She now whispered that a hyaena had been within the tent,
but that it had just bolted out, as these animals are so wary
that they detect the slightest movement or noise. As a rule, I
never shot at hyaenas, but, as I feared it might eat our saddles,
I lay in bed with the rifle to my shoulder, pointed towards the
tent door through which the moon was shining brightly. In a few
minutes, a grey-looking object stood like an apparition at the
entrance, peering into the tent to see if all were right before
it entered. I touched the trigger, and the hyaena fell dead, with
the bullet through its head. This was a regular veteran, as his
body was covered with old scars from continual conflicts with
other hyaenas. This was the first time that one of these animals
had taken such a liberty; they were generally contented with
eating the bones that were left from our dinner outside the tent
door, which they cleared away regularly every night.
We remained in this beautiful country from March 29th until April
14th, during which time I seldom remained for an hour in camp,
from sunrise to sunset; I was always in the saddle or on foot.
Two of my best Tokrooris, Hadji Ali and Hassan, usually
accompanied me on horseback, while Taher Noor and a couple of
Arabs rode upon camels with a good supply of water.
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