LETTER XII. 139 



to move them from our way, they were so brittle 

 that they snapped with a report which sounded 

 to us loud enough to rouse Rip van Winkle from 

 his hundred years of slumber. Then there were 

 the fool-hens. When we wanted one for the pot, 

 there was always a difficulty in finding it ; but 

 when found it would sit immovable, whilst every 

 stone in the country was hurled at it. Now 

 there seemed to be a fool-hen in every tree, and 

 though we crept past them like shadows, the 

 great birds would whirl out of the pines as noisily 

 as a rising covey at home. It seemed as if we 

 never could reach the top undiscovered, when a 

 low ' hist !' from Toma turned me into stone. 

 Not thirty yards in front of me was a grayish 

 mass, hard to distinguish clearly, for running right 

 across it was the stem of a fallen pine from 

 behind which this strange figure had risen. I 

 could see the horns and the great hump, could 

 just make out the quarters, and under the log I 

 could see the beast's legs, but I could see no vital 

 spot to fire at. For a couple of minutes we stood 

 equally immovable, the goat and I, and then, 

 slowly raising my rifle, I waited. My move- 

 ment stirred him, and for a moment I got an 

 indifferent glimpse of his shoulder, and, as I sup- 

 posed, planted the bullet in the right place. At 

 any rate, he fell to the shot, though he picked 



