No one but a hunter can
understand the panting, dry-mouthed excitement of those minutes; five
weeks' hard work hung in the balance. The kudu did neither of these
things; he ceased browsing, took three steps forward, and stood.
The game seemed blocked. The kudu had evidently settled down for a
snooze; it was impossible, in the situation, to shorten the distance
without being discovered; the daylight was almost gone; we could make
out no trace of him except through our glasses. Look as hard as we
could, we could see nothing with the naked eye. Unless something
happened within the next two minutes, we would bring nothing into camp
but the memory of a magnificent beast. And next day he would probably be
inextricably lost in the wilderness of mountains.[31]
It was a time for desperate measures, and, to C.'s evident doubtful
anxiety, I took them. Through the glasses the mane of the kudu showed as
a dim gray streak. Carefully I picked out two twigs on a bush fifteen
feet from me, and a tuft of grass ten yards on, all of which were in
line with where the shoulder of the kudu ought to be. Then I lowered my
glasses. The gray streak of the kudu's mane had disappeared in the
blending twilight, but I could still see the tips of the twigs and the
tuft of grass. Very carefully I aligned the sights with these; and, with
a silent prayer to the Red Gods, loosed the bullet into the darkness.
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