"No," answered George. "Of course, there are only two explanations of the thing, and the first is that it was an accident. In that case, the fellow must have been out after antelope or cranes."
"There's an objection: it's close season; though I wouldn't count too much on that. You farmers aren't particular when there's nobody around. Now, it's possible that a man who'd been creeping up on an antelope would work in behind this rise and take a quick shot, standing, when he reached the top of it. If so, I guess he'd have his eyes only on what he was firing at. Suppose he missed, and your beast happened to be in line with him?"
Flora smiled.
"It's not convincing, Mr. Flett. Seen from here, the bull would be in the open, conspicuous against white grass and sand."
"I didn't say the thing was likely. Won't you go on, Mr. Lansing?"
"The other explanation is that the fellow meant to kill or mark the bull; the place where it was hit points to the former. If that was his intention, he'd lie down or kneel to get a steadier aim. We had better look for the spot."
They spent some time before Flett thought he had found it.
"Somebody lay down here, and the bull would be up against a background of poplar scrub," he said. "I'll measure off the distance and make a plan."
He counted his paces, and had set to work with his notebook, when Flora interrupted.
"Wouldn't a sketch be better? Give me a sheet of paper; and has anybody another pencil?"