But it leaves one in a fearful state mentally; and one has no
idea of what to do!
Wayward was a perfect gentleman, and he played the game according to
the very best traditions. He conscientiously pointed every bird he could
get his nose on. Furthermore he was absolutely staunch, and held his
point even when the four non-bird dogs rushed in ahead of him. The
expression of puzzlement, grief, shock, and sadness in his eyes deepened
as bird after bird soared away without a shot. Girlie was more
liberal-minded. She pointed her birds, and backed Wayward at need, but
when the other dogs rushed her point, she rushed too. And when we swept
on by her, leaving her on point, instead of holding it quixotically, as
did Wayward, until the bird sneaked away, she merely waited until we
were out of sight, and then tried to catch it. Finally Captain D.
remarked that, lions or no lions, he was not going to stand it any
longer. He got out a shotgun, and all one afternoon killed grouse over
Wayward, to the latter's intense relief. His ideals had been
rehabilitated.
XX.
BONDONI.
We followed many depressions, in which might be lions, until about three
o'clock in the afternoon. Then we climbed the gently-rising long slope
that culminated, far above the plains, in the peak of a hill called
Bondoni. From a distance it was steep and well defined; but, like most
of these larger kopjes, its actual ascent, up to the last few hundred
feet, was so gradual that we hardly knew we were climbing.
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