There, not fifty yards away, I caught sight of a single blue wildebeeste bull standing in the shadow of the trees on the further side of the glade, and pointed out the ugly beast, for it is the most grotesque of all the antelopes, to Anscombe.
"Off you get," I whispered.

"It's a lovely shot, you can't miss it." "Oh, can't I!" replied Anscombe.

"Do you shoot." I refused, so he dismounted, giving me his horse to hold, and kneeling down solemnly and slowly covered the bull.

Bang went his rifle, and I saw a bough about a yard above the wildebeeste fall on to its back.

Off it went like lightning, whereon Anscombe let drive with the left barrel of the Express, almost at hazard as it seemed to me, and by some chance hit it above the near fore-knee, breaking its leg.
"That was a good shot," he cried, jumping on to his horse.
"Excellent," I answered.