After half an hour's walking, Dick and Joe plunged
into a forest of gum-trees, their eyes alert on all sides,
and their fingers on the trigger. There was no foreseeing
what they might encounter. Without being a rifleman, Joe
could handle fire-arms with no trifling dexterity.
"A walk does one good, Mr. Kennedy, but this isn't
the easiest ground in the world," he said, kicking aside
some fragments of quartz with which the soil was bestrewn.
Kennedy motioned to his companion to be silent and
to halt. The present case compelled them to dispense
with hunting-dogs, and, no matter what Joe's agility might
be, he could not be expected to have the scent of a setter
or a greyhound.
A herd of a dozen antelopes were quenching their
thirst in the bed of a torrent where some pools of water
had lodged. The graceful creatures, snuffing danger in
the breeze, seemed to be disturbed and uneasy. Their
beautiful heads could be seen between every draught,
raised in the air with quick and sudden motion as they
sniffed the wind in the direction of our two hunters, with
their flexible nostrils.
Kennedy stole around behind some clumps of shrubbery,
while Joe remained motionless where he was. The
former, at length, got within gunshot and fired.
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