'"We've started a deer," I said. "I wish we had
brought a rifle."
'Morgan, who had stopped and was intently
watching the agitated chaparral, said nothing, but
had cocked both barrels of his gun and was holding
it in readiness to aim. I thought him a trifle excited,
which surprised me, for be had a reputation for ex-
ceptional coolness, even in moments of sudden and
imminent peril.
'"Oh, come," I said. "You are not going to fill
up a deer with quail-shot, are you?"
'Still he did not reply; but catching a sight of his
face as he turned it slightly toward me I was struck
by the intensity of his look. Then I understood that
we had serious business in hand, and my first con-
jecture was that we had "jumped" a grizzly. I ad-
vanced to Morgan's side, cocking my piece as I
moved.
'The bushes were now quiet and the sounds had
ceased, but Morgan was as attentive to the place as
before.
'"What is it? What the devil is it?" I asked.
'"That Damned Thing!" he replied, without
turning his head. His voice was husky and unnatural.
He trembled visibly.
'I was about to speak further, when I observed
the wild oats near the place of the disturbance mov-
ing in the most inexplicable way. I can hardly de-
scribe it. It seemed as if stirred by a streak of wind,
which not only bent it, but pressed it down--
crushed it so that it did not rise; and this movement
was slowly prolonging itself directly toward us.
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