Hendrik's eye was upon him; and in a moment the quagga was turned upon his track.
Another burst carried both game and pursuer nearly a mile across the plain.

The eland had turned from a rufous dun colour to that of a leaden blue; the saliva fell from his lips in long streamers, foam dappled his broad chest, the tears rolled out of his big eyes, and his gallop became changed to a weary trot.

He was evidently "blown." In a few minutes more the quagga was close upon his heels; and then the huge antelope, seeing that farther running could not serve him, halted in despair, and faced round towards his pursuer.
Now Hendrik had his loaded rifle in his hand, and you expect to hear that he instantly raised it to his shoulder, took aim, fired, and brought down the eland.
I must disappoint you, then, by telling you that he did no such thing.
Hendrik was a real hunter--neither rash nor wasteful of his resources.
He knew a better plan than to kill the eland upon the spot.

He knew that the animal was now quite in his power; and that he could drive him wherever he pleased, just like a tame ox.

To have killed the creature on the spot would have been a waste of powder and shot.