I aimed right forward--clear of it, indeed--high too, in a line with its backbone, and pressed the trigger.
The rifle exploded, the bullet clapped, and the buck sprang forward faster than ever.

I had failed! But what was this?
Suddenly the great bull swung round and began to gallop towards us.

When it was not more than fifty yards away, it fell in a heap, rolled twice over like a shot rabbit, and lay still.

That bullet was in its heart.
The two Kaffirs appeared breathless and streaming with perspiration.
"Cut meat from the eland's flank; don't stop to skin it," I said in my broken Zulu, helping the words out with signs.
They understood, and a minute later were at work with their assegais.
Then I looked about me.

Near by lay a store of dead branches placed there for fuel.
"Have you fire ?" I asked of the skeleton Boers, for they were nothing more.
"Nein, nein," they answered; "our fire is dead." I produced the tinder-box which I carried with me, and struck the flint.
Ten minutes later we had a cheerful blaze, and within three-quarters of an hour good soup, for iron pots were not wanting--only food to put into them.