60 STALKING ROE-BUCK IN SILESIA 



We crawl carefully along the edge of the 

 rye. There they are, three roes standing 

 in the clover. It is still very dark, so we wait. 

 At last I think I may venture. A glance 

 through the glasses shows me a very fine buck 

 with two does. They are about two hundred 

 paces away. 



The little Head Forester crawls in front of 

 me, and I take aim with the barrel of my long- 

 distance S. rifle on his shoulder. With him 

 this is possible, whereas when in Ceylon I tried 

 the same thing with a native the wretch 

 swerved sideways and the shot went wide. 



The sights show clearly on the red body of 

 the buck and the shot rings out. The buck 

 gives a high bound and disappears in the corn. 

 I have aimed too far behind him, and sure 

 enough, when we reach the spot, we see the 

 marks of his take-off and of the hasty flight 

 through the dew-wet corn, but no blood. I 

 have missed. 



For a long time I stand there wondering, 

 not at all pleased with myself, how it can have 

 happened. Then rtiy eye falls on the gun and 



