whole band was off like a flight of 

 arrows. 



"Shoot I Shoot!" cried Nimrod, 

 but my gun was already up and levelled 

 on the flying buck — now nearly a hun- 

 dred yards away. 



Bang ! The deadly thing went forth 

 to do its work. Sliding another car- 

 tridge into the chamber, I held ready 

 for another shot. 



There was no need. The fleet-footed 

 monarch's reign was over, and already 

 he had gone to his happy hunting 

 ground. The bullet had gone straight 

 to his heart, and he had not suffered. 

 But the does, the twenty beating hearts 

 of his harem ! There they were, not 

 one hundred yards away, huddled to- 

 gether with ears erect, tiny feet alert 

 for the next bound — yet waiting for 

 their lord and master, the proud tyrant. 



