Keeping my Moorman with the light gun close to me in readiness, I began to load my two big rifles.

In the mean time the bull was advancing step by step with an expression of determined malice, and my Cingalese servant, in an abject state of fright, was imploring me to run--simply as an excuse for his own flight.

'Buffalo's coming, sar! Master, run plenty, quick! Buffalo's coming, sar! Master, get big tree!' I could not turn to silence the fellow, but I caught him a fine backward kick upon the shins with my heel, which stopped him, and in a few seconds I was loaded and the four-ounce was in my hand.

The bull, at this time, was not fifteen yards from me; but, just as I was going to fire, I saw him reel to one side; and in another moment he rolled upon his back, a dead buffalo, although I had not fired after my first shot.
The ball, having entered his chest, was sticking in the skin of his haunch, having passed through his lungs.

His wonderful pluck had kept him upon his legs until life was extinct.
I am almost tired of recounting so many instances of the courage of these beasts.