They squat immovable as stones, or sit up among the thickets out of reach of the dog, or, where trees are about, they will take shelter in the branches. Their colouring is a dull, greyish drab, and even up in a tree, right in front of the gunner, they are hard to make out-they sit so close, and their colouring is so protective. However, Don pokes about eagerly, and at last succeeds in flushing another bird, which, again, I bag. The remainder of the covey effectually defy discovery, and we leave them secure in their protecting shelter. A hundred yards further along the ridge of the kopje a biggish brown bird flies slowly out, and settles a little beyond. Advancing cautiously, I approach the spot. The bird tumbles rather clumsily out upon the wing ; it is an owl, and I have no difficulty in bringing it down. It turns out, upon examination, to be a handsome, rather small owl, known as the African Pearl-spotted owl {Athene perlata)y La Chevechette Perlee of Levaillant's Oiseaux d'Afriqite. Although not well known in Cape Colony, this small owl, with its notable spotted plumage, is pretty common in the interior. It is, I think, more often seen in daylight than any other species. Andersson remarks that it is nearly as much at home in daylight as at night, and can see its way perfectly in dazzling sunshine. This is rather a strong assertion concerning a creature so 14 NATUEE AND SPOET IN SOUTH AFEICA usually purblind in daylight as an owl ; but it is, at all events, certain that the pearl-spotted owl makes little difficulty in getting about in daylight. The bird shows small fear of man, and, when disturbed, makes only a short flight to some adjacent restingplace. Carefully placing the dead owl in my game-bag, I continue my march, and again I hear the guns of my comrades among the hills on my left flank. It is not long before Don stands once more at point, careful and rigid, in some long grass. I approach with caution, and almost from under my feet a francolin rises. He flies straight into the heart of the sunlight, and between the glare and bad shooting I perpetrate a shameful miss. At the report, up springs another bird, fifteen yards away. This time I make no mistake, and the victim falls. So far, well. My friends are good shots, and are undoubtedly scoring, and we shall have a decent game-stew for the evening meal. A close search by Don fails to discover more pheasants hereabouts, and again we move on. The wagons are steadily trekking through the valley, half-a-mile ahead. I can catch, now and again, the high voices of the drivers urging on the now jaded spans. Occasionally I hear the loud crack of a wagon-whip. That is Patshalan, our second driver. David, who manages the big wagon, is far more judicious, and trusts almost A DAY IN KHAMA's COUNTRY 15 entirely to his voice and intimate acquaintance with his team to keep them going. There is a vast difference between good and bad wagon-drivers. A good and careful man, such as David, is a treasure indeed. In the hands of such a man a span will accomplish heavy, distress...
