From crest to crest of these long billows measured two or
three miles. The vertical distance in elevation from trough to top was
perhaps not over fifty to one hundred feet.
Slowly we rode along the shallow grass and brush ravines in the troughs
of the low billows, while the dogs worked eagerly in and out of cover,
and our handful of savages cast stones and shouted. Occasionally we
divided forces, and beat the length of a hill, two of us lying in wait
at one end for the possible lion, the rest sweeping the sides and
summits. Many animals came bounding along, but no lions. Then Harold
Hill, unlimbering a huge, many-jointed telescope, would lie flat on his
back, and sight the fearsome instrument over his crossed feet, in a
general bird's-eye view of the plains for miles around. While he was at
it we were privileged to look about us, less under the burden of
responsibility. We could make out the game as little, light-coloured
dots and speckles, thousands upon thousands of them, thicker than cattle
ever grazed on the open range, and as far as the eye could make them
out, and then a glance through our glasses picked them up again for mile
after mile. Even the six-power could go no farther. The imagination was
left the vision of more leagues of wild animals even to the half-guessed
azure mountains--and beyond. I had seen abundant game elsewhere in
Africa, but nothing like the multitudes inhabiting the Kapiti Plains at
that time of year.
Pages:
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141