But the browser's eye was drawn by a
shining bunch of red, then another; and now the buck swung until
there was danger of betrayal by the wind; then down went its head
and Quonab retreated ten yards to keep the windward. Once the
buck raised its muzzle and sniffed with flaring nostrils, as
though its ancient friend had brought a warning. But soon he
seemed reassured, for the landscape showed no foe, and nosed back
and forth, while Quonab regained the yards he had lost. The buck
worked now to the taller cover, and again a tempting bunch of
berries under a low, dense bush caused it to kneel for farther
under-reaching. Quonab glided swiftly forward, reached the
twenty-five-yard limit, rose to one knee, bent the stark cedar
bow. Rolf saw the buck bound in air, then make for the wood with
great, high leaps; the dash of disappointment was on him, but
Quonab stood erect, with right hand raised, and shouted:
"Ho -- ho."
He knew that those bounds were unnecessarily high, and before the
woods had swallowed up the buck, it fell -- rose -- and fell
again, to rise not. The arrow had pierced its heart.
Then Rolf rushed up with kindled eye and exultant pride to slap
his friend on the back, and exclaim:
"I never thought it possible; the greatest feat in hunting I ever
saw; you are a wonder!"
To which the Indian softly replied, as he smiled:
"Ho! it was so I got eleven British sentries in the war.
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