Not a bit of it.

There he sat upon the ground blowing like a blacksmith's bellows and panting out-- "What a glorious gallop.

I finished it very well, didn't I?
You couldn't have made a better shot yourself." "Yes," I answered, "you finished it very well as you will find out if you will take the trouble to open your rifle and count your cartridges.

I may add that if we are going to hunt together I hope you will never lead me such a fool's chase again." He rose, opened the rifle and saw that it was empty, for although he had never re-loaded he had thrown out the two cartridges which he had discharged in the glen.
"By Jingo," he said, "you must have shot it, though I could have sworn that it was I.

Quatermain, has it ever struck you what a strange thing is the human imagination ?" "Drat the human imagination," I answered, wiping away the blood that was trickling into my eye from a thorn scratch.