"Now, then, it is old Tom's chance, or ours," he thought, "for he will
not try Forester again, I warrant him, and we are all down wind of him--
so he can't judge of our whereabouts."
In another second the bushes crashed to his left hand, and behind him,
while the dogs were raving scarcely a pistol-shot off, in the tangled
swamp. Yet he well knew that if the stag should break there it would be
A---'s shot, and, though anxious, he kept his eye fixed steadily on his
own point, holding his good piece cocked and ready.
"Mark! Harry, mark him!"--a loud yell from the Commodore.
The stag had broken midway between them, in full sight of A---, and
seeing him, had wheeled off to the right. He was now sweeping onward
across the open field with high graceful bounds, tossing his antlered
head aloft, as if already safe, and little hurt, if anything, by Jem
Lyn's boasted shot of the last evening. The gray stood motionless,
trembling, however, palpably, in every limb, with eagerness--his ears
laid flat upon his neck, and cowering a little, as if he feared the
shot, which it would seem his instinct told him to expect. Harry had
dropped his reins once more, and leveled his unerring rifle--yet for a
moment's space he paused, waiting for A--- to fire; there was no hurry
for himself, nay a few seconds more would give him a yet fairer shot,
for the buck now was running partially toward him, so that a moment more
would place him broadside on, and within twenty paces.
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