58 BIG GAME OF NORTH AMERICA. 



But no! See that towering dead cedar? Just to the right 

 of it is the spot where his regal antlership stood. That 

 tree is yet a hundred yards away, and between, it 

 and you the branches are low and interlacing. Your 

 steps grow painfully slow. You can hear the beating 

 of your heart. Even silence makes a sound. Slowly you 

 advance. Again does that deadly fear cause your heart 

 to beat slowly, faintly. They have heard you, and have 

 fled! 



Suddenly you stop, then start as though you had 

 received an electric shock. There, standing not twenty-five 

 yards away, is the monarch. Such a picture he is, too! 

 Standing sidewise, with his head turned and his nose 

 elevated so that his horns lie directly over his shoulder, 

 he snift's the tainted air. He has not seen you, but he has 

 scented you. His large ears flip forward and back. You 

 become aware that other forms are behind him; that other 

 eyes are looking for the danger the patriarch has signaled. 

 Quick! They will be away in a moment. Up with the rifle! 

 See his shoulder? There is where his heart is an inch or two 

 behind it. Hold but a fraction of a second. Think; some- 

 times he will run for two hundred yards if shot through 

 the heart. Bang! He won't go far. Click! click! bang! 

 A good shot. The spike-buck's neck is broken. A still 

 better shot, for he was stopped at full trot. 



Click! click! See those funny white patches that are 

 vanishing, and then appearing over where the old 

 buck galloped? Don't stop to cut the bull's throat. Find 

 the old fellow. What great splotches of red on the ground! 

 The Express has done its work well. Hun! you can't alarm 

 anything now. Swiftlv you dart awav. Ha! what's this? 



/ o , t/ * 



Struggling in death lies the fallen monarch. Over him, 

 looking intently at him, is a large cow. Beyond are several 

 pairs of horns and ears. Eyes are peering at you from the 

 underbrush. The cow sees you, and, with a squeal of alarm, 

 starts oil on her long, swinging trot. You see the least 

 glimpse of light on the ivory bead, and press the trigger. 

 You held just half an inch in front of her fore leg. She 



