“Like a young savage Indian more than an animal,” said Shaddy softly, as he prepared to shoot. “Now I wonder whether I can bring him down.”
“Don’t shoot at it, Shaddy!” said Rob, laying his hand upon his guide’s arm.
“Must, my lad. Can’t afford to be particular. There, don’t you look if you don’t like it! Now then!”
He raised the bow, and, after the fashion off our forefathers, drew the arrow right to the head, and was about to let it fly after a long and careful aim; but being, as he had intimated, not used to that sort of tackle, he kept his forefinger over the reed arrow till he had drawn it to the head, when, just as he had taken aim and was about to launch it at the unfortunate monkey, the reed bent and snapped in two.
Probably it was the sharp snap made by the arrow which took the monkey’s attention, for it suddenly set up a peculiarly loud chattering, which acted as a lead to its companions, for the most part hidden among the boughs, and it required very little stretch of the imagination to believe it to be a burst of derisive laughter at the contemptible nature of the weapons raised against their leader’s life.
“Oh, that’s the way you take it, is it, my fine fellow?” cried Shaddy, shaking the bow at the monkey. “Here, give us another arrow, Mr Rob, sir; I’ll teach him to laugh better than that. I feel as if I can hit him now.”
Rob made no attempt to hand the arrow, but Shaddy took one from him, fitted it to the string, raised it to the required height, and was about to draw the reed to its full length, but eased it back directly and left go to rub his head.
“See him now, Mr Rob, sir?”
“No,” said Rob, looking carefully upward among the branches; and, to his great satisfaction, not one of the curious little four-handed animals was visible.
“Right!” said Shaddy. “He has saved his skin this time. Here, take the bow again. It may be a bird we see next.”