ride farther than we thought."
"Never mind," added Guy. "Once we get up to them, we shall soon run them down. At least, all the books I have ever read on African sport speak of eland as being very easily ridden in to."
They moved rapidly on the spoor, now walking their horses at a brisk pace; but the troop had, by some means or other, been thoroughly alarmed, and had trotted ahead of them, without halting, for miles, bent manifestly on seeking more secluded pastures. It was not until twelve o'clock, after a short off-saddle to rest their nags, that the hunters came up with them. They were riding through a thickish belt of mopani forest, a tree which grows as a rule in light, gray, tufaceous soil, and abounds in "thirst" country. Suddenly Guy whispered to his companions,--
"Look! these must be elands."
Tom and Poeskop turned their heads quickly, and saw, through the trees on the right, some two hundred yards ahead, a number of big, fawn-coloured forms disappearing into the woodland.