On one of these leaves, bending it down, sat a large beetle with red wings and a black body engaged in rubbing its antennae with its front paws.

And above, just appearing over the top of the rock, was the head of an extremely fine leopard.

As I write to seem to perceive its square jowl outlined against the arc of the quiet evening sky with the saliva dropping from its lips.
This was the last thing which I did perceive for a little while, since at that moment the leopard--we call them tigers in South Africa--dropped upon my back and knocked me flat as a pancake.

I presume that it also had been stalking the buck and was angry at my appearance on the scene.
Down I went, luckily for me, into a patch of mossy soil.
"All up!" I said to myself, for I felt the brute's weight upon my back pressing me down among the moss, and what was worse, its hot breath upon my neck as it dropped its jaws to bite me in the head.

Then I heard the report of Scroope's rifle, followed by furious snarling from the leopard, which evidently had been hit.