The voorlooper, a Zulu boy, who had left
them for a little while to share the rest of the coffee with Hans, rose
from his haunches with a grunt, and departed to fetch them. A minute or
two later Hans ceased from his occupation of packing up the things, and
said in a low voice:
"_Kek!_ Baas"--that is "Look!"
Following the line of his outstretched hand, Benita and her father
perceived, not more than a hundred yards away from them, a great troop
of wilderbeeste, or gnu, travelling along a ridge, and pausing now and
again to indulge in those extraordinary gambols which cause the Boers to
declare that these brutes have a worm in their brains.
"Give me my rifle, Hans," said Mr. Clifford. "We want meat."
By the time that the Westley-Richards was drawn from its case and
loaded, only one buck remained, for, having caught sight of the waggon,
it turned to stare at it suspiciously. Mr. Clifford aimed and fired.
Down went the buck, then springing to its feet again, vanished behind
the ridge. Mr. Clifford shook his head sadly.
"I don't often do that sort of thing, my dear, but the light is still
very bad. Still, he's hit. What do you say? Shall we get on the horses
and catch him? A canter would warm you."
Benita, who was tender-hearted, reflected that it would be kinder to
put the poor creature out of its pain, and nodded her head.
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