It caught him lower than I intended, but that was the result of my insecure foothold.

I meant it for his head.

It took him between neck and shoulder.

He dropped like an ox, and his musket went clattering down the steep.

He lay still across the path, very near to the place where, as I looked, I could see again Black Boy's straining eyes and pitiful scrabbling feet as he hung for a moment before falling into the gulf.
A howl and a burst of curses from the cautious ones behind greeted his fall, but I heard no sound of footsteps coming to their leader's assistance.
With another rock I could have smashed him where he lay, and at small risk to myself; but hurling rocks in hot blood is one thing and smashing fallen men is another; and Torode, lying on his face, was safer from harm than Torode on his feet with his gun in his hand.
There was excited discussion among his followers, the necessity of securing the wounded man evidently prompting them to an attempt, but no man showing himself desirous of first honours.
But presently I heard a shuffling approach along the path, hands and knees evidently, and Torode's body was pulled slowly out of my sight.