Returning from this chase, we had an adventure with another old bull
buffalo, which shows the extreme danger of hunting buffaloes without
dogs. We started him in a green hollow among the hills, and his course
inclining for camp, I gave him chase. He crossed the level broad
strath and made for the opposite densely wooded range of mountains.
Along the base of these we followed him, sometimes in view, sometimes
on the spoor, keeping the old fellow at a pace which made him pant. At
length, finding himself much distressed, he had recourse to a singular
stratagem. Doubling round some thick bushes which obscured him from
our view, he found himself beside a small pool of rain water, just
deep enough to cover his body; into this he walked, and facing about,
lay gently down and awaited our on-coming, with nothing but his old
grey face and massive horns above the water, and these concealed from
our view by rank overhanging herbage.
Our attention was entirely engrossed with the spoor, and thus we rode
boldly on until within a few feet of him, when springing to his feet,
he made a desperate charge after Ruyter, uttering a low, stifling
roar, peculiar to buffaloes, (somewhat similar to the growl of a lion)
and hurled horse and rider to the ground with fearful violence. His
horns laid the poor horse's haunches open to the bone, making the most
fearful ragged wound.
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