Naturally, exciting incidents, when in pursuit of his favourite quarry, were numerous. Once he sighted a solitary bull feeding in the open plain some little distance away from his camp. Snatching up an 8-bore rifle and two or three cartridges, he started in pursuit. On proceeding to load his weapon, he found that in his hurry he had brought away the wrong cartridges! They were by a different maker than those usually used in the rifle, and there was a slight difference in the turning of the flange, which caused them to jam a little. He forced them in, and, by an exercise of strength, closed the breech. After a careful stalk he reached a favourable position for a shot, and, taking aim, banged off. The rifle exploded with a terrific report, the barrels blowing off in his hands, fortunately without doing him any injury—the explosion of 10 drams of powder being too much for the incompletely closed breech-locking grip. There was El Hakim with the butt of his rifle in his hand and the barrels in the other, vaguely wondering in what manner the beast would kill him, and, no doubt, feeling very much _de trop_. The elephant, who was hit in the shoulder, turned towards him, and, after regarding him with a prolonged stare, turned away again, and moved slowly off as if a bullet in the shoulder was of little or no consequence, leaving his discomfited assailant considerably relieved. Another time he took the same 8-bore—which, by the way, had not been repaired—and started in pursuit of a herd of elephants. He loaded the weapons, and, after closing the breech, bound it round and round very tightly with a leather bootlace. On the first discharge, stock and barrels again parted company; whereupon he handed the useless weapon to one of his bearers, and, taking an old Martini in exchange, rushed off after the herd, and bagged three more elephants.