THE TORA HARTEBEEST 101 the maya at the far side, came unexpectedly within 300 yards of a bull. The maya was so open that it seemed impossible to approach very near, and the only cover was provided first by a thin bush, and then by an ant-hill about 200 yards away. Crawling on one's stomach is not the pleasantest of operations even on English turf, but here, under the fierce sun, with short grass-stems damaging the palms of the hands, with the ash of burnt grass flying into one's nostrils, and perspiration streaming into the eyes, the pursuit of pleasure is tinged with pain. By the time the ant-hill was reached, the hartebeest had become aware of something unusual, and, apparently not being gifted with the highest intelligence amongst beasts, was standing almost directly facing me. I decided to risk the shot, and, somewhat to my modest surprise, he fell motionless, the bullet having pierced the base of the neck and the main arteries of the heart.

One does not always profit by previous experience, and that morning I had neglected to bring a pair of gloves which I usually carried. The Arabs objected to my white face and hands, saying that they frightened the game. Later in my journey they inspired the lords—or rather ladies—of creation with similar terror.

The hands one could cover with dark gloves, and keep studiously still when stalking—a simple enough precaution, but less easy to continue than one would think. The white face, however, even