For the beast is shy, it inhabits
the densest, closest mountain cover, it possesses the keen eyesight and
sense of smell of the bush-dwelling deer and antelope, and more than the
average sense of hearing. There are very few of him. But the chief
discouragement is that arising from his roaming tendencies. Other rare
animals are apt to "use" about one locality, so that once the hunter
finds tracks, new or old, his game is one of patient, skilful search.
The greater kudu, however, seems in this country at least to be a
wanderer. He is here to-day and gone to-morrow. Systematic search seems
as foolish as in the case of the proverbial needle in the haystack. The
only method is to sift constantly, and trust to luck. One cannot catch
fish with the fly in the book, but one has at least a chance if one
keeps it on the water.
Mavrouki was the only one among us who had the living faith that comes
from having seen the animal in the flesh. That is a curious bit of
hunter psychology. When a man is out after a species new to him, it is
only by the utmost stretch of the imagination that he is able to realize
that such an animal can exist at all. He cannot prefigure it, somehow.
He generally exaggerates to himself the difficulty of making it out, of
approaching it, of getting his shot; until at last, if he happens to
have hunted some time in vain, the beast becomes almost mythical and
unbelievable.
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