Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/728154
S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S • 27 W e stood now in the shade of the trees with great smooth trunks, circled at their base with the line of roots that showed in rounded ridges up the trunks like arteries; the trunks the yellow green of a French forest on a day in winter after rain. But these trees had a great spread of branches and were in leaf, and below them, in the streambed in the sun, reeds like papyrus grass grew thick as wheat and 12 feet tall. There was a game trail through the grass along the stream and Droopy was bent down looking at it. M'Cola went over and looked and they both followed it a little way, stooped close over it, then came back to us. "Nyati," M'Cola whispered. "Buffalo." Droopy whispered to Pop and then Pop said, softly in his throaty, whiskey whisper, "They're buff gone down the river. Droop says there are some big bulls. They haven't come back." "Let's follow them," I said. "I'd rather get another buff than rhino." A RUSH OF BLACK Following the blood trail of the wounded buffalo, they walked fast but carefully, knowing that all they would see in the thick jungle would be . . . By ernest hemingway IllustratIon by larry norton