It was a lovely evening, and Oscar was in just the mood to enjoy it.
Turtle-doves cooed to one another from the trees over his head; long-tailed finches, commonly called the widahbird, flitted through the branches; a garrulous honey-bird tried hard to attract his attention as he rode past, and now and then flocks of Namaqua partridges sailed by, uttering their melodious notes, and settled down about the fountain.
Oscar looked at all these birds, but did not try a shot at any of them. He had no time to waste, for darkness would soon be upon him.
As soon as he was fairly out of the grove he discovered one of the birds of which he was in search, stalking along about two hundred yards in advance of him.
Oscar rode toward it, keeping close watch of every move the bird made, so that he might know how to set it up after he had shot it.
The secretary soon discovered his approach, and, straightening up, looked curiously at the hunter for a few seconds, after which, like the industrious bird he was, he went about his business again.
He did not seem to be very much afraid, but still he showed very plainly that he did not care for company, for when Oscar had approached within fifty yards of him he moved away in so awkward and ostentatious a manner that the young hunter laughed outright.
He did not run or hop, but walked off with long, measured strides, and in much the same manner that a boy progresses when he is mounted on stilts.
The secretary seemed to be trying to show off, and the longer Oscar looked at him the louder he laughed.
While his merriment was at its height Little Gray—who was moving rapidly along, with his bridle hanging on his neck—uttered a loud snort, and jumped aside so suddenly that Oscar came within a hair's breadth of being thrown to the ground.