I returned to the tree in which it had buried itself; and, with my knife, carefully scooped it out of the bark.
It was of an unusual size for a hunting-rifle, about twenty to the pound. This would no doubt guide me to the gun from which it had been discharged.
Though the sportsmen were scattered through the woods, I took occasion to place myself in contact first with one, then the other, until I had got a glance at the caliber of their respective guns. There were five of them exclusive of Mr. Bradley.
Of these only two had rifles, both small bores, not larger than fifty to the pound.
From Bradley's rifle then had issued the bullet I had extracted from the tree; and, I now felt convinced that my own person was the "pigeon" at which it had been fired.
Without making known the circumstance, or stating my suspicions to any one, I reflected what would be best for me to do.
To charge the man with an attempt at murdering me, would seem so absurd. What motive could he have for such an atrocious act? We were perfect strangers to one another, with no quarrel between us, no circumstance to have given color to so serious an accusation. Supposing it proved to be Bradley's bullet, he would simply have to say that he fired it at a pigeon, and had not seen me. He might be reproached with negligence, but not accused of a crime, so monstrous as to appear improbable.
On the whole I thought it more prudent to keep my suspicions to myself, or communicate them only to my host on returning home.
Meanwhile I determined to make myself better acquainted with the bore of Mr. Bradley's rifle, and watch the direction in which it should be aimed. To do this it would be necessary to keep my eye upon him.
I now discovered that he was missing from among the sportsmen, nor was his gun any longer heard cracking through the woods.