One or two of the
porters jumped to their feet and pointed. Kearton waited.
"I hope they won't come straight into the lens," he said. "If
they do, it won't make a good picture. They ought to come at an
angle. So," he explained, placing his hand obliquely to the line
of focus. Then he bent over, laid his eye to the gun-sight of the
machine, and likewise began turning.
The thunder of the chase could be heard now, and we could see
that it was Loveless leading, on his black, with Means and the
Colonel close behind and the wart-hog some forty yards ahead. The
beast was running strong. His huge snout was thrust forward, and
his upturned tusks gleamed in the sunlight. But gradually the
black horse gained on him, and Loveless loosened the rope from
his saddle and began swinging the long noose round and round his
head.
On came the wart-hog, straight for Kearton's camera.
Kearton straightened up above the machine and waved his helmet
frantically.
"Give over, give over!" he shouted.
"You're driving him right into the picture. It's no good. Give
over!"
The chase never swerved an inch, and Kearton bent to his work
again, cursing in well-selected periods.
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