The car fell back on the metal with a clang, and the rhino recoiled sidewise, to roll over and over again.

This time the impetus sent him over the edge of a gully and we did not doubt he was dead at the bottom of it.
The guard stopped the train and came running to see what the damage amounted to.
"Any gent got his rifle handy ?" he shouted.

"The train's ahead o' time.

There's twenty minutes for sport!" We dived for our rifles, but Coutlass had his and was on the track ahead of us, his eye a ghastly sight from the guard's overnight attentions, his face the gruesome color of the man who has eaten and drunk too much, but his undamaged eye ablaze, and nothing whatever the matter with his enthusiasm.
"Give me a cartridge--a cartridge, somebody!" he yelled.

"Gassharamminy! He's not dead! I saw him kick as he went over the edge legs upwards! Give me one cartridge and I'll finish him!" By that time every male passenger was out on the track, some in night-shirts, some in shirts and pants, some with next-to-nothing at all on, but nearly all with guns.