Jungle By- Ways in India 



moment caught the ghsten of a metal cartridge- 

 case a yard or more away in front. I looked ; it 

 was the missfire. I thought I might as well 

 have it in my left barrel in case of emergencies, 

 as there was the off-chance that it might be the 

 striker of the rifle, and not the cartridge, that 

 was at fault. The difficulty was to get it 

 without attracting the bull's attention, but 

 this was successfully accomplished. As the 

 minutes crawled on the strain grew greater, and 

 I determined at last that I could not wait there 

 any longer. The way at the back of me was, I 

 knew, blocked. It consisted entirely of the long 

 tussocky grass ; and though a dive into it would 

 at once hide me, the noise I should make would 

 immediately bring the bison down upon me — 

 the noise and the waving grass-heads. No, there 

 was no safety there. My only chance, I could see, 

 was to slither down into the drain, dash along 

 this as quickly as possible, and then be guided 

 by circumstances, and anything in the shape 

 of a shelter that I might be lucky to come across. 

 Of course, I didn't like it. No one would ! But 

 anything was better than the strain, and my 

 stopping where I was appeared to be becoming 

 more and more dangerous the longer I prolonged 

 it. This plan I put into operation. Waiting till 

 the bull faced the forest where the bamboo 

 had snapped, I slipped slowly down on my 

 back the couple of feet into the drain, keeping 



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