On arriving at their post, they found themselves about a quarter of a mile from the group of great birds.
It seemed a long time before they could see any signs of the native, who had to make a long detour so as to approach the birds upwind.

About a hundred and fifty yards from the spot where they were feeding was a clump of bushes, and presently the lads suddenly beheld an ostrich, feeding quietly beside this clump.
"There was no bird near those bushes two minutes ago," Tom said.
"It must be the Indian." Very quietly, and by degrees, the ostrich approached the group.
When within four yards of them the ostrich, as if by magic, vanished; and an Indian stood in his place.

In another moment his bow twanged, and the ostrich next to him fell over, pierced through with an arrow; while the rest of the flock scattered over the plain, at an immense speed.
Ned and Tom now rose to their feet and ran down the slope to the Indian, who was standing by the dead bird.

He pulled out the tail feathers and handed them to them; cut off the head and legs; opened and cleaned the body; and then, putting it on his shoulder, started again for the camp.
For another week they remained in the Indian village, and in that time picked up a good many native words.

They then determined that they must be starting on their westward journey.