Out lumbered the creature with its mouth open, wishing to escape. Robertson turned to fly as he was in its path, but from one cause or another, tripped and fell down. Certainly he would have been crushed beneath its huge feet had I not stepped in front of him and sent two solid eight-bore bullets down that yawning throat, killing it dead within three feet of where Robertson was trying to rise, and I may add, of myself.
This narrow escape sobered him, and I am bound to say that his gratitude was profuse.
You are a brave man,
he said, and had it not been for you by now I should be wherever bad people go. I'll not forget it, Mr. Quatermain, and if ever you want anything that John Robertson can give, why, it's yours.
Very well,
I answered, being seized by an inspiration, I do want something that you can give easily enough.
Give it a name and its yours, half my place, if you like.
I want,
I went on as I slipped new cartridges into the rifle, I want you to promise to give up drink for your daughter's sake. That's what nearly did for you just now, you know.
Man, you ask a hard thing,
he said slowly. But by God I'll try for her sake and yours too.
Then I went to help to set the leg of the injured man, which was all the rest I got that morning.
