and I had shot badly twice on the trip, at that grant and at a bustard once
on the plain, still he beat me on all the tangible things we had to show.
For a while we had joked about it and I knew everything would even up. But
it didn't even up. Now, on this rhino hunt, I had taken the first crack at
the country. We had sent him after meat while we had gone into a new
country. We had not treated him badly, but we had not treated him too well,
and still he had beaten me. Not only beaten, beaten was all right. He had
made my rhino look so small that I could never keep him in the same small
town where we lived. He had wiped him out. I had the shot I had made on him
to remember and nothing could take that away except that it was so bloody
marvellous I knew I would wonder, sooner or later, if it was not really a
fluke in spite of my unholy self-confidence. Old Karl had put it on us all
right with that rhino. He was in his tent now, writing a letter.
Under the dining tent fly Pop and I talked over what we had better do.
'He's got his rhino anyway,' Pop said. 'That saves us time. Now you
can't stand on that one.'
'No.'
'But this country is washed out. Something wrong with it. Droopy claims
to know a good country about three hours from here in the lorries and
another hour or so on with the porters. We can head for there this afternoon
with a light outfit, send the lorries back, and Karl and Dan can move on
down to M'uto Umbu and he can get his oryx.'
'Fine.'
'He has a chance to get a leopard on that rhino carcass this evening,
too, or in the morning. Dan said they heard one. We'll try to get a rhino
out of this country of Droopy's and then you join up with them and go on for
kudu. We want to leave plenty of time for them. '
'Fine.'
'Even if you don't get an oryx. You'll pick one up somewhere.'
'Even if I don't get one at all, it's all right. We'll get one another
time. I want a kudu, though. '
'You'll get one. You're sure to.'
'I'd rather get one, a good one, than all the rest. I don't give a damn
about these rhino outside of the fun of hunting them. But I'd like to get
one that wouldn't look silly beside that dream rhino of his.'
'Absolutely.'
So we told Karl and he said: 'Whatever you say. Sure. I hope you get
one twice as big. ' He really meant it. He was feeling better now and so
were we all.
CHAPTER THREE
Droopy's country, when we reached it that evening, after a hot ride
through red-soiled, bush-scrubby hills, looked awful. It was at the edge of
a belt where all the trees had been girdled to kill the tsetse flies. And
across from camp was a dusty, dirty native village. The soil was red and
eroded and seemed to be blowing away, and camp was pitched in a high wind
under the sketchy shade of some dead trees on a hillside overlooking a
little stream and the mud village beyond. Before dark we followed Droopy and
two local guides up past the village and in a long climb to the top of a
rock-strewn ridge that overlooked a deep valley that was almost a canyon.
Across on the other side, were broken valleys that sloped steeply down into
the canyon. There were heavy growths of trees in the valleys and grassy
slopes on the ridges between, and above there was the thick bamboo forest of
the mountain. The canyon ran down to the Rift Valley, seeming to narrow at
the far end where it cut through the wall of the rift. Beyond, above the
grassy ridges and slopes, were heavily forested hills. It looked a hell of a
country to hunt.
'If you. see one across there you have to go straight down to the
bottom of the canyon. Then up one of those timber patches and across those
damned gullies. You can't keep him in sight and you'll kill yourself
climbing. It's too steep. Those are the kind of innocent-looking gullies we
got into that night coming home.'
'It looks very bad,' Pop agreed.
'I've hunted a country just like this for deer. The south slope of
Timber Creek in Wyoming. The slopes are all too steep. It's hell. It's too
broken. We'll take some punishment to-morrow.'
P.O.M. said nothing. Pop had brought us here and Pop would bring us
out. All she had to do was see her boots did not hurt her feet. They hurt
just a little now, and that was her only worry.
I went on to dilate on the difficulties the country showed and we went
home to camp in the dark all very gloomy and full of prejudice against
Droopy. The fire flamed brightly in the wind and we sat and watched the moon
rise and listened to the hyenas. After we had a few drinks we did not feel
so badly about the country.
