He was the facsimile of the bull that had chased us on the
previous day--the same picture of fury and determination; and, crouching
low, he advanced a few paces, keeping his eyes fixed upon us as though
we were already his own.
A short cough, accompanied by a rush of blood from his mouth, seemed to
cause him great uneasiness, and he halted.
Again we advanced till within twenty paces of him. I would not fire, as
I saw that he already had enough, and I wished to see how long he could
support a wound through the lungs, as my safety in buffalo-shooting
might in future depend upon this knowledge.
The fury of his spirit seemed to war with death, and, although reeling
with weakness and suffocation, he again attempted to come on. It was his
last effort; his eyes rolled convulsively, he gave a short grunt of
impotent rage, and the next moment he fell upon his back with his heels
in the air; he was stone dead, and game to the last moment.
I had thus commenced a revenge for the insult of yesterday; I had proved
the wonderful power of the four-ounce rifle--a weapon destined to make
great havoc amongst the heavy game of Ceylon.
Upon turning from the carcass before us, we observed to our surprise
that a large herd of buffaloes, that were at a great distance when we
had commenced the attack upon the bull, had now approached to within a
few hundred yards, and were standing in a dense mass, attentively
watching us.
