The conditions could not have been more favorable; the buck being to the
northwest, while the sun was high in the heavens, there was no confusion
of vision from that cause. The smokiness of the atmosphere was so slight
that it was scarcely perceptible at so brief a distance, while there was
not the least breath of air stirring.
"I am afraid he will lose his chance if he waits too long," said Nick
impatiently, in an undertone to Sam, who whispered back:
"The buck understands him and will wait."
It was evident that Mr. Herbert Watrous did not mean to spoil his aim by
haste. Shutting one eye, he squinted carefully through his sights,
lowering or raising the stock or barrel so as to shift the aim, until
at last he had it elevated and pointed to suit him.
Sam watched the buck, while Nick kept his eye on the marksman, who was
holding his breath, with his finger crowding the trigger harder and
harder until the explosion came.
As before, Herbert uttered a grunt the instant the piece was discharged,
and then, hastily clambering to his feet, he put on his cap and said
with the utmost assurance:
"That bullet struck him in the chest and will be found buried in his
body."
"He doesn't know you fired at him," said Sam Harper, as the buck, a
moment later, turned about and walked out of sight.
"The deer doesn't fall at once, even if you drive the bullet through his
heart. That buck may go a hundred yards or so, but he will then drop as
if struck by lightning.
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