“The other elephant must have been very badly wounded,” Zitu said, crouching down to examine the tracks.
He stood up, looking at the sun. “It grows late,” he said, concern in his voice. “But if we do not find the wounded bull today, we may never do so.
“We must follow him now,” the chief decided; and he led the way.
FIFTEEN: A Wounded Bull
The trail of blood was easy to follow at first, but it was not very long before Nomusa understood why Zitu was worried. The sun was sinking deeper and deeper, and Nomusa remembered how quickly darkness came after sunset.
From time to time they came to large patches of flattened grass where the wounded elephant had fallen, to rise again and move on.
The hunters kept their eyes on the ground, and their ears were keenly alert to all the sounds about them. They knew how dangerous a wounded bull elephant could be, and other fierce animals might be prowling.
It became more and more difficult to see the trail of the animal, and Nomusa began to fear night would fall before they found him.
Then Sihkulumi, one of the hunters in the lead, stopped dead in his tracks, pointing.