Across the bed of the dried-up stream the bush-cow charged, until Wilmshurst hurriedly came to the conclusion that it was quite time for him to dodge behind a tree. As he made for shelter he saw the animal's fore-legs collapse and its ponderous carcass plough the ground.
Making his way through the press of excited Haussas Wilmshurst saw that the bush-cow was stone dead. The bullet had penetrated the brain, entering by a neatly-drilled puncture and emerging by a hole as large as a man's fist. Yet, although hit in a vital spot, the animal had covered a distance of nearly fifty yards before collapsing.
"One no go," declared Bela Moshi. "Anoder him lib for come plenty quick."
"Think so?" remarked the subaltern. "Then don't stand bunched up together—extend. Three of you lift Nara Gilul into the shade."
Anxiously Wilmshurst examined the brave but unfortunate black. Nara Gilul was fully conscious in spite of having fallen on his head, but two of his ribs were fractured and his shins were badly cut although protected by his puttees.
"Nara Gilul him stop till we come back," suggested the corporal of his section in answer to Dudley's question as to what was to be done. "Him 'ab rifle an' ammunition. Him lib to take care ob himsel'. Berry much him fault."
"That won't do, corporal," said Wilmshurst. "We must send him back. Take five men with you. It will be only two hours' trek."
Accordingly the Haussas set to work to make a stretcher, performing the task with wonderful celerity. They were on the point of lifting the helpless man when the shout was raised.
"Bush-cow, him come!"
"Take cover, all of you!" shouted the subaltern, loath to hamper his task by additional casualties.