He did not, however, think it was, and gazing more intently fancied he saw a patch of something that was not the fern.

He knew that at the first movement it would be gone, and there was no time for any fine alignment of the sights of the rifle, so leaning slightly forward he drew his right foot back, and with eyes fixed steadily on the little patch amidst the fern, trusted to them and the balance as he flung the long barrel up.

Few men can use the rifle as the Canadian bush rancher can, and there was a flash from the muzzle as the heelplate touched his shoulder.

Alton had not glanced along the barrel, but the curious thud which he heard in place of the explosion told him that the heavy bullet was smashing through bone and muscle.

Then thin smoke drifted into his eyes, and there was a crackling amidst the thicket.
When he floundered forward the deer had gone, but something was smashing through the undergrowth up the face of the hill, and the weary man prepared for a grim effort as he saw the red trail it left behind.
He fell headlong in a thicket where the splashes were warm upon the withered leaves, staggered up again, and presently reeled against a cedar on the crest of a depression.