LETTER XVIII. 2 u 



Up to his shoulder I come, and then raise the 

 sight till I am clear of him altogether. It is 

 flukey shooting, but what am I to do with a 

 rifle only sighted for 250 yards, and a buck 

 looking at me from double the distance ? As the 

 sharp report rings out, the rigid form at graze on 

 the hilltop bounds high in air, just touches with 

 his knees a huge pine-log in front of him, and 

 apparently plunges head-first into space. ' Our 

 meat ; that's good,' says Jocko ; 'come on after the 

 other/ and starts at a run in an opposite direction 

 to that in which my buck is lying. At first I 

 follow, but when he pauses, find time to whisper : 

 ' What are we after, Jocko ? was there another 

 big buck ?' * No, this not a buck, this she-deer,' 

 replies Jocko. ' Oh, hang you !' I pant out in- 

 dignantly; 'come along, and make sure of my buck.' 

 Jocko hankers after more meat, but obeys. 

 Arrived at the crest of the hill there is a place 

 where a buck stood and stamped ; there is a huge 

 log to clear, which he must have jumped, seven 

 honest feet, and on the other side there is the 

 mark of his fall, head first in the snow, and that 

 is all. No, stay ; about a quarter of a mile off on 

 a barren hill, my wounded beast is limping along 

 about half as fast as I could run at my best. 

 For a moment I feel that I must imbrue my 

 hands in the blood of the noble savage, but I 



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