As I Covered His Brain With
My Rifle, I Felt That At Last I Had Him Absolutely At
My Mercy, But .
. . . Never trust an untried
weapon!
I pulled the trigger, and to my horror
heard the dull snap that tells of a misfire.
Worse was to follow. I was so taken aback
and disconcerted by this untoward accident that
I entirely forgot to fire the left barrel, and
lowered the rifle from my shoulder with the
intention of reloading - if I should be given time.
Fortunately for me, the lion was so distracted
by the terrific din and uproar of the coolies behind
him that instead of springing on me, as might
have been expected, he bounded aside into the
jungle again. By this time I had collected my
wits, and just as he jumped I let him have the
left barrel. An answering angry growl told me
that he had been hit; but nevertheless he
succeeded once more in getting clear away, for
although I tracked him for some little distance, I
eventually lost his trail in a rocky patch of
ground.
Bitterly did I anathematise the hour in which
I had relied on a borrowed weapon, and in my
disappointment and vexation I abused owner,
maker, and rifle with fine impartiality. On
extracting the unexploded cartridge, I found that
the needle had not struck home, the cap being
only slightly dented; so that the whole fault did
indeed lie with the rifle, which I later returned
to Farquhar with polite compliments.
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