Dear Curtis,--You ask me to give you the true account, in writing,
of those right and left shots of mine at the two lions, the
crocodile, and the eagle. The brutes are stuffed now, in the hall
at home--the lions each on a pedestal, and the alligator on the
floor with the eagle in his jaws--much as they were when I settled
them and saved the Stranger. All sorts of stories have got into
the papers about the business, which was simple enough; so, though
no hand with a pen, I may as well write it all out.
I was up on the Knobkerry River, prospecting for diamonds, in
Omomborombunga's country. I had nobody with me but poor Jim-jim,
who afterwards met with an awful death, otherwise he would have
been glad to corroborate my tale, if it needed it. One night I had
come back tired to camp, when I found a stranger sitting by the
fire. He was a dark, fat, Frenchified little chap, and you won't
believe me, but it is a fact that he wore gloves. I asked him to
stay the night, of course, and inspanned the waggons in laager, for
Omomborombunga's impis were out, swearing to wash their spears in
the blood of The Great White Liar--a Portuguese traveller probably;
if not, I don't know who he can have been; perhaps this stranger:
he gave no name. Well, we had our biltong together, and the
Stranger put himself outside a good deal of the very little brandy
I had left.
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