beast or bird, that should be so unfortunate as to come within
clutching distance of his gaunt jaws, would have but little chance on
that particular morning of escaping from them.

It had been resolved upon that they should go in different directions:
as by that means there would be three chances of finding game instead of
one; and as something was wanted for breakfast, the sooner it could be
procured the better. If Ossaroo should succeed in killing anything with
his arrows, he was to give a shrill whistle to call the others back to
the hut; while if either of them should fire, of course the shot would
be heard, and that would be the signal for all to return.

With this understanding, and after some little badinage about who would
be the successful caterer, they all set forth, Caspar going to the
right, Ossaroo to the left, and Karl, followed by Fritz, taking the
centre.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

CASPAR ON A STALK.

In a few minutes the three hunters had lost sight of one another, Karl
and Caspar proceeding round the lake by opposite sides, but both keeping
under cover of the bushes; while Ossaroo wended his way along the bottom
of the cliff--thinking he might have a better chance in that direction.

The game which Caspar expected first might fall in his way was the
"kakur," or barking-deer. These little animals appeared to be more
numerous in the valley than any other creatures. Caspar had scarcely
ever been abroad upon a shooting excursion without seeing one; and on
several occasions a kakur had constituted his whole "bag." He had
learnt an ingenious way of bringing them within range of his gun--simply
by placing himself in ambush and imitating their call; which, as may be
deduced from one of their common names, is a sort of bark. It is a
sound very much resembling the bark of a fox, only that it is much
louder. This the kakur sends forth, whenever it suspects the presence
of an enemy in its neighbourhood; and keeps repeating it at short
intervals, until it believes either that the danger has been withdrawn,
or withdraws itself from the danger.

The simple little ruminant does not seem to be aware that this sound--
perhaps intended as a note of warning to its companions--too often
becomes its own death-signal, by betraying its whereabouts to the
sportsman or other deadly enemy. Not only the hunter, man, but the
tiger, the leopard, the cheetah, and other predatory creatures, take
advantage of this fooli