Horns 



my eye on the bull the while, which was only 

 too easy, as there was no bank on the opposite 

 side, only a shelving slope. As soon as in the 

 drain, I turned over slowly, and, half rising, 

 I took my eye from the bull and ran to the left, 

 down that winding drain for some 20 yards or 

 so with my heart in my mouth and the cold 

 sweat pouring down me. I seemed to feel, 

 rather than see, the bull spring to his feet ; and, 

 leaving the drain, I swept to the left, stumbling 

 through the long grass and making for a friendly 

 ant-hill I saw about 30 yards away. One glance 

 from its friendly shelter showed the bull ad- 

 vancing, and having seen, as I swung round the 

 mound, my cartridge man on the edge of the forest 

 some 50 yards away, I aimed and fired that 

 last cartridge at the bull with no further hesita- 

 tion. The shot went home and turned him. To 

 about face, rush to my man and get cartridges 

 was the work of a few seconds, and again ap- 

 proaching the bison, I, after a bad and palpable 

 miss (for I was a bit jumpy, I fancy), got two 

 more bullets home ; at least, I felt certain they 

 were hits. And yet that bull stood up and still 

 advanced towards us. But his movements got 

 slower and slower, and after a few paces he sat 

 down but a little to the right of where he had 

 formerly stood so close to me earlier in the pro- 

 ceedings. Save for his slower movement and the 

 fact that he had again sat down, he did not, 



163 



