The men immediately set to work to cut it up with their knives. While they were engaged in this task, John resolved to go a little farther in search of more delicate fare for Ferrier and himself. Rolling on the grass to dry himself, he put on his clothes and set off up-stream with the Wanderobbo, instructing the others to retrace their steps slowly so soon as they had tied up their loads. They had proceeded but a short distance when Bill discovered the track of congoni which had recently come down to the river to drink. Following it up, they by and by came in sight of a small herd moving leisurely across the plain to the left. Being to windward of them, it would be impossible to stalk them directly. The only chance of getting a shot was to make a long detour and come upon them from the further side. John's sporting instincts were roused. There was no fear of losing the track of his men, so he struck off with Bill at right angles to the river, and after walking rapidly for half-an-hour in a wide curve, Bill never losing sight of the game, they got ahead of them, and took cover in a clump of trees which the animals must pass if they did not change their direction. They came very slowly, and before reaching the trees swerved somewhat to the right. It was now or never. John took aim at the nearest of the herd, which presented its flank to him. His first shot brought it down: the rest, raising their heads and looking round for a moment, galloped off; and Bill hurried forward with John to cut from the dead beast as much as he could carry.
It was by this time more than an hour since they had left the men; and since it would be at least another hour before they could overtake them, John decided to hurry back as soon as Bill had prepared his load. He was sitting at the edge of the clump of trees, clasping his knees, and watching Bill's deft movements a few yards away, when he heard a slight rustling behind him. Thinking it might be a lion or hyena attracted by the scent of the game, he sprang up, grasping his rifle, only to be thrown on to his back by the onset of near a score of yelling savages. He had no opportunity of defending himself. His rifle had been knocked from his hand and was now in the possession of a tall Swahili, who grinned at him with malicious triumph as he lay on the ground, and ordered the savages to turn him over and tie his hands behind his back. Meanwhile some of the party had dashed after the Wanderobbo, who had fled towards the river at the first alarm. The old man was soon caught; John was hoisted to his feet; and in a few minutes he had the mortification of knowing that he was being marched, a prisoner, in a direction the exact opposite of the fort.