"Hurry! Shoot! Don't miss!" But Jones waited.

He knew the value of the last bullet.

He had a hunter's patience.

When the caribou came out in an open space, Jones whistled.

It was then the rifle grew set and fixed; it was then the red fire belched forth.
At four hundred yards the bullet took some fraction of time to strike.
What a long time that was! Then both hunters heard the spiteful spat of the lead.