12 DIARY OF A SPORTSMAN NATURALIST 



" kick " of the rifle under the sudden discharge of twelve 

 drams of black powder almost knocked me backwards, 

 and had I been firing at a target in cold blood would probably 

 have done so. As it was I was braced to a considerable 

 tension. Recovering myself and forgetting that I was 

 unloaded I rose to a stooping position and dashed through 

 the smoke to see what had happened to the bison. A 

 glance was sufficient. The old bull had dropped and was 

 struggling on the ground. Without a thought I rushed 

 forward with a shout, dimly hearing Bishu's voice raised 

 in a piercing exhortation of some sort. 



Leaping lightly into the bed of the stream I splashed 

 through the water and clambered up the six-foot bank on 

 the opposite side. Reaching the top I stood erect and 

 took a few strides forward, only to be brought to a stand- 

 still by the vision of the bison up on his feet and facing me. 

 For a second or two we stood looking into each other's 

 eyes. It was the first time I had ever looked at the eyes of 

 a wild animal mad with rage. I saw red fury blazing out 

 in all its untamed nakedness from the enraged brute's eyes, 

 whilst, with his forefoot, he tore up the turf beneath him. 

 Mechanically I raised the rifle, the movement being accom- 

 panied by a bellow of wrath from the bull, glanced along 

 the barrels, noted that both hammers were down, and 



