An hour later, and they were in the swampy bush country that lay behind the encampment searching for their game.  Within a very little while Nahoon held up his hand, then pointed to the ground.  Hadden looked; there, pressed deep in the marshy soil, and to all appearance not ten minutes old, was the spoor of a small herd of buffalo.

“I knew that we should find game to-day,” whispered Nahoon, “because the Bee said so.”

“Curse the Bee,” answered Hadden below his breath.  “Come on.”

For a quarter of an hour or more they followed the spoor through thick reeds, till suddenly Nahoon whistled very softly and touched Hadden’s arm.  He looked up, and there, about two hundred yards away, feeding on some higher ground among a patch if mimosa trees, were the buffaloes—­six of them—­an old bull with a splendid head, three cows, a heifer and a calf about four months old.  Neither the wind nor the nature of the veldt were favourable for them to stalk the game from their present position, so they made a detour of half a mile and very carefully crept towards them up the wind, slipping from trunk to trunk of the mimosas and when these failed them, crawling on their stomachs under cover of the tall tambuti grass.  At last they were within forty yards, and a further advance seemed impracticable; for although he could not smell them, it was evident from his movements that the old bull heard some unusual sound and was growing suspicious.  Nearest to Hadden, who alone of the party had a rifle, stood the heifer broadside on—­a beautiful shot.  Remembering that she would make the best beef, he lifted his Martini, and aiming at her immediately behind the shoulder, gently squeezed the trigger.  The rifle exploded, and the heifer fell dead, shot through the heart.  Strangely enough the other buffaloes did not at once run away.  On the contrary, they seemed puzzled to account for the sudden noise; and, not being able to wind anything, lifted their heads and stared round them.

The pause gave Hadden space to get in a fresh cartridge and to aim again, this time at the old bull.  The bullet struck him somewhere in the neck or shoulder, for he came to his knees, but in another second was up and having caught sight of the cloud of smoke he charged straight at it.  Because of this smoke, or for some other reason, Hadden did not see him coming, and in consequence would most certainly have been trampled or gored, had not Nahoon sprung forward, at the imminent risk of his own life, and dragged him down behind an ant-heap.  A moment more and the great beast had thundered by, taking no further notice of them.

“Forward,” said Hadden, and leaving most of the men to cut up the heifer and carry the best of her meat to camp, they started on the blood spoor.