r, or
branch of the large river, mentioned in a previous chapter. Some of the
party were armed with bows and arrows, others had spears, the leader and
his friend carried short spears or javelins. All wore their swords and
iron head-pieces, and carried shields. Indeed, no party was ever
allowed to go beyond the neighbourhood of the settlement without being
fully armed, for although no natives had yet been seen, it was quite
possible, nay, highly probable, that when they did appear, their arrival
would be sudden and unexpected.

As they advanced, they heard a rustle of leaves behind a knoll, and next
instant a large deer bounded across their path. Karlsefin hurled his
spear with sudden violence, and grazed its back. Biarne flung his
weapon and missed it. There was an exclamation of disappointment among
the men, which, however, was turned into a cheer of satisfaction when
Hake let fly an arrow and shot it through the heart. So forcibly was
the shaft sent that it passed quite through the animal, and stood,
bloodstained and quivering, in the stem of a tree beyond, while the deer
leaped its own height into the air, and fell stone-dead upon the sward.

"A brave shot--excellently done!" exclaimed Karlsefin, turning to the
young Scot with a look of admiration; "and not the first or second time
I have seen thee do something of the same sort, from which I conclude
that it is not chance, but that your hand is always quick, and your eye
generally true. Is it not so?"

"I never miss my mark," said Hake.

"How now? you _never_ miss your mark? It seems to me, young man, that
though your air is modest, your heart and words are boastful."

"I never boast," replied Hake gravely.

"Say you so?" cried Karlsefin energetically, glancing round among the
trees. "Come, clear yourself in this matter. See you yonder little
bird on the topmost branch of that birch-tree that overhangs the stream?
It is a plain object, well defined against the sky. Touch it if you
can."

"That little bird," said Hake, without moving, "is not _my mark_. I
never make a mark of the moon, nor yet of an object utterly beyond the
compass of my shafts."

"Well, it _is_ considerably out of range," returned Karlsefin, laughing;
"but come, I will test you. See you the round knot on the stem of
yonder pine? It is small truly, so small that I can barely see it,
nevertheless it is not more than half a bow-shot off. Do you object to
make _that_ your mark?