“Hard telling,” returned his friend. “About all we can do is to ask natives if they have seen or heard of him. And if they haven’t—well, it doesn’t look like there’ll be much chance of coming across him.”
“You’re right, Bob,” affirmed Mr. Lewis. “Africa is a very large place, and he might have left that unknown forest long before. But we’ll certainly do all we can to locate him.”
For two successive days the safari plunged on steadily without coming to the stream.
Late in the afternoon the explorers were crossing a stretch of open country when suddenly Mr. Lewis called a halt. He pointed to something that was coming toward them.
It was an impala, a species of antelope, and was evidently in the last stage of exhaustion. Running wildly and without aim, the animal was a pitiable sight.
Then the adventurers saw something else. Two African hunting dogs were pursuing the impala and were gaining rapidly. In but a short time they would be upon it.
“Quick!” exclaimed Mr. Holton, grasping his rifle from its bearer. “We must shoot those dogs before they get that fine big antelope. Ben, you take the one ahead. I’ll pick the one behind. Now!”
Bang! Crack!
The sound of the guns was mingled with a last cry from one of the hunting dogs as it rolled over. The other had been killed instantly.
“Two less pests in the world,” murmured Mr. Lewis, and then, turning to Bob and Joe: “All the hunters in Africa couldn’t kill off as many beautiful harmless animals as the African hunting dog.”