“You hit him, Dick.”

“Yes; and we’ll get him.  You go to the left, and I’ll keep him away from the river.”

The two dashed off, each on his own line, and for several minutes the stricken animal led them through fairly open country, with every promise of a speedy run, for it was evidently hard hit.  Then, taking advantage of an old watercourse, it turned to the right, and when Compton recovered the track he had lost touch with Venning.  He gave a “coo-ee,” and then getting a view of the antelope making down to the water, he turned it with another shot, and sprinted to overtake it.  Yard by yard he gained in this final burst, and shifted his rifle to his left hand in order to have his right free to use the hunting-knife.  Another effort and he was almost within touch; but the buck also had a reserve of power, and, gathering its quarters, it made a couple of bounds, which carried it into the shelter of a thin sprinkling of reeds.  Compton responded, and in a few strides was so near that he flung himself forward in an effort to get astride the animal’s back.  The buck slipped forward, letting him down, and, when he rose he saw the white tail whisking round a corner in the reeds.  On he dashed down a narrow path, which twisted and turned so sharply that he could only see a few yards ahead; but he was never in fault, as when he could not see the game he could hear it plainly, so he never slackened.  The chase went on always with the prospect of success tantalizingly before him, until at last he was at fault in a little clearing where the reeds had been beaten down, and from which there branched several lanes.  He stopped to listen, but the buck had stopped too.  Then he searched for the blood-trail, and, finding it, set off once more, and this time, after another chase lasting about ten minutes, the buck was overtaken and despatched.  Then he threw himself on his back and panted for breath.  When he had recovered he sat up and wondered, for his hands and bare arms were bleeding from a number of cuts that began to smart most painfully.  The sharp saw-like edges of the reeds bad cut into his flesh, and in the excitement he had not noticed the injuries.  Thanks, however, to the regulations enforced by Mr. Hume, he carried in the pouches of his belt a little store of quinine, vaseline, and meat lozenges.  He rubbed the vaseline on the cuts, mopped his face, and felt all right.  Then he put his hand to his mouth and gave a “coo-ee.”  The call was strangled in the reeds.  He called again, fired off his gun, and waited, but he could hear nothing but a soft whispering.  The reeds reached above his head, and he could see nothing but the matted stems around him and the blue sky overhead.  He gave a grunt of impatience, lifted the buck, hoisted the body on his shoulder, brought the fore legs round on one side, the hind legs on the other side, and secured them before him with his handkerchief.  Then he stooped for his rifle, and plunged into a path with the object of tramping straight through to the outer edge, when he would get his bearings for the camp.