An old buffalo crossed the path a few yards in front of us; our guide threw his small spear at its hip, and it was going off scarcely hurt, when three rifle balls knocked it over.

"It is mine," said the guide.

He had wounded it first, and the established native game- law is that the animal belongs to the man who first draws blood; the two legs on one side, by the same law, belonged to us for killing it.

This beast was very old, blind of one eye, and scabby; the horns, mere stumps, not a foot long, must have atrophied, when by age he lost the strength distinctive of his sex; some eighteen or twenty inches of horn could not well be worn down by mere rubbing against the trees.

We saw many buffaloes next day, standing quietly amidst a thick thorn-jungle, through which we were passing.