It was a very pleasant dinner. Old Quatermain was in an excellent
humour; induced, I think, by the recollection of his triumph over the
doubting Jeffries. Good, too, was full of anecdotes. He told us a most
miraculous story of how he once went shooting ibex in Kashmir. These
ibex, according to Good, he stalked early and late for four entire days.
At last on the morning of the fifth day he succeeded in getting within
range of the flock, which consisted of a magnificent old ram with horns
so long that I am afraid to mention their measure, and five or six
females. 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 détour, 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.