As he went by I fired at his head, and, as we found out
afterward, broke his jaw. A moment later C.'s great elephant gun
roared from somewhere behind me as he fired by a glimpse through
the brush at the charging animal. It was an excellent snapshot,
and landed back of the ribs.
When the buffalo broke through the screen of brush I dashed after
him, for I thought our only chance of avoiding danger lay in
keeping close track of where that buffalo went. On the other side
the bushes I found a little grassy opening, and then a small but
dense thicket into which the animal had plunged. To my left, C.
was running up, followed closely by Billy, who, with her usual
good sense, had figured out the safest place to be immediately
back of the guns. We came together at the thicket's edge.
The animal's movements could be plainly followed by the sound of
his crashing. We heard him dash away some distance, pause, circle
a bit to the right, and then come rushing back in our direction.
Stooping low we peered into the darkness of the thicket. Suddenly
we saw him, not a dozen yards away. He was still afoot, but very
slow. I dropped the magazine of five shots into him as fast as I
could work the lever. We later found all the bullet-holes in a
spot as big as the palm of your hand.
