Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 25)( Page 3 ) Our Last Hunt

And at last it came: there was another slight shake of the horns, and the whole figure stood out in bold relief.  It was a fine sable bull lying in the shadow of one of the thorn-trees with his back towards us, and there was a small ant-heap close behind him, making a greyish blot against his black back and shoulder, and breaking the expanse of colour which the eye would otherwise easily have picked up. The ant-heap made a certain shot impossible, so I lowered myself slowly to the ground to wait until he should begin feeding or change his position for comfort or shade, as they often do: this might mean waiting for half an hour or more, but it was better than risking a shot in the position in which he was lying.  I settled down for a long wait with the rifle resting on my knees, confidently expecting that when the time came to move would get up slowly, stretch himself, and have a good look round.  But he did nothing of the kind; a turn or eddy of the faint breeze must have given him my wind; for there was one twitch of the horns, as his nose was laid to windward, and without an instant's pause he dashed off.  It was the quickest thing imaginable in a big animal: it looked as though he started racing from his lying position.  The bush was not close enough to save him, however, in spite of his start, and through the thin veil of smoke I saw him plunge and stumble, and then dash off again; and Jock seeing me give chase, went ahead and in half a minute I was left well behind, but still in sight of the hunt. I shouted at Jock to come back, just as one murmurs good-day to a passing friend in the din of traffic--from force of habit: of course, he could hear nothing.  It was his first and only go at a sable; he knew nothing of the terrible horns and the deadly scythe-like sweep that makes the wounded sable so dangerous--even the lioness had fought shy of them--and great as was my faith in him, the risk in this case was not one I would have taken.  There was nothing to do but follow.  A quarter of a mile on I drew closer up and found them standing face to face among the thorns.  It was the first of three or four stands; the sable, with a watchful eye on me, always moved on as I drew near enough to shoot.  The beautiful black and white bull stood facing his little red enemy and the fence and play of feint and thrust, guard and dodge, was wonderful to see.  Not once did either touch the other; at Jock's least movement the sable's head would go down with his nose into his chest and the magnificent horns arched forward and poised so as to strike either right or left, and if Jock feinted a rush either way the scythe-sweep came with lightning quickness, covering more than half a circle and carrying the gleaming points with a swing right over the sable's own back.  Then he would advance slowly and menacingly, with horns well forward ready to strike and eyes blazing through his eyebrows, driving Jock before him. There were three or four of these encounters in which I could take no hand: the distance, the intervening thorns and grass, and the quickness of their movements, made a  safe shot impossible; and there was always the risk of hitting Jock, for a hard run does not make for good shooting.  Each time as the sable drove him back there would be a short vicious rush suddenly following the first deliberate advance, and as Jock scrambled back out of the way the bull would swing round with incredible quickness and be off full gallop in another direction. Evidently the final rush was a manoeuvre to get Jock clear of his heels and flanks as he started, and thus secure a lead for the next run. Since the day he was kicked by the koodoo cow Jock had never tackled an unbroken hind leg; a dangling one he never missed; but the lesson of the flying heels had been too severe to be forgotten, and he never made that mistake again.  In this chase I saw him time after time try at the sable's flanks and run up abreast of his shoulder and make flying leaps at the throat; but he never got in front where the horns could reach him, and although he passed and repassed behind to try on the other side when he had failed at the one, and looked up eagerly at the hind legs as he passed them, he made no attempt at them.