THE "HORSE-DEER" OF SHANSI 227 



wait," he whispered, "we'll surely get him. Wait, we 

 can't lose him." 



"What about that ravine?" I answered. "He'll go 

 into the cover. He will never come across this open 

 hillside. I'm going to shoot." 



"No, no, he won't turn there. I am sure he won't." 

 The Mongol was right. The big fellow ran straight 

 toward us until he came to the entrance to the val- 

 ley. My heart was in my mouth as he stopped for an 

 instant and looked down into the cover. Then, for 

 some strange reason, he turned and came on. Three 

 hundred yards away he halted suddenly, swung about, 

 and looked at the ravine again as if half decided to go 

 back. 



He was standing broadside, and at the crash of my 

 rifle we could hear the soft thud of the bullet striking 

 flesh; but without a sign of injury he ran forward and 

 stopped under a swell of ground. I could see just ten 

 inches of his back and the magnificent head. It was a 

 small target at three hundred yards, and I missed him 

 twice. With the greatest care I held the little ivory 

 bead well down on that thin brown line, but the bullet 

 only creased his back. It was no use — I simply could 

 not hit him. Running up the hill a few feet, I had his 

 whole body exposed, and the first shot put him down 

 for good. 



With a whoop of joy my old Mongol dashed down 

 the steep slope. I had never seen him excited while 

 we were hunting sheep, but now he was wild with de- 

 light. Before he had quieted we saw Harry coming 



