Good crawled upon his stomach, painfully taking shelter behind
rocks, till he was within two hundred yards; then he drew a fine bead
upon the old ram. At this moment, however, a diversion occurred. Some
wandering native of the hills appeared upon a distant mountain top. The
females turned, and rushing over a rock vanished from Good's ken. But
the old ram took a bolder course. In front of him stretched a mighty
crevasse at least thirty feet in width. He went at it with a bound.
Whilst he was in mid-air Good fired, and killed him dead. The ram turned
a complete somersault in space, and fell in such fashion that his horns
hooked themselves upon a big projection of the opposite cliffs. There he
hung, till Good, after a long and painful detour, gracefully dropped a
lasso over him and fished him up.
This moving tale of wild adventure was received with undeserved
incredulity.
"Well," said Good, "if you fellows won't believe my story when I tell
it--a perfectly true story mind--perhaps one of you will give us a
better; I'm not particular if it is true or not." And he lapsed into a
dignified silence.
"Now, Quatermain," I said, "don't let Good beat you, let us hear how you
killed those elephants you were talking about this evening just after
you shot the woodcocks."
"Well," said Quatermain, dryly, and with something like a twinkle in
his brown eyes, "it is very hard fortune for a man to have to follow on
Good's 'spoor.' Indeed if it were not for that running giraffe which, as
you will remember, Curtis, we saw Good bowl over with a Martini rifle
at three hundred yards, I should almost have said that this was an
impossible tale.
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