and galloped back towards the burnt pan. I whipped round and let drive a
snap shot that tipped him head over heels, breaking his back within two
inches of the root of the tail, and there he lay helpless but glaring.
Tom afterwards killed him with his assegai. I opened the breech of the
gun and hurriedly pulled out the old case, which, to judge from what
ensued, must, I suppose, have burst and left a portion of its fabric
sticking to the barrel. At any rate, when I tried to get in the new
cartridge it would only enter half-way; and--would you believe it?--this
was the moment that the lioness, attracted no doubt by the outcry of her
cub, chose to put in an appearance. There she stood, twenty paces or so
from me, lashing her tail and looking just as wicked as it is possible
to conceive. Slowly I stepped backwards, trying to push in the new case,
and as I did so she moved on in little runs, dropping down after each
run. The danger was imminent, and the case would not go in. At the
moment I oddly enough thought of the cartridge maker, whose name I will
not mention, and earnestly hoped that if the lion got _me_ some condign
punishment would overtake _him_. It would not go in, so I tried to pull
it out. It would not come out either, and my gun was useless if I could
not shut it to use the other barrel. I might as well have had no gun.

"Meanwhile I was walking backward, keeping my eye on the lioness, who
was creeping forward on her belly without a sound, but lashing her tail
and keeping her eye on me; and in it I saw that she was coming in a
few seconds more. I dashed my wrist and the palm of my hand against the
brass rim of the cartridge till the blood poured from them--look, there
are the scars of it to this day!"

Here Quatermain held up his right hand to the light and showed us four
or five white cicatrices just where the wrist is set into the hand.