The Deer's Death He ran close, and again stood still, stopped by a new fear. Around him the grass was whispering and alive. He looked wildly about, then down. The ground was black with ants, great energetic ants that took no notice of him, but hurried towards the fighting shape. And as he drew in his breath and pity and terror seized him, the beast fell and the screaming stopