yes across the glade. A curious, hard glint crept
into them when they rested on one spot where something that looked
very much like a slender, forked branch rose above a thicket. Then a
small patch of slightly different color from the thicket appeared
close beneath, and, though he knew that this might send the deer off,
he sank slowly down until he could sit on his drawn-back right foot.
He could not be sure of the steadiness of his hands, and he wanted a
support for the rifle. Though every nerve in him seemed to thrill, it
was done deliberately, and he found that he could see almost as
clearly from the lower level.

Then he waited, with the rifle in his left hand, and that elbow on his
knee, until there was a faint crackling, and a slightly larger patch
of fur emerged from the thicket. He held his breath as he stiffened
his left fingers on the barrel and dropped his cheek on the butt.
There would, he knew, be only one shot, a long one, and, while it was
not particularly easy to get the sight on that little patch, it was
considerably handier to keep it there. Besides, he was not sure that
the rear slide was high enough, for the light was puzzling. It might
very well throw him a foot out in the elevation.

He crouched, haggard, ragged, savage-eyed, steadying himself with a
strenuous effort, while the little bead of foresight wavered. It moved
upward and back again half an inch or so while his finger slowly
contracted on the trigger. Then, as it swung across the middle of the
patch, he added the last trace of pressure. He saw a train of sparks
leap from the jerking muzzle, and felt the butt jar upon his shoulder.
Still, as is almost invariably the case with a man whose whole force
of will is concentrated on holding the little sight on a living mark,
he heard no detonation. He recognized, however, the unmistakable thud
of the bullet smashing through soft flesh, and that was what he
listened for.

As he sprang to his feet, jerking another cartridge from the magazine,
there was a sharp crackling amidst the thicket and a rustling of the
fern. A blurred shape that moved with incredible swiftness sailed into
the air, and vanished as he fired again. The smoke blew back into his
eyes, and there was a low rustling that rapidly grew fainter. He ran
to the thicket, and found what he had expected--a few red splashes
among the leaves. Where the deer was hit he did not know, but he
braced himself for an effort, for he fancied that h