They seemed neither afraid nor ferocious.
We each shot and missed.

The pack split, and Stephenson followed one little bunch while I followed another.

My course led me toward a shallow, rock-strewn nullah, and once or twice I fired again at the wild dogs.

But I couldn't hit them.

There was nothing remarkable in my failure to make a good shot, but Stephenson, who is a celebrated rifle shot, seemed to be equally unfortunate in his work.