SOUTH LUANGWA NATIONAL PARK, ZAMBIA — We saw the impala first, a young buck with a proud set of ridged and twisted horns, like helical rebar, bounding across the open plain at full, desperate gallop. But why?

A moment later somebody in our vehicle gasped, and the answer became clear. Rising up behind the antelope, as though conjured on movie cue from the aubergine glow of the late afternoon, were six African wild dogs, running in single file. They moved with military grace and precision, their steps synchronized, their radio-dish ears cocked forward, their long, puppet-stick legs barely skimming the ground.

Still, the impala had such a jump on them that the dogs couldn’t possibly catch up — could they? We gunned the engine and followed.

The pace quickened. The dogs’ discipline held steady. They were closing the gap and oh, no, did I really want to watch the kill?