I laid my rifle level and fired.

He staggered, stood a moment, turning his crested head with a bewildered air, then swayed, sank at the knee joints, dropped to them, and very slowly laid his stately length upon the moss, extending himself like one who prepared for slumber.
We ran up to where he lay with his eyes closed; he was still breathing.
A great pity for him seized me; and I seated myself on the moss beside him, staring into his pallid face.
And as I sat beside him while he was dying, he opened his eyes, and looked at me.

And I knew that he knew I had killed him.

After a few moments he died.
"Amochol!" I said under my breath.

"God alone knows why I am sorry for this dead priest." And as I rose and stared about me, I caught sight of two pointed ears behind a bush; then two more pricked up sharply; then the head of a wolf popped up over a fallen log.