“You’ll never get through all you want to do if we stay here for years,” said the mate, smiling. “But look there, I must have that.”
He pointed over the side to where a handsome little roe-deer had come trotting forward away from some half-dozen companions which had halted and were gazing wonderingly at the brig, while the one which had advanced, evidently more daring or more carried away by curiosity, came on and on till it was about fifty yards from the vessel. Here it stood at gaze, so beautiful a specimen of an animal, that Oliver felt, naturalist though he was, and eager to collect, it would be a pity to destroy so lovely a creature’s life.
There it stood in full view, profoundly ignorant of the fact that its life was in danger, while the mate hurriedly exchanged the shot cartridge in one of the chambers of the gun for a bullet. Then, laying the barrel of his gun upon the bulwark in an opening between two pieces of the sailcloth rigged up for defence, he said, softly,—
“This skin will do for a specimen, too, won’t it?”
“Yes, of course,” said Oliver, eagerly.
“That’s right, sir, and it has a beautiful head.”
He took careful aim as he spoke.
“That’s dead on the shoulder,” he said, softly, and then he fired, the young men having the satisfaction of seeing the little buck go bounding away like the wind after its companions, who went off at the flash of the gun.
“Missed him,” said Panton, rather contemptuously.
“Couldn’t have missed,” said the mate, sharply. “I took such careful aim. Wait a moment or two, and you’ll see it drop. It was a dead shot.”