'Droopy swears it's good,' Pop said. 'This isn't where he wanted to go
though, he says. It was another place farther on. But he swears this is
good.'
'I love Droopy,' P.O.M. said. 'I have perfect confidence in Droopy.'
Droopy came up to the fire with two spear-carrying natives.
'What does he hear?' I asked.
There was some talk by the natives, then Pop said: 'One of these
sportsmen claims he was chased by a huge rhino to-day. Of course nearly any
rhino would look huge when he was chasing him.'
'Ask him how long the horn was.'
The native showed that the horn was as long as his arm. Droopy grinned.
'Tell him to go,' said Pop.
'Where did all this happen?'
'Oh, over there somewhere,' Pop said. 'You know. Over there. Way over
there. Where these things always happen.'
'That's marvellous. Just where we want to go.'
'The good aspect is that Droopy's not at all depressed,' Pop said. 'He
seems very confident. After all, it's his show.'
'Yes, but we have to do the climbing.'
'Cheer him up, will you?' Pop said to P.O.M. 'He's getting me very
depressed.'
'Should we talk about how well he shoots?'
'Too early in the evening. I'm not gloomy. I've just seen that kind of
country before. It will be good for us all right. Take some of your belly
off, Governor.'
The next day I found that I was all wrong about that country.
We had breakfast before daylight and were started before sunrise,
climbing the hill beyond the village in single file. Ahead there was the
local guide with a spear, then Droopy with my heavy gun and a water bottle,
then me with the Springfield, Pop with the Mannlicher, P.O.M. pleased, as
always to carry nothing, M'Cola with Pop's heavy gun and another water
bottle, and finally two local citizens with spears, water bags, and a chop
box with lunch. We planned to lay up in the heat of the middle of the day
and not get back until dark. It was fine climbing in the cool fresh morning
and very different from toiling up this same trail last evening in the
sunset with all the rocks and dirt giving back the heat
of the day. The
trail was used regularly by cattle and the dust was powdered dry and, now,
lightly moistened from the dew. There were many hyena tracks and, as the
trail came on to a ridge of grey rock so that you could look down on both
sides into a steep ravine, and then went on along the edge of the canyon, we
saw a fresh rhino track in one of the dusty patches below the rocks.
'He's just gone on ahead,' Pop said. 'They must wander all over here at
night.'
Below, at the bottom of the canyon, we could see the tops of high trees
and in an opening see the flash of water. Across were the steep hillside and
the gullies we had studied last night. Droopy and the local guide, the one
who had been chased by the rhino, were whispering together. Then they
started down a steep path that went in long slants down the side of the
canyon.
We stopped. I had not seen P.O.M. was limping, and in sudden whispered
family bitterness there was a highly-righteous-on-both-sides clash,
historically on unwearable shoes and boots in the past, and imperatively on
these, which hurt. The hurt was lessened by cutting off the toes of the
heavy short wool socks worn over ordinary socks, and then, by removing the
socks entirely, the boots made possible. Going down-hill steeply made these
Spanish shooting boots too short in the toe and there was an old argument,
about this length of boot and whether the bootmaker, whose part I had taken,
unwittingly first, only as interpreter, and finally embraced his theory
patriotically as a whole and, I believed, by logic, had overcome it by
adding on to the heel. But they hurt now, a stronger logic, and the
situation was unhelped by the statement that men's new boots always hurt for
weeks before they became comfortable. Now, heavy socks removed, stepping
tentatively, trying the pressure of the leather against the toes, the
argument past, she wanting not to suffer, but to keep up and please Mr. J.
