The sound of him coming was like the sound of a great drum beaten by a lunatic.
“Don’t fire till I give the word,” cried Berselius, “and aim just behind the shoulder.”
Adams, who was to the left of the charging beast, raised the rifle and looked down the sights. He knew that if he missed, the brute would charge the flash and be on him perhaps before he could give it the second barrel.
It was exactly like standing before an advancing express engine. An engine, moreover, that had the power of leaving the metals to chase you should you not derail it.
Would Berselius never speak! Berselius all the time was glancing from the rhino to Adams.
“Fire!”
The ear-blasting report of the elephant gun echoed from the forest, and the rhino, just as if he had been tripped by an invisible wire fence, fell, tearing up the ground and squealing like a pig.
“Good,” said Berselius.
Adams wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He had never gone through a moment of more deadly nerve tension.
He was moving toward his quarry, now stretched stiff and stark, when he was arrested by Félix.