No one but the most enthusiastic hunter would be willing to pass through what Oscar did that day just for the sake of procuring a rare specimen of natural history. He was half an hour in getting over the brow of the first hill, and three hours more in coming within fair shooting distance of the koodoos.

For thirty long minutes he lay there in the broiling sun, scarcely daring to move a muscle, for the buck, whose suspicions had been aroused by the sudden disappearance of the hunters, was constantly moving about in a circle, as if he wanted to keep his head turned toward all points of the compass at once.

Oscar began to grow thirsty and dizzy. His rifle-barrel felt as though it had just come out of the fire, and his hands began to burn as if they were blistered.

Stalking game in Africa was very different from stalking game in the foot-hills when the snow was a foot deep on the ground, and more than once Oscar was on the point of giving up in despair; but knowing that one cannot be a successful hunter until he has learned to wait, and to wait patiently, and that if he ever succeeded in shooting a koodoo it would be by going through an ordeal just like the present, he endured the broiling with as much fortitude as he could; and when at last the sentinel turned his head away from him, and kept it turned away for a moment longer than usual, he wormed his way rapidly over the hill and threw himself, panting and almost exhausted, under the shade of a friendly boulder.

"My goodness!" exclaimed Oscar, pulling off his hat and fanning his flushed face vigorously; "this is more than I bargained for. My brains, if I have any, were never intended to stand such a baking. I'd give something now for a good drink from the brook that ran through the valley in which Big Thompson and I camped while we were among the foot-hills."

Oscar lay under the shade of the boulder for a quarter of an hour, and then, fearing that the koodoos might wander away out of sight, or become alarmed at something and run off, he picked up his rifle—which seemed to have increased wonderfully in weight since he first shouldered it that morning—and continued his weary stalk.

When he reached the top of the next hill he found the sentinel as alert and uneasy as ever, but his erratic movements did not embarrass Oscar now as they did a little while before, for he managed to place a big rock between himself and the buck, and under cover of it he made more rapid progress.

Still the sun was hot and the stalking difficult, and when, at last, the young hunter arrived within easy range of the game and laid his rifle carefully over the top of the boulder behind which he had crept for concealment, he was so nearly overcome with heat and weariness that he trembled all over, and it was a long time before he could hold his heavy weapon steady.

"I'll make sure work of you, my vigilant friend," said Oscar to himself as he cocked both barrels of his rifle and drew a fine sight on the sentinel's shoulder. "If I can have the satisfaction of setting you up I shall be in some measure repaid for this day's experience, which is about the toughest I have had yet."

The rifle cracked, the bullet flew true to its aim, and the sentinel koodoo fell dead in his tracks. Without waiting to see the effect of his shot—for he was sure he had made a good one—Oscar turned his rifle toward the other members of the herd, which had huddled together just as our prong-horns do when they become alarmed and cannot make up their minds where to look for the danger that threatens them. Taking a quick aim at the largest buck, he fired his second barrel at it, and made another good shot—at least he thought so at first, for when the smoke cleared away he saw the buck struggling on the ground.

A minute later, however, he succeeded in regaining his feet and ran after the rest of the herd, which were stepping out at their best pace for the nearest grove, clearing all the obstacles that lay in their path with the most surprising agility. Having put fresh cartridges into his rifle, Oscar lay down under the boulder to await the coming of Big Thompson with the dogs. Impatient as he was to make a close examination of his prize, he could not go to him just then.

The excitement of the hunt being over, he became sensible of the fact that he had done a good deal of hard work, and that he was very tired and tormented with a raging thirst. Having always been so situated that he could seek the shelter of his tent during the heat of the day, he had never before realized how intensely hot the afternoon sun was at meridian. Even the artificial breeze he raised with his hat, which he had stripped of its covering of weeds and grass, did not afford him any relief, for it felt like the blast of a furnace.

When the hounds came up Oscar led them across the intervening gully and put them upon the trail of the koodoos. They took up the scent at once, and followed it at a rate of speed that seemed to argue well for the ultimate capture of the wounded member of the herd. In a few minutes they were out of sight in the grove, and just then Big Thompson galloped up, leading Oscar's horse.

"I've got one of them, sure; there he is, and I want you to take him in front of you on your horse, and go with me in pursuit of the one I have wounded," said Oscar as he sprang upon Little Gray's back. "I must have both of them, for I am resolved that I'll never again hunt koodoos, or anything else, in the middle of the day."

Although Oscar had often read about koodoos and heard them described more times than he could remember, he was by no means prepared to see what he did see when he rode up to his prize. The buck looked more like a small ox than an antelope, and Oscar saw at a glance that his work was not yet finished. It was plain that the Kaffir's horse could not carry him, even if they had muscle enough between them to put him on the animal's back.

"I must either skin him right here, in this hot sun, or else set my wits at work and think up some way to get him to the wagon without dragging him on the ground," said Oscar in deep perplexity. "Thompson, you stay here and keep the vultures off, and I will go and see what has become of the other one. When I come back I shall have to go to camp."

So saying, Oscar put Little Gray to the top of his speed and rode toward the grove, in which both koodoos and hounds had disappeared but a few minutes before. As he drew near to it he became aware that there was something going on in there. He heard the bleating of the koodoos, mingled with a chorus of barks, growls, and whines, the like of which he had never heard two dogs utter before. If his whole pack had been in there baying the koodoos they could not have created a greater uproar.

"They've got him!" said Oscar gleefully as he threw himself from his horse and pulled the reins over his head, so that the animal would step on them and check himself if he attempted to stray away during his master's absence. "If I don't make haste they'll tear him all to pieces. What was that? I declare, he has given one of them a prod with his horns!"

Just then a piercing howl of pain came from the gloomy depths of the grove, bearing testimony to the fact that one of the hounds had been severely wounded. With it came other sounds that ought to have made Oscar very cautious, but in his excitement he did not hear them. The only thought in his mind was that there was a desperate fight going on in the thorn bushes, a short distance away, between the wounded antelope and the hounds, and that, if he did not put in an appearance and bring it to a speedy close, the koodoo would kill both his dogs, or else the dogs would kill the koodoo and tear his skin, so that one of his prizes, for which he had worked so hard, would be useless as a specimen.

Holding his rifle in one hand and parting the bushes before his face with the other, Oscar worked his way into the grove, making as little noise as possible, for fear that the koodoo would make off if he became aware that the dogs he was so gallantly fighting were about to receive assistance. Louder grew the noise of the conflict as the young hunter drew nearer to the combatants, and now he noticed that he could hear the baying of but one dog, and that the koodoo, having ceased his bleating, was giving utterance to very strange sounds. They resembled——

"Great Scott!" ejaculated Oscar.

For a moment his heart stood still and his hand trembled, like a leaf shaken by the wind. Just then he reached the edge of the thicket, and saw, in a little open space before him, the battle-ground and all the animals that had taken part in the struggle.

There were seven of them—three that would never do battle again, and four that were still alive and full of fight. The dead ones were Rover, who was so badly torn that he might have been taken for almost anything except a Scotch deer-hound, the koodoo, and an immense spotted hyena, which was impaled upon its powerful horns. In falling the buck had pinned his antagonist to the ground in such a way that he could not release himself, and the two had died there together.

The survivors of the fight were three other hyenas, which were ravenously devouring the antelope, and Ralph, who, unharmed and angry, bounded lightly about them, nimbly eluding the savage dashes they made at him, and protesting with all his might against such a desecration of his master's property. It was a most unexpected sight, and Oscar was so surprised and startled by it that, for a moment, he did not know whether to stand his ground or take to his heels.