The light went out. I felt a hand feeling my temple in a knowledgeable sort of way; it hurt damnably but there was no crepitation – I dared to hope that I might live. Then two strong hands lifted me to a kneeling position and I opened my eyes. Towering above me was a horrendous creature with a face such as hell itself would have rejected. It was near enough for me to receive its stench, which was abominable. Then its knee came up and struck the point of my jaw with a deafening, blinding smash.

Dimly-experienced things happened to me in my stupor; I was rummaged and buffeted, hoisted and wrenched. Wisely, I decided to remain asleep, and sleep I did until an excruciating pain screamed out of my right ear. I jerked wildly from the pain, which redoubled it, so I fainted, only to awake instantly with an even sharper agony. A great explosion happened close to the ear – and more pain. Awake now, in a sort of way, I mustered enough sense to remain motionless while my frightful assailant rustled away. When I was sure that he had gone I delicately explored my situation. I found that I was standing against a tree. My hands and feet were unencumbered. I tried moving my head – and screamed. Infinitely gently I raised my hands to my ear, asking them to tell my scrambled brain what it was all about. When my hands told me, I fainted again – just as you would have – and awoke instantly with another scream of pain.

My ear, you see, had been nailed to the tree.

I stood very still for what seemed an hour. Then I reached behind me and drew out the Banker’s Special pistol from my hip-pocket. I filled my lungs and opened my mouth to shout for help but a sharp agony came from my jawbone and a horrid grating noise and my tongue discovered that my teeth were all in the wrong places.

I pointed the pistol into the air and squeezed the trigger but I had not the strength to work the double-action. Using both hands I contrived to cock the hammer, then I fired. Then again. Then, with immense difficulty, once more. Jock had often acted as loader for me in the shooting field and he would recognize the three-shots distress signal.

I waited for an eternity. I dared not spend any more cartridges on signals: I needed them in case the madman came back. I spent the time trying to keep awake – each time I started to fade out my weight came on the ear with excruciating effect – and in trying to remember whether it was Lobengula or Cetewayo who used to nail minor offenders to trees. They had to tear themselves loose, you see, before the hyenas got them.