One afternoon we had been hunting carefully certain low mountains, and were headed for camp, walking rather carelessly along the bed of a narrow, open valley below the bush-covered side hills.  The sun had disappeared behind the ranges, and the dusk of evening was just beginning to rise like a mist from the deeps of the canons.  We had ceased hunting—­it was time to hurry home—­and happened not to be talking only because we were tired.  By sheerest idle luck I chanced to look up to the densely covered face of the mountain.  Across a single tiny opening in the tall brush five or six hundred yards away, I caught a movement.  Still idly I lifted my glasses for a look at what I thought would prove the usual impalla or sing-sing, and was just in time to catch the spirals of a magnificent set of horns.  It was the greater kudu at last!

I gave a little cluck of caution; and instantly, without question, after the African fashion, the three men ahead of me sank to the ground.  C. looked at me inquiringly.  I motioned with my eyes.  He raised his glasses for one look.

“That’s the fellow,” he said quietly.

The kudu, as though he had merely stepped into the opening to give us a sight of him, melted into the brush.

It was magnificent and exciting to have seen this wonderful beast after so long a quest, but by the same token it was not very encouraging for all that.  If we had had all the daylight we needed, and unlimited time, it would have been quite a feat to stalk the wary beast in that thick, noisy cover.  Now it was almost dark, and would be quite dark within the half-hour.  The kudu had moved out of sight.  Whether he had gone on some distance, or whether he still lingered near the edge of the tiny opening was another matter to be determined, and to be determined quickly.

Leaving Kongoni and Mavrouki, C. and I wriggled pantingly up the hill, as fast and at the same time as cautiously as we could.  At the edge of the opening we came to a halt, belly down, and began eagerly to scrutinize the brush across the way.  If the kudu still lingered we had to find it out before we ventured out of cover to take up his trail.  Inch by inch we scrutinized every possible concealment.  Finally C. breathed sharp with satisfaction.  He had caught sight of the tip of one horn.  With some difficulty he indicated to me where.  After staring long enough, we could dimly make out the kudu himself browsing, from the tender branch-ends.

All we could do was to lie low.  If the kudu fed on out of sight into the cover, we could not possibly get a shot; if he should happen again to cross the opening, we would get a good shot.  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.