I confess I
was quite relieved.
A low moaning bellow told us that our bull was down. The last few
days' experience at being out late had taught us wisdom so Memba
Sasa had brought a lantern. By the light of this, we discovered
our bull down, and all but dead. To make sure, I put a Winchester
bullet into his backbone.
We felt ourselves legitimately open to congratulations, for we
had killed this bull from a practically nocturnal herd, in the
face of considerable danger and more than considerable
difficulty. Therefore we shook hands and made appropriate remarks
to each other, lacking anybody to make them for us.
By now it was pitch dark in the thicket, and just about so
outside. We had to do a little planning. I took the Holland gun,
gave Memba Sasa the Winchester, and started him for camp after
help. As he carried off the lantern, it was now up to me to make
a fire and to make it quickly.
For the past hour a fine drizzle had been falling; and the whole
country was wet from previous rains. I hastily dragged in all the
dead wood I could find near, collected what ought to be good
kindling, and started in to light a fire. Now, although I am no
Boy Scout, I have lit several fires in my time.
