When the rest of us rode up to him, he merely pointed at one of
the tufts of grass behind which the cheetah lay crouched.
There followed a brief delay, while a plan of maneuver was made
and expounded, while the tripods were set up, the cameras screwed
on, and the ropers moved out to their appointed places.
Then all at once the cheetah started, and, instead of breaking
away, as we had calculated he would, he doubled on his tracks and
made for the shelter of the donga. It was a quick, sharp
race--and the cheetah won. He hid in the scrub at the bottom of
the ditch. The native porters collected there and complacently
regarded the scene, and the members of the drive ranged
themselves on either bank and offered innumerable suggestions as
to what had better be done next.
But in the midst of it all the Colonel put an emphatic end to the
discussion. He rode into the donga with his rope swinging free,
and when the cheetah failed to spring at him, he dropped the
noose over the animal's head and dragged him out on to the open
veldt, where his picture could be properly taken.
The black porters looking on commenced speaking in low tones in
their native tongue, and nodded and grinned at each other as they
had done before.
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