Oscar in Africa

by Harry Castlemon

Still the sun was hot and the stalking difficult, and when, at last, the young hunter arrived within easy range of the game and laid his rifle carefully over the top of the boulder behind which he had crept for concealment, he was so nearly overcome with heat and weariness that he trembled all over, and it was a long time before he could hold his heavy weapon steady.

"I'll make sure work of you, my vigilant friend," said Oscar to himself as he cocked both barrels of his rifle and drew a fine sight on the sentinel's shoulder. "If I can have the satisfaction of setting you up I shall be in some measure repaid for this day's experience, which is about the toughest I have had yet."

The rifle cracked, the bullet flew true to its aim, and the sentinel koodoo fell dead in his tracks. Without waiting to see the effect of his shot—for he was sure he had made a good one—Oscar turned his rifle toward the other members of the herd, which had huddled together just as our prong-horns do when they become alarmed and cannot make up their minds where to look for the danger that threatens them. Taking a quick aim at the largest buck, he fired his second barrel at it, and made another good shot—at least he thought so at first, for when the smoke cleared away he saw the buck struggling on the ground.

A minute later, however, he succeeded in regaining his feet and ran after the rest of the herd, which were stepping out at their best pace for the nearest grove, clearing all the obstacles that lay in their path with the most surprising agility. Having put fresh cartridges into his rifle, Oscar lay down under the boulder to await the coming of Big Thompson with the dogs. Impatient as he was to make a close examination of his prize, he could not go to him just then.

The excitement of the hunt being over, he became sensible of the fact that he had done a good deal of hard work, and that he was very tired and tormented with a raging thirst. Having always been so situated that he could seek the shelter of his tent during the heat of the day, he had never before realized how intensely hot the afternoon sun was at meridian. Even the artificial breeze he raised with his hat, which he had stripped of its covering of weeds and grass, did not afford him any relief, for it felt like the blast of a furnace.

When the hounds came up Oscar led them across the intervening gully and put them upon the trail of the koodoos. They took up the scent at once, and followed it at a rate of speed that seemed to argue well for the ultimate capture of the wounded member of the herd. In a few minutes they were out of sight in the grove, and just then Big Thompson galloped up, leading Oscar's horse.

"I've got one of them, sure; there he is, and I want you to take him in front of you on your horse, and go with me in pursuit of the one I have wounded," said Oscar as he sprang upon Little Gray's back. "I must have both of them, for I am resolved that I'll never again hunt koodoos, or anything else, in the middle of the day."

Although Oscar had often read about koodoos and heard them described more times than he could remember, he was by no means prepared to see what he did see when he rode up to his prize. The buck looked more like a small ox than an antelope, and Oscar saw at a glance that his work was not yet finished. It was plain that the Kaffir's horse could not carry him, even if they had muscle enough between them to put him on the animal's back.

"I must either skin him right here, in this hot sun, or else set my wits at work and think up some way to get him to the wagon without dragging him on the ground," said Oscar in deep perplexity. "Thompson, you stay here and keep the vultures off, and I will go and see what has become of the other one. When I come back I shall have to go to camp."

So saying, Oscar put Little Gray to the top of his speed and rode toward the grove, in which both koodoos and hounds had disappeared but a few minutes before. As he drew near to it he became aware that there was something going on in there. He heard the bleating of the koodoos, mingled with a chorus of barks, growls, and whines, the like of which he had never heard two dogs utter before. If his whole pack had been in there baying the koodoos they could not have created a greater uproar.