So I hastily but quietly dismounted to try for a photograph as he passed.
A moment or two later he saw me for the first time and at once swung into a funny trot.

I took the picture, and then the thought struck me, "Why not drive him into camp, where he could be secured by the one having a special license ?" I jumped on my horse and galloped around him, but in a few moments struck a ravine so rocky that I had to walk my horse through the worst of it.

By the time I had crossed the giraffe was some hundred yards ahead.

Still farther ahead the prairie was burning and the long line of fire extended a mile or more across our front.
I thought this fire would swing the giraffe off, and so it became a race to reach the fire line first, in order to swing him in the right direction.

The ground was deep with prairie grass, as dry as tinder, and scattered throughout were innumerable holes in the ground made by the ant-bears and wart-hogs.