330 Sporting Sketches 



It is indeed a fair chance at forty yards ; yet at the 

 sound of the rifle a cascade of white water leaps into 

 the air, and the thoroughly frightened squirrel darts 

 to the nearest tree. In his haste he has chosen an 

 isolated shelter, far beyond leaping distance from 

 its nearest neighbor. And now for the wind-up. 

 The tree is healthy, tall, free from holes, and the 

 game's sole chance is to climb to the loftiest twig 

 that will bear his weight. There he is, at the very 

 top, swaying to and fro upon a slender switch. His 

 fluttering tail adds to the difficulty of the mark. 

 Five times the small rifles hail him, the buzzing 

 lead almost ruffling his fur. Yet he gives no sign. 

 He has done his best in such a tree; this his 

 instinct tells him, and all he can do is hang on 

 and wait. It is not for long. The sixth shot is 

 better timed. A small black ball starts earthward, 

 gaining velocity and bulk as it comes, and strikes 

 the ground with a sounding thump, then rebounds 

 a yard into the air. Now let us be off for break- 

 fast, for the cup of coffee at starting has long since 

 lost its influence. We may try again toward even- 

 ing, for there are plenty of squirrels left 



