He was lying on the side where the bullet had gone in and there was not a mark on him and he smelled sweet and lovely like the breath of cattle and the odor of thyme after rain.

'I'd like to have seen one, ' I said. I was tired out and slipping into bitterness fast. 'God damned them. What the hell did he have to blow that lick to hell for the first morning and gutshoot a lousy bull and chase him all over the son-of-a-bitching-country spooking it to holy bloody hell?'

With the clean feeling of dry shirt, fresh socks and a change of boots I sat on the petrol case and drank whiskey and water while I waited fot the Roman to come back. I felt certain I was going to have a shot at kudu and I wanted to take the edge off so I would not be nervous. Also I wanted not to catch a cold. Also I wanted the whiskey for itself, because I loved the taste of it and because, being as happy as I could be, it made me feel even better.

'What's going on in America?'
'Damned if I know! Some sort of Y.M.C.A. show. Starry eyed bastards spending money that somebody will have to pay. Everybody in our town quit work to go on relief. Fishermen all turned carpenters. Reverse of the bible.'