Mildmay wasted no time in argument upon questions of hunting etiquette; he quite understood that the professor was offering him first shot as some trifling recognition of the service so lately rendered, and, throwing up his rifle to his shoulder, he aimed, as well as the darkness would permit, immediately between but an inch or two above the level of the eyes, and pulled the trigger. The click of the hammer was instantly followed by the thud of the bullet; a bulky body hurtled through the air, knocking Mildmay and the professor right and left backward among the reeds, and there lay the great beast, stone dead, between them.
“Just in the nick of time!” murmured the professor. “Another second, and he would have had one of us.”
“Yes,” agreed Mildmay, with zest. “We are not having such bad sport, are we, Professor, considering that we have only just come on the ground?”
“Quite as good as could be expected,” assented von Schalckenberg. “But the sport has not been all on our side. Our friend, here, has at least had the excitement of stalking us.”
“Why, you surely do not mean to say that this beggar has been stalking us?” ejaculated the sailor.
“As surely as that we are standing here,” answered the professor. “He was standing exactly in our tracks, and has undoubtedly been following our scent, which he probably crossed on his way down here to the water. It is lucky for us both that he did not come up while we were engaged with the python. Had he done so, there would probably have arisen a very awkward complication. Well, let us get on. We shall have to leave the skinning of him and the snake until to-morrow morning; and I only hope that the jackals will not spoil the pelts meanwhile.”
Feeling their way carefully, they skirted the margin of the lake for some distance until they came to what they were seeking, namely, a break in the belt of encircling reeds. It was a good wide break, too, nearly a hundred yards across, as nearly as they could guess in the uncertain light; and from the down-trodden appearance of the grass leading to it, it appeared to be a favourite drinking-place. This conjecture was confirmed when the two hunters had forced their way into cover, by the sight of several vaguely defined forms showing at the edge of the water, about fifty yards away.
Settling themselves comfortably in their bed of dry reeds and grass, the two hunters now concentrated their attention upon these indistinct and stealthily moving objects, with the result that, as their eyes gradually adapted themselves to the new conditions of light—or darkness, rather—it became possible for them to form some sort of opinion as to the species of the different animals there congregated together. They appeared to be chiefly bucks of various kinds, with a zebra or two, none of which the sportsmen thought worth a cartridge; they were therefore permitted to pass to and fro unmolested. Gradually the number of animals coming down to drink grew less and less, until at length no more came at all, and the spot seemed to be completely deserted. And then, with the cessation of the coming and going, the vigilance of the watchers gradually relaxed, and the thought occurred to Mildmay that they might as well be getting back to the ship. He made the suggestion to von Schalckenberg, but the latter pleaded so earnestly for an hour or two longer, urging the possibility of a visit from the unicorns, that the good-natured sailor readily gave way, with the remark—
“All right, Professor. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound;’ I don’t mind. Only—I suppose a fellow mustn’t smoke?”
“Smoke! oh no,” answered the professor, in keen distress at thus being obliged to deny his companion the solace of a pipe. “Do you think I am not pining for a smoke, too?” argued the scientist. “But were we to do so, the smell of the burning tobacco would scare everything away. Nothing would come near us. We will fill ourselves up with smokes when by-and-by we walk back to the ship.”