P., me ashamed at having been a four-letter man about boots, at being
righteous against pain, at being righteous at all, at ever being righteous,
stopping to whisper about it, both of us grinning at what was whispered, it
all right now, the boots too, without the heavy socks, much better, me
hating all righteous bastards now, one absent American friend especially,
having just removed myself from that category, certainly never to be
righteous again, watching Droopy ahead, we went down the long slant of the
trail toward the bottom of the canyon where the trees were heavy and tall
and the floor of the canyon, that from above had been a narrow gash, opened
to a forest-banked stream.
We stood now in the shade of trees with great smooth trunks, circled at
their base with the line of roots that showed in rounded ridges up the
trunks like arteries, the trunks the yellow green of a French forest on a
day in winter after rain. But these trees had a great spread of branches and
were in leaf and below them, in the stream bed in the sun, reeds like
papyrus grass grew thick as wheat and twelve feet tall. There was a game
trail through the grass along the stream and Droopy was bent down looking at
it. M'Cola went over and looked and they both followed it a little way,
stooped close over it, then came back to us.
'Nyati,' M'Cola whispered. 'Buffalo.' Droopy whispered to Pop and then
Pop said, softly in his throaty, whisky whisper, 'They're buff gone down the
river. Droop says there are some big bulls. They haven't come back.'
'Let's follow them,' I said. 'I'd rather get another buff than rhino.'
'It's as good a chance as any for rhino, too,' Pop said.
'By God, isn't it a great looking country?' I said.
'Splendid,' Pop said. 'Who would have imagined it?'
'The trees are like Andre's pictures,' P.O.M. said. 'It's simply
beautiful. Look at that green. It's Masson. Why can't a good painter see
this country?'
'How are your boots?'
'Fine.'
As we trailed the buffalo we went very slowly and quietly. There was no
wind and we knew that when the breeze came up it would be from the east and
blow up the canyon toward us. We followed the game trail down the river-bed
and as we went the grass was much higher. Twice we had to get down to crawl
and the reeds were so thick you could not see two feet into them. Droop
found a fresh rhino track, too, in the mud. I began to think about what
would happen if a rhino came barging along this tunnel and who would do
what. It was exciting but I did not like it. It was too much like being in a
trap and there was P.O.M. to think about. Then as the stream made a bend and
we came out of the high grass to the bank I smelled game very distinctly. I
do not smoke, and hunting at home I have several times smelled elk in the
rutting season before I have seen them, and I can smell clearly where an old
bull has lain in the forest. The bull elk has a strong musky smell. It is a
strong but pleasant odour and I know it well, but this smell I did not know.
'I can smell them,' I whispered to Pop. He believed me.
'What is it?'
'I don't know but it's plenty strong. Can't you?'
'No.'
'Ask Droop.'
Droopy nodded and grinned.
'They take snuff,' Pop said. 'I don't know whether they can scent or
not.'
We went on into another bed of reeds that were high over our heads,
putting each foot down silently before lifting the other, walking as quietly
as in a dream or a slow motion picture. I could smell whatever it was
clearly now, all of the time, sometimes stronger than at others. I did not
like it at all. We were close to the bank now, and ahead, the game trail
went straight out into a long slough of higher reeds than any we had come
through.
'I can smell them close as hell,' I whispered to Pop. 'No kidding.
Really.'
'I believe you,' Pop said. 'Should we get up here on to the bank and
skirt this bit? We'll be above it.'
'Good.' Then, when we were up, I said. 'That tall stun' had me spooked.
I wouldn't like to hunt in that.'
'How'd you like to hunt elephant in that?' Pop whispered.
'I wouldn't do it.'
'Do you really hunt elephant in grass like that?' P.O.M. asked.
'Yes,' Pop said. 'Get up on somebody's shoulders to shoot.'
Better men than I am do it, I thought. I wouldn't do it.
