A gamekeeper's hut stood near the entrance of the wood; he had much recklessness in him, and no caution.

He entered through the half-open door, and asked the keeper, who was eating his sausage and drinking his lager, for a meal.
"I'll give you one if you'll bring me down that hen-harrier," growled the man in south German; pointing to the bird that was sailing far off, a mere speck in the sunny sky.
Cecil took the rifle held out to him, and without seeming even to pause to take aim, fired.

The bird dropped like a stone through the air into the distant woods.

There was no tremor in his wrist, no uncertainty in his measure.

The keeper stared; the shot was one he had thought beyond any man's range, and he set food and drink before his guest with a crestfallen surprise, oddly mingled with veneration.
"You might have let me buy my breakfast, without making me do murder," said Bertie quietly, as he tried to eat.