There was a river, and in a few seconds’ time Hendrik was on its bank. He had arrived at a place where the water was deep and the current still, but the rippling wave on the surface guided him. Two objects were seen above the surface moving rapidly across. They were the horns of the buck and the head of the buck-dog!
Hendrik had no time to alight. Before he could steady his horse, the blauw-bok had got out of the water, and was climbing up the opposite bank. There was just time for a hurried shot. The broad back of the antelope offered a fair mark, and the next moment a tuft of the hair near the spine, was seen to fly up like a spark, while a red stream spouted from the spot. The crack of a rifle explained this phenomenon; and before its echoes had died away, the antelope came tumbling down the slope, and lay motionless by the edge of the water.
The horns were Hendrik’s!
Chapter Seventeen.
A Tough Struggle.
The horns were Hendrik’s!
So thought Hendrik, when, at the crack of his rifle, he saw the buck roll backward down the bank into the very jaws of the buck-dog.
He was mistaken, however—as he had reason to think the moment after—when the antelope, instead of lying still where it had fallen, rose to its feet again, beat off the dog with its horns, and springing over him, once more plunged into the river! The dog bounded after, and, swimming faster than the antelope, overtook it near the middle of the stream, seizing it by the quarters as he got within reach. The strong buck soon shook him off, and turning short upon his persecutor, struck at him in the water. Two or three times the hound was under its horns, but the water yielding saved Hendrik’s favourite from destruction, although more than once he was forced under the surface.