We went along the grassy right bank, on a sort of shelf, now in the
open, skirting a slough of high dry reeds. Beyond on the opposite bank were
the heavy trees and above them the steep bank of the canyon. You could not
see the stream. Above us, on the right, were the hills, wooded in patches of
orchard bush. Ahead, at the end of the slough of reeds the banks narrowed
and the branches of the big trees almost covered the stream. Suddenly Droopy
grabbed me
and we both crouched down. He put the big gun in my hand and took
the Springfield. He pointed and around a curve in the bank I saw the head of
a rhino with a long, wonderful-looking horn. The head was swaying and I
could see the ears forward and twitching, and see the little pig eyes. I
slipped the safety catch and motioned Droopy down. Then I heard M'Cola
saying, 'Toto! Toto!' and he grabbed my arm. Droopy was whispering,
'Manamouki! Manamouki! Manamouki!' very fast and he and M'Cola were frantic
that I should not shoot. It was a cow rhino with a calf, and as I lowered
the gun she gave a snort, crashed in the reeds, and was gone. I never saw
the calf. We could see the reeds swaying where the two of them were moving
and then it was all quiet.
'Damn shame,' Pop whispered. 'She had a beautiful horn.'
'I was all set to bust her,' I said. 'I couldn't tell she was a cow.'
'M'Cola saw the calf.'
M'Cola was whispering to Pop and nodding his head emphatically.
'He says there's another rhino in there,' Pop said. 'That he heard him
snort.'
'Let's get higher, where we can see them if they break, and throw
something in,' I said.
'Good idea,' Pop agreed. 'Maybe the bull's there.'
We went a little higher up the bank where we could look out over the
lake of high reeds and, with Pop holding his big gun ready and I with the
safety off mine, M'Cola threw a club into the reeds where he had heard the
snort. There was a wooshing snort and no movement, not a stir in the reeds.
Then there was a crashing farther away and we could see the reeds swaying
with the rush of something through them toward the opposite bank, but could
not see what was making the movement. Then I saw the black back, the
wide-swept, point-lifted horns and then the quick-moving, climbing rush of a
buffalo up the other bank. He went up, his neck up and out, his head
horn-heavy, his withers rounded like a fighting bull, in fast strong-legged
climb. I was holding on the point where his neck joined his shoulder when
Pop stopped me.
'He's not a big one,' he said softly. 'I wouldn't take him unless you
want him for meat.'
He looked big to nie and now he stood, his head up, broadside, his head
swung toward us.
'I've got three more on the licence and we're leaving their country,' I
said.
'It's awfully good meat,' Pop whispered. 'Go ahead then. Bust him. But
be ready for the rhino after you shoot.'
I sat down, the big gun feeling heavy and unfamiliar, held on the
buff's shoulder, squeezed off and flinched without firing. Instead of the
sweet clean pull of the Springfield with the smooth, unhesitant release at
the end, this trigger came to what, in a squeeze, seemed metal stuck against
metal. It was like when you shoot in a nightmare. I couldn't squeeze it and
I corrected from my flinch, held my breath, and pulled the trigger. It
pulled off with a jerk and the big gun made a rocking explosion out of which
I came, seeing the buffalo still on his feet, and going out of sight to the
left in a climbing run, to let off the second barrel and throw a burst of
rock dust and dirt over his hind quarters. He was out of shot before I could
reload the double-barrelled 470 and we had all heard the snorting and the
crashing of another rhino that had gone out of the lower end of the reeds
and on under the heavy trees on our side without showing more than a glimpse
of his bulk in the reeds.
'It was the bull,' Pop said. 'He's gone down the stream.'
'N'Dio. Doumi! Doumi!' Droopy insisted it was a bull. 'I hit the damned
buff,' I said. 'God knows where.
To hell with those heavy guns. The trigger pull put me off.'
'You'd have killed him with the Springfield,' Pop said.
'I'd know where I hit him anyway. I thought with the four-seven I'd
kill him or miss him,' I said. 'Instead, now we've got him wounded.'
'He'll keep,' Pop said. 'We want to give him plenty of time.'
'I'm afraid I gut-shot him.'
'You can't tell. Going off fast like that he might be dead in a hundred
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