His back
was toward me. I crouched and sneaked nearer. My arrow was nocked on
the string. The distance I measured carefully with my eye; it was now
sixty-five yards. Just then the deer raised its head. I let fly an
arrow at its neck. It flew between its horns. The deer gave a started
toss to its head, listened a second, then dipped its crest again to
feed. I nocked another shaft. As it raised its head again I shot. This
arrow flew wide of the neck, but at the right elevation. The buck now
was more startled and jumped so that it stood profile to me, looking
and listening. I dropped upon one knee. A little rising ground and
intervening brush partially concealed me. As I drew a third arrow from
my quiver its barb caught in the rawhide, and I swore a soft vicious
oath to steady my nerves. Then drawing my bow carefully, lowering my
aim and holding like grim death, I shot a beautifully released arrow.
It sped over the tops of the dried grass seeming to skim the ground
like a bird, and struck the deer full and hard in the chest. It was a
welcome thud. The beast leaped, bounded off some thirty yards,
staggered, drew back its head and wilted in the hind legs.
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