This was very provoking; for all of them being stern shots were not likely to kill, and the jungle was so thick I could not get a front view of them.

Presently, however, one with her hind leg broken pulled up on a white-ant hill, and, tossing her horns, came down with a charge the instant I showed myself close to her.

One crack of the rifle rolled her over, and gave me free scope to improve the bag, which was very soon done; for on following the spoors, the traces of blood led us up to another one as lame as the last.

He then got a second bullet in the flank, and, after hobbling a little, evaded our sight and threw himself into a bush, where we not sooner arrived than he plunged headlong at us from his ambush, just, and only just, giving me time to present my small 40-gauge Lancaster.
It was a most ridiculous scene.

Suliman by my side, with the instinct of a monkey, made a violent spring and swung himself by a bough immediately over the beast, whilst Faraj bolted away and left me single-gunned to polish him off.