General Feraud had been getting gradually impressed by the amazing
cleverness with which his enemy was keeping cover. He had spotted the
right tree with bloodthirsty precision. He was absolutely certain of it.
And yet he had not been able to glimpse as much as the tip of an ear. As
he had been looking for it at the height of about five feet ten inches
from the ground it was no great wonder--but it seemed very wonderful to
General Feraud.
The first view of these feet and legs determined a rush of blood to his
head. He literally staggered behind his tree, and had to steady himself
against it with his hand. The other was lying on the ground, then! On
the ground! Perfectly still, too! Exposed! What could it mean? . . . The
notion that he had knocked over his adversary at the first shot entered
then General Feraud's head. Once there it grew with every second of
attentive gazing, overshadowing every other supposition--irresistible,
triumphant, ferocious.
"What an ass I was to think I could have missed him," he muttered to
himself.
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