The old boatman with the withered leg, who stood in the stern, bent forward and whispered excitedly.
'He can see a herd of puku,' said Norah.
Crouching low in the boat beneath the level of the bank, they drifted till a bend of the river brought them into long range. Peeping cautiously from behind a tuft of amatete reeds, Norah watched the little red-brown cluster of buck.
Five lengths ahead of his ewes the ram was grazing. Ever and again up jerked his head and he stood, broad-chested and solid, his mild eyes distended, his wet nostrils snuffing, alert for sign, scent, or sound. Then his head would sink and, reassured, he took up his grazing, moving onward as he fed.
Dick cocked his rifle and pushed it into Norah's hand.
'Now's your chance,' he whispered.
Norah shook her head.
'Too far for me,' she breathed. 'I don't want to wound.'
Helped by Dick, whose fingers lingered on her arm, she clambered up the bank, and began to creep on her knees, circling that the breeze might not carry her scent to the herd. But for all her care, the ram was uneasy. At shorter intervals his head jerked up, causing Norah each time to flatten herself to the ground.
Whether at last they caught her scent or whether general principles of caution prevailed, at some invisible sign from their leader the herd started into a skeltering gallop. The ground drummed under their hoofs until they came to a strip where reeds concealed a little marsh. There the red bodies emerged and disappeared with the bounding motion of rocking-horses. On the farther side they paused, long necks stretched, wide eyes astare. Then they fell quietly to grazing.