I had eaten nothing since five o'clock in the morning, my water bottle was so nearly empty that I dared take only a swallow at a time, my knees were sore from climbing hills and wading through the tall, dry prairie grass, and I decided to give up this endless pursuit of a rhino who wouldn't die after being hit with four cordite shells.
The dry creek bed lay in the course of our homeward march, and we resolved to take a final look at it.

There seemed no likelihood that the lion was there, and I walked into the place with the supreme courage of one who doesn't expect to find anything hostile.

My head gunbearer and I had crossed and were walking down in the grass at one side.

My second gunbearer was on the opposite side, and the stillness of death hung over the burning plain.
There was not a sign of life in any direction.

The second gunbearer was instructed to set fire to the grass in the hope of awakening some protest from the lion in case he was still in the vicinity.