A third shot stopped his bullying forever.
"Hurrah! I guess you've got the leader--the best of the herd. That other
bull was a buster too! You might ha' dropped him, if you'd been in the
humor!" bellowed the guide, springing to his legs, and letting out his
pent-up wind in a full-blast roar of triumph.
He well knew that Cyrus, "being a queer specimen sportsman," and the
right sort after all, would be satisfied with the one inevitable deed of
death.
As their leader fell, the caribou raised their heads, stared in
stiffened wonder for a few seconds, offering a steady mark for the
smoking rifle if it had been in the grasp of a butcher. Then, as though
propelled by one shock, they cut for the wood at dazzling speed.
A minute--and they were in the distance as tufts of hair blown before a
storm-wind.
The half-killed weakling sought shelter more slowly in another
direction.
"Well done, Cy!"
"Congratulations, old man!"
"You've got a trophy now. You'll never leave this splendid head behind.
My eye, what antlers!"
Such were the exclamations blown to Garst's ears by the hot breath of
his English friends, as they reached his side, and stooped with him to
examine the fallen forest beauty.
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