et above the
level, marked the necessary elevation to allow for the "drop" of the
tiny missiles used. La Salle felt that all depended on his aim, and that
his nerves were at the utmost tension of excited interest; but he forced
himself to act with deliberate promptitude at a moment when the most
feverish haste would have seemed interminable dallying. Steadily the
ponderous tube was levelled in line of the fleeing beast, until the
beaded sight rested on the top rail above him. An instant the heavy
weapon seemed absolutely without motion; then the report crashed through
the forest, and the snow-crust was dashed into impalpable powder by a
hundred riddling pellets.

The shot was fired just as the fox sprang up the slight embankment on
which, as is usual, the line of fence was placed. For an instant he
seemed to falter, then leaped the top rail, and disappeared beyond the
enclosure.

Peter and Davies had seen the shot, and with La Salle rushed forward to
note its effect, although neither hoped for more than a wound whose
bleeding would ultimately disable him, when patient tracking would
secure his much-prized fur. As they ran to the fence they noted the
deeply-cut scores in the icy crust which marked the first dropping shot,
and Peter became loud in his praises of the weapon.

"I never see gun like that; at hundred yards you kill him, sure; but no
gun ever kill so far as you fire. See there, shot strike dis stump. Hah!
there spot of blood on bank. Damn! here fox dead, sure enough."

"Hurrah! the Baby forever for a long shot. Charley, old boy, shake hands
on it. Peter, don't you wish you hadn't been so sure of killing him
without our help?"

The thoughtless triumph of the young Englishman recalled the memory of
his obstinate refusal to accept the proffered aid of the sportsmen to
the mind of the poor Indian. Such a look of utter disappointment took
the place of his joy at the successful shot, that La Salle could
scarcely contain his sympathy.

"So it is always. White man win, Indian lose; white man get food, Indian
starve; white man live, Indian die. Once, all this Indian land. No white
people were here, and many Indians hunt and find enough. Now, the Indian
must buy the wood which he makes into baskets. He cannot spear a salmon
in the rivers. The woods are cut down, and the many ships and guns
frighten off the game."

He looked a moment at the dead fox, smoothed its glossy fur with a hand
that trembled with suppres