“There are others to shoot yet,” cried the major.
The men fell back, and the hunters who had not yet fired took their shots, but without coming nearer the mark.
It was now agreed that Jim Scraggs and Dick Varley, being the best two shots, should try over again, and that Dick should have the use of Blunt’s rifle. Lots were drawn for the first shot, and it fell to Dick, who immediately stepped out, aimed somewhat hastily, and fired.
“Hit again!” shouted those who had run to examine the mark. “Half the bullet cut off by the nail head!”
Some of the more enthusiastic of Dick’s friends cheered lustily, but the most of the hunters were grave and silent, for they knew Jim’s powers, and felt that he would certainly do his best. Jim now stepped up to the line, and, looking earnestly at the mark, threw forward his rifle.
At that moment our friend Crusoe, tired of tormenting his mother, waddled stupidly and innocently into the midst of the crowd of men, and in so doing received Henri’s heel and the full weight of his elephantine body on its fore paw. The horrible and electric yell that instantly issued from his agonized throat could only be compared, as Joe Blunt expressed it, “to the last dyin’ screech o’ a bustin’ steam biler!” We cannot say that the effect was startling, for these backwoodsmen had been born and bred in the midst of alarms, and were so used to them that a “bustin’ steam biler” itself, unless it had blown them fairly off their legs, would not have startled them. But the effect, such as it was, was sufficient to disconcert the aim of Jim Scraggs, who fired at the same instant, and missed the nail by a hair’s-breadth.
Turning round in towering wrath, Scraggs aimed a kick at the poor pup, which, had it taken effect, would certainly have terminated the innocent existence of that remarkable dog on the spot; but quick as lightning Henri interposed the butt of his rifle, and Jim’s shin met it with a violence that caused him to howl with rage and pain.
“Oh! pardon me, broder,” cried Henri, shrinking back, with the drollest expression of mingled pity and glee.
Jim’s discretion, on this occasion, was superior to his valour; he turned away with a coarse expression of anger and left the ground.
Meanwhile the major handed the silver rifle to young Varley. “It couldn’t have fallen into better hands,” he said. “You’ll do it credit, lad, I know that full well;
