A GOOD SHOT. 51 



me to death. I gave a shrill whistle through my fingers. 

 The buffallo stopped, turned his body a quarter round and 

 his head half round to look at me. Standing there, relieved 

 against the clear, bright sky, he looked as if done in bronze, 

 and offered a splendid target. 



I drew a coarse sight upon his off fore-leg, raised my rifle 

 steadily until the ivory " bead " showed like a ball of snow 

 on his dark body two-thirds up, moved it a trifle to the left, 

 touched the hair trigger, and the sharp crack of my rifle 

 was answered by its welcome echo the thud of a striking 

 bullet. 



The bull staggered, swayed to and fro, dropped on his 

 knees, fell on his side, and rolled on his back ; then his legs 

 straightened in the air with a jerk, and he fell back on to his 

 side again dead. Killed with a single shot at a distance of 

 two hundred and seventy odd yards. 



Considering the circumstances, I think that was as 

 creditable a shot as was ever fired by me. Lying flat on 

 your face, waiting for the commencement of a trampling and 

 goring process, that is to break every bone in your body and 

 make a mangled corpse of you, is not conducive to steadying 

 the eye and finger for shooting with a fine-sighted hair-trig- 

 gered rifle. 



And now for the skinning. I had " stripped " plenty 

 of smaller animals before, and knew quite well how to 

 make the cuts for an open skin. Bag skins are cut 

 differently. First a circular sweep round the neck, and 

 then four round the legs, above the knees and hocks. A 

 longitudinal cut for the whole length of neck, breast, and 

 belly, two transverse ones at right angles to it, from knee to 



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