MY LEFT BARREL. 87 



From the moment the game was struck it com- 

 menced to spin round without altering materially its 

 locality, at the same time squealing in the shrillest 

 notes, alike indicating rage and a craving for revenge. 

 This movement may have been the result of the 

 concussion of the bullet on the brain, or it miprit have 

 arisen from a desire to discover from what direction 

 it had received its injury. I incline to the first sup- 

 position, for, if it had been otherwise, doubtlessly it 

 would have charged into the smoke, which for many 

 seconds hung; to the ground owing: to the absence of 

 wind. All this time I had hoped to get a chance to 

 put in the second barrel, but so wonderful was the 

 agility that the stricken beast displayed that I really 

 had not a chance to place a ball anywhere that I 

 deemed to be vital. The rotatory performance now 

 terminated ; the shrill screams subsided into long- 

 drawn, heavy breathing, and the wounded brute 

 stood still almost exactly in the same position it had 

 first occupied when I fired, but with this difference, 

 that it was facing in the reverse direction, 



Blood was flowing freely from the poor creature's 

 mouth, and every respiration threw quantities of it 

 out over the grass, so that I had little doubt but that 

 the wound was fatal. Nevertheless, to prolong the 

 termination of the drama would have been the 

 grossest cruelty, and destitute of any compensating 

 results, so I fired my left barrel, my aim being 

 almost at the identical place of my first shot, but on 



