The Hunter Being Hunted

Harold instructed Paul and the native hunting party to remain where they were while he maneuvered to get a good shot. Slowly he moved forward and to the left, selecting a spot down wind where he would have a clear, unobstructed field of fire.

As he settled into position, Harold could see the animal more fully. It was huge, and its horns were enormous. His shot would have to be well placed if it was to bring the beast down. He was close, perhaps only seventy feet, so he knew he could do it.

Harold braced his left leg against a tree root and lifted his rifle. Aiming carefully, he began to gently squeeze the trigger. The root supporting him broke just as he fired. The shot went wide. It struck the buffalo in the shoulder causing significant damage, but not coming close to killing it.

The stricken animal reacted instantly. It bellowed, charging off into the jungle at a startling speed.

“I can’t believe I missed,” Harold said in disgust as Paul and the hunting party ran up to him.

“It wasn’t you fault, Daddy. The tree broke. You had him. Let’s go, we can still catch up to him,” Paul urged.

Moses, the native leader of the hunting party, spoke, “It not be good to go after the buffalo. He mean. He will kill us. We jus’ go home now. Leave him.”

“I don’t like to do it,” Harold responded, “But I think you’re right, Moses. He’s going to be real mad about now and I don’t want to get any of us killed. We’ll leave him.”

Discouraged and unhappy the hunting party began working its way back through the jungle towards the Bwah mission station. There was little conversation. Each man was licking the wounds to his ego at having failed to bring home such a prize. None more so than Harold.

They were not following the same path they had when they had run across the buffalo. They were cutting their way through the jungle on a more direct route. It would still take them the better part of two days to reach home.

The going was difficult, but instead of adding to their gloom, it seemed to provide a means of letting out their frustration as they hacked their way through the dense jungle foliage. Besides, they might still encounter some worthwhile game before they made it back to Bwah.

They were traveling light, a total of only six in the hunting party. Moses, the chief tracker, was in the lead with Harold about fifteen paces back. Paul immediately behind him. Following Paul were two gun bearers and a porter.

They had just crossed a small stream and were rounding a large rock outcropping. Moses was temporarily out of sight ahead of Harold. As Harold cleared the last large boulder, he sensed something before he saw anything. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the huge black animal standing motionless, waiting for its prey. Waiting for Harold.

Harold turned quickly, instinctively facing the danger. Suddenly the buffalo was no longer motionless. It was crossing the short distance between them like a locomotive traveling at full speed.

There was no time for Harold to grab for his rifle. The animal was upon him. He yelled for everyone to run, then, at the last instant, jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding the animal’s deadly giant horns as the buffalo’s charge missed and carried it past him.  With remarkable agility, the enraged beast turned and was bearing down on him again.

The rest of the team had scattered at Harold’s first yell not knowing what was happening. Now, as they sought a place to escape, they were beginning to understand the wounded buffalo had unbelievably circled back on them and was attacking them hours after their first encounter. It was a hunter’s worst nightmare come true.