Everything went well with us on that trip until its unfortunate end.
We only killed two elephants, but of other game we found plenty. It
was when we were near Delagoa Bay on our return that the accident
happened.
We were out one evening trying to shoot something for our dinner, when
between the trees I caught sight of a small buck. It vanished round a
little promontory of rock which projected from the side of the kloof,
walking quietly, not running in alarm. We followed after it. I was the
first, and had just wriggled round these rocks and perceived the buck
standing about ten paces away (it was a bush-bok), when I heard a
rustle among the bushes on the top of the rock not a dozen feet above
my head, and Charlie Scroope's voice calling:
"Look out, Quatermain! He's coming."
"Who's coming?" I answered in an irritated tone, for the noise had
made the buck run away.
Then it occurred to me, all in an instant of course, that a man would
not begin to shout like that for nothing; at any rate when his supper
was concerned.
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