There it lay as though it were asleep, and underneath was Scroope.
The difficulty was to get it off him, for the beast was very heavy, but I managed this at last with the help of a thorn bough I found which some elephant had torn from a tree.

This I used as a lever.

There beneath lay Scroope, literally covered with blood, though whether his own or the leopard's I could not tell.

At first I thought that he was dead, but after I had poured some water over him from the little stream that trickled down the rock, he sat up and asked inconsequently: "What am I now ?" "A hero," I answered.

(I have always been proud of that repartee.) Then, discouraging further conversation, I set to work to get him back to the camp, which fortunately was close at hand.
When we had proceeded a couple of hundred yards, he still making inconsequent remarks, his right arm round my neck and my left arm round his middle, suddenly he collapsed in a dead faint, and as his weight was more than I could carry, I had to leave him and fetch help.
In the end I got him to the tents by aid of the Kaffirs and a blanket, and there made an examination.