Noiselessly Pierre brought his gun into position, sighting one distant point from which he thought his prey would come. Adrian’s body dripped with a cold sweat, his hands trembled, specks floated before his staring eyes, every nerve was tense, and, as Margot would have said, he was a-thrill “with murder,” from head to foot! Oh! if the gun were his, and the shot!
Another call, another cry, and a magnificent head came into view. With horns erect and quivering nostrils the monarch of that wilderness came, seeking love, and faced his enemies.
“He’s within range—shoot!” whispered Adrian.
“Only anger him that way. ’Sh! When he turns——”
“Bang! bang—bang!” in swift succession.
The great horns tossed, the noble head came round again, then bent, wavered and disappeared. The tragedy was over.
“I got him! I got him that time! Always shoot that way, never——”
Pierre picked up his paddle and sent the canoe forward at a leap. When there came no responding movement from his companion he looked back over his shoulder. Adrian’s face had gone white and the eagerness of his eyes had given place to unspeakable regret.
“What’s the matter? Sick?”