“I have wagons and food,” I answered.

“Allemachte!  Henri,” exclaimed the man, with a wild laugh, “do you hear what your English spook says?  He says that he has wagons and food, food, food!”

Then Marais burst into tears and flung himself upon my breast, nearly knocking me down.  I wrenched myself free of him and ran to Marie, who was lying face upwards on the ground.  She seemed to hear my step, for her eyes opened and she struggled to a sitting posture.

“Is it really you, Allan, or do I dream?” she murmured.

“It is I, it is I,” I answered, lifting her to her feet, for she seemed to weigh no more than a child.  Her head fell upon my shoulder, and she too began to weep.

Still holding her, I turned to the men and said: 

“Why do you starve when there is game all about?” and I pointed to two fat elands strolling among the trees not more than a hundred and fifty yards away.

“Can we kill game with stones?” asked one of them, “we whose powder was all burnt a month ago.  Those buck,” he added, with a wild laugh, “come here to mock us every morning; but they will not walk into our pitfalls.  They know them too well, and we have no strength to dig others.”

Now when I left my wagons I had brought with me that same Purdey rifle with which I had shot the geese in the match against Pereira, choosing it because it was so light to carry.  I held up my hand for silence, set Marie gently on the ground, and began to steal towards the elands.  Taking what shelter I could, I got within a hundred yards of them, when suddenly they took alarm, being frightened, in fact, by my two Zulu servants, who were now arriving.

Off they galloped, the big bull leading, and vanished behind some trees.  I saw their line, and that they would appear again between two clumps of bush about two hundred and fifty yards away.  Hastily I raised the full sight on the rifle, which was marked for two hundred yards, lifted it, and waited, praying to God as I did so that my skill might not fail me.

The bull appeared, its head held forward, its long horns lying flat upon the back.  The shot was very long, and the beast very large to bring down with so small a bullet.  I aimed right forward—­clear of it, indeed—­high too, in a line with its backbone, and pressed the trigger.

The rifle exploded, the bullet clapped, and the buck sprang forward faster than ever.  I had failed!  But what was this?  Suddenly the great bull swung round and began to gallop towards us.  When it was not more than fifty yards away, it fell in a heap, rolled twice over like a shot rabbit, and lay still.  That bullet was in its heart.

The two Kaffirs appeared breathless and streaming with perspiration.

“Cut meat from the eland’s flank; don’t stop to skin it,” I said in my broken Zulu, helping the words out with signs.

They understood, and a minute later were at work with their assegais.  Then I looked about me.  Near by lay a store of dead branches placed there for fuel.