I shouted, "He'll be over!" and the next instant he was flying through the air to headlong destruction.
Bounding from a projecting rock upon which he struck, he flew outward, and with frightfully increasing momentum he spun round and round in his descent, until the centrifugal motion drew out his legs and neck as straight as a line.

A few seconds of this multiplying velocity and--crash! It was all over.

The bitch had pulled up on the very brink of the precipice, but it was a narrow escape.
Sportsmen are contradictory creatures.

If that buck had come to bay, I should have known no better sport than going in at him with the knife to the assistance of the pack; but I now felt a great amount of compassion for the poor brute who had met so terrible a fate.

It did not seem fair; and yet I would not have missed such a sight for anything.