Harry brought down his game about half a mile farther back than where I shot mine. Jack was equally fortunate, as he killed a cow; in fact, he was more fortunate than either Harry or myself, as his cow was the slickest and fattest of the three animals. I cut off the mane and tail of my giraffe as a trophy, and also took out the tongue, which is the most delicate portion of the creature. In fact, this rule holds good about most of the African game.
We saved the meat from Jack's cow, and found it very tender and good; the other two giraffes we skinned, and left the meat for the natives and wild animals. There was a Kafir village a mile or so from where our hunt took place, and you can be sure that not much of that meat was wasted. If there are any natives in the vicinity where you have shot an animal, the lions, hyenas, and jackals have very little chance for a feed, as the negroes speedily dispose of all they can hold—which is a great deal—and what they cannot hold they carry away.
Giraffe-hunting is very good sport, but it is less dangerous than hunting elephants and buffaloes, for the reason that the giraffe is naturally an inoffensive animal. He can go at a smashing pace, and it is only by fast riding that he can be overtaken. At one time I shot six of them in three days, but I used up two horses pretty thoroughly in doing it.
I had a stern chase after one of them, which I came in sight of one day while the wagons were on the road. It occurred to me that I would follow the example of the man in California who was chased by a bear one morning directly into camp, his friends shooting the beast just as he arrived there. The man ran through the camp, and paused as he heard the shots. Coming back, he quietly remarked, "I bring in my game alive!" I thought I would manage it so as to fetch that giraffe to the wagons before killing it.
I headed him after the first shot, and, by keeping wide away from him and shouting occasionally, drove him in a circle, and fired a finishing shot within two hundred yards of the wagons. We went into camp at once, and had a grand feast without the necessity of carrying the meat any appreciable distance.
Another of the giraffes that I killed at this time plunged headlong into a tree when he received the finishing shot. His head caught in a fork of the tree about twelve feet from the ground, and remained there wedged fast. I can hardly say that that giraffe died "with his boots on," but he certainly died standing on all-fours, and remained there till he was cut down.
The next day was the time set for our visit to the camp of the ladies, and for luncheon with them. Over our supper after the giraffe-hunt we had an extended debate on the subject; a considerable part of the debate had reference to our costumes, and consisted principally of lamentations.
"What swells we would be," said Jack, "if we only had our New York and London wardrobes!"
"I'm afraid we'd get a mob of the niggers after us if we should come out fitted for a promenade on Broadway or Pall Mall," replied Harry. "These people are patient and long-suffering in enduring the vagaries of foreigners that come here, but they never could stand that."
"Isn't it quite possible," I added, "that our hosts might not appreciate our efforts in their behalf if we arrayed ourselves in gorgeous style to appear before them!"