An abrupt precipice of about two
hundred and fifty feet was lying exactly in his path; this sunk
sheer down to a lower series of grass-lands.
At the tremendous pace at which they were going I feared lest
their own impetus should carry both elk and dog to destruction
before they could see the danger.
Down they flew with unabated speed; they neared the precipice,
and a few more seconds would bring them to the verge.
The stride of the buck was no match for the bound of the
greyhound: the bitch was at his flanks, and he pressed along at
flying speed.
He was close to the danger and it was still unseen: a moment more
and "Hecate" sprang at his ear. Fortunately she lost her hold as
the ear split. This check saved her. I shouted, "He'll be
over!" and the next instant he was flying through the air to
headlong destruction.
Bounding from a projecting rock upon which he struck, he flew
outward, and with frightfully increasing momentum he spun round
and round in his descent, until the centrifugal motion drew out
his legs and neck as straight as a line.
