The leopard, standing on one hind leg, for the other was broken, seemed to be boxing Scroope, whilst Scroope was driving his big hunting knife into the brute's carcase.

They went down, Scroope undermost, the leopard tearing at him.

I gave a wriggle and came out of that mossy bed--I recall the sucking sound my body made as it left the ooze.
Close by was my rifle, uninjured and at full cock as it had fallen from my hand.

I seized it, and in another second had shot the leopard through the head just as it was about to seize Scroope's throat.
It fell stone dead on the top of him.

One quiver, one contraction of the claws (in poor Scroope's leg) and all was over.