I took out my glasses and searched
the plain. About a mile ahead was something brown--as I thought, the
rhinoceros. I advanced another quarter of a mile, and looked once
more--it was not the rhinoceros, but a big ant-heap. This was puzzling,
but I did not like to give it up, because I knew from his spoor that he
must be somewhere ahead. But as the wind was blowing straight from me
towards the line that he had followed, and as a rhinoceros can smell you
for about a mile, it would not, I felt, be safe to follow his trail
any further; so I made a detour of a mile and more, till I was nearly
opposite the ant-heap, and then once more searched the plain. It was no
good, I could see nothing of him, and was about to give it up and start
after some oryx I saw on the skyline, when suddenly at a distance of
about three hundred yards from the ant-heap, and on its further side, I
saw my rhino stand up in a patch of grass.
"'Heavens!' I thought to myself, 'he's off again;' but no, after
standing staring for a minute or two he once more lay down.
"Now I found myself in a quandary. As you know, a rhinoceros is a very
short-sighted brute, indeed his sight is as bad as his scent is good.
Of this fact he is perfectly aware, but he always makes the most of his
natural gifts. For instance, when he lies down he invariably does so
with his head down wind. Thus, if any enemy crosses his wind he will
still be able to escape, or attack him; and if, on the other hand, the
danger approaches up wind he will at least have a chance of seeing it.
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