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.
"But it was not of the slightest use," he went on; "the cartridge would
not move. I only hope that no other man will ever be put in such an
awful position.
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