I MISS THE TARGET 215 



the rifle, ready to fire whenever he showed his shoulder ; 

 but he gave a turn and lay down facing us. By raising 

 my head, I could see his horns and the top of his head ; 

 six inches higher, and our eyes would have met. Here was 

 a fix : the tension was getting unbearable, when Paljour 

 pointed to a rock in front of us forty yards away, and 

 whispered that if we got there I could have a shot at his 

 shoulder. So we backed, and got behind the little rock, 

 and there found ourselves within seventy yards of the 

 still unconscious game, but his horns and head were still 

 facing us, and we were on the slope below him — he had 

 us completely under his command. The only alternative 

 was to rise slowly and give him the shot in the chest as he 

 rose. This was a ticklish business with a single rifle, and 

 only a -450 at that. If the huge beast charged, he could 

 easily grind us into the hillside. However, it had to be 

 done, or my only chance would be lost. I rose slowly 

 up, not in a very comfortable state of mind, but with my 

 nerves braced and steady; the bull rose too and stared. 

 I fired with deliberate aim, and missed. The bullet passed 

 his left shoulder, and^ clapped loudly on the hillside in 

 the distance. It was the hand of Providence. I was 

 quite collected and steady, and the target, seventy yards 

 off, was four feet broad by six feet high. Had the bullet 

 struck, the maddened bull would have been down on us, 

 and one, if not both of us, would have been killed. 



Things turned out differently. The dong rushed 

 round the hillside to my right, and I had time to put in 

 another cartridge, and gave him another shot at a hundred 

 yards as he rushed along. This shot was a hundred 

 times more difficult than the first, but I placed the bullet 

 fairly in the centre of his body. I heard it tell loudly 

 on his ribs ; but the yak only went the faster. A third 

 bullet went after him as he topped the swell, but there 



