That is one terror of the bush which travellers' tales have put too high.

It was true that I might meet a hungry lion, but the chance was remote, and I had my pistol.

Once indeed a huge animal bounded across the road a little in front of me.
For a moment I took him for a lion, but on reflection I was inclined to think him a very large bush-pig.
By this time I was out of the thickest bush and into a piece of parkland with long, waving tambuki grass, which the Kaffirs would burn later.

The moon was coming up, and her faint rays silvered the flat tops of the mimosa trees.

I could hear and feel around me the rustling of animals.