On came the rhinoceros, and Komba, small blame to him for he only had a spear, started to run.

I cocked the rifle and waited my chance.
When it was not more than fifteen paces away the rhinoceros threw up its head, at which, of course, it was useless to fire because of the horn, and I let drive at the throat.

The bullet hit it fair, and I suppose penetrated to the heart.

At any rate, it rolled over and over like a shot rabbit, and with a single stretch of its limbs, expired almost at my feet.
Komba was much impressed.

He returned; he stared at the dead rhinoceros and at the hole in its throat; he stared at me; he stared at the still smoking rifle.
"The great beast of the plains killed with a noise!" he muttered.
"Killed in an instant by this little monkey of a white man" (I thanked him for that and made a note of it) "and his magic.