out."

The men fell back, and the few 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 two best
shots, should try over again, and it was also agreed that Dick should
have the use of Blunt's rifle. Lots were again 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 forward 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