i68 GUN, RIPLE, AND HOUND. 



With the rashness of ignorance I rushed through the 

 deep mud towards my game. When only a few feet 

 separated us, to my horror the brute got on his knees, 

 and with a flounder assumed his normal position, the 

 picture of concentrated wrath. Not till then did I 

 think of reloading, but the cartridges had jammed and 

 I could not lay my hand on my extractor. A minute 

 of horrible expectation followed, in which I hardly 

 dared work the breech-action to try and loosen the 

 cartridges. The situation was desperate, as the brute 

 was obviously regaining strength, and in flight through 

 the knee-deep mud I had no chance. At last with 

 one final tear-up of the dirt with his horns, he began 

 the advance, and I my retreat, still facing him. 



Just as I was wondering whereabouts those thick 

 horns would take me, a shot rang out. It was from 



V 's " unerring tube," and the brute collapsed for 



the last time, half smothering me with mud and water 

 as he fell. The lesson was learnt, however, and from 

 that day I have never approached any fallen game 

 without first reloading. 



After this I may be allowed to pay my tribute to 

 the honest Irish heart that is still for ever the more 

 so, perhaps, as a buffalo was the immediate, and an 



elephant the more remote, cause of V 's death. 



Long-continued success over his gigantic game (the 

 last time I ever saw him he told me he had just killed 

 his hundred and second elephant) had perhaps made 

 him over-bold. One day he was following up an 

 elephant in full flight, and I believe had actually hold 

 of the brute's tail. The maddened animal kicked out 



