Crack! thud!
Crack! thud!
The reports of the two rifles were followed by what seemed to be a dull echo, telling them plainly enough that their shots had told.
The rhinoceros stopped short and shook its head, and they saw it try to turn it, as if to touch a tender or ticklish place with its nose.
The next moment there was another report, as Mr Rogers fired, and the thud that followed told of a fresh hit.
The rhinoceros shook its head again, whisked round in the most absurd way, and went off at a clumsy gallop, followed by a couple more shots from the boys’ rifles.
“Waste of lead! waste of lead!” cried Mr Rogers, cantering up. “Well, what do you think of the rhinoceros?”
“Oh, what a brute, father!” cried Dick, remounting. “Let’s go on after it. He’s badly hit.”
“He’s hit, certainly,” said Mr Rogers; “but unless you can well choose your spot those shots of ours would do very little more than make a sore place under the creature’s hide. He’s like an old-fashioned man-at-arms in his buff jerkin.”
“But let’s go after it, father,” cried Jack.