“Eh? Well, I don’t know; it was a pretty valuable ring. How high will you go?”
Poor Will was becoming tired. He longed to leave the barbarian’s company, and was fumbling in his pocket for a small gold piece that was there, when a rustling in the underwood drew his attention.
“Wumblers! There’ll be another bullet here next! Whoop! here comes another hunter full drive! Oh! cracky, there’s buck after him! Lemme see your gun, and I’ll show you how to knock ’em over.”
This was quite true. Romantic Marmaduke had stumbled on the fresh track of a deer, and following on, had soon come up with it.
So much he freely confessed to his inquiring fellow-hunters. But how the deer came to give chase—whether he showed the white feather at the critical moment, or whether he chanted poetry to the hunted creature, and so infuriated it past endurance—is a question which he could not, or would not, answer.
Will’s heart beat fast. Here was a large deer within range of his rifle. If he should kill it on the spot he would achieve a valiant deed, as well as put an end to Marmaduke’s ignominious flight.
“Lemme see you gun,” the man said eagerly.
Will did not choose to comply with his request, but levelled his rifle at the approaching animal, and fired.
While hunting the last two days, he had suffered so many disappointments that he himself was perhaps somewhat surprised to see the deer plunge forward and gasp out his life in a short but awful agony.
“Good for you, old feller; you can shoot some, after all!” the forester ejaculated.