Again I nodded, and at the same time heaved a sigh of relief. At least the match was still alive. Soon a large flight came over, mixed up with mallard and widgeon. I took the right-hand angle bird, so that it could not be supposed I had “browned the lot,” as here in England they say of one who fires at a covey and not at a particular partridge. Down he came, shot straight through the breast. Then I knew that I had got my nerve, and felt no more fear. To cut a long story short, although two of them were extremely difficult and high, one being, I should say, quite a hundred and twenty yards above me, and the other by no means easy, I killed the next three birds one after the other, and I verily believe could have killed a dozen more without a miss, for now I was shooting as I had never shot before. “Say, nephew Allan,” asked Retief curiously in the pause between the fifth and sixth shots, “why do your geese fall so differently to Hernan’s?” “Ask him! don’t talk to me,” I answered, and next instant brought down number five, the finest shot of the lot. A sound of wonder and applause came from all the audience, and I saw Marie wave a white handkerchief. “That’s the end,” said the referee. “One minute before you stir,” I answered. “I want to shoot at something else that is not in the match, just to see if I can kill two birds with one bullet like the Heer Pereira.” He granted my request with a nod, holding up his hand to prevent the audience from moving, and bidding Pereira, who tried to interrupt, to be silent. Now, while the match was in progress I had noticed two falcons about the size of the British peregrine wheeling round and round high over the kloof, in which doubtless they bred, apparently quite undisturbed by the shooting. Or, perhaps, they had their eyes upon some of the fallen geese. I took the rifle and waited for a long while, till at last my opportunity came. I saw that the larger hen falcon was about to cross directly over the circle of its mate, there being perhaps a distance of ten yards between them. I aimed; I judged—for a second my mind was a kind of calculating machine—the different arcs and speeds of the birds must be allowed for, and the lowest was ninety yards away. Then, with something like a prayer upon my lips, I pressed while every eye stared upwards. Down came the lower falcon; a pause of half a second, and down came the higher one also, falling dead upon its dead mate! Now, even from those Boers, who did not love to see an Englishman excel, there broke a shout of acclamation. Never had they beheld such a shot as this; nor in truth had I. “Mynheer Retief,” I said, “I gave you notice that I intended to try to kill both of them, did I not?” “You did. Allemachte! you did! But tell me, Allan Quatermain, are your eye and hand quite human?” “You must ask my father,” I answered with a shrug as I sat myself down upon my stool and mopped my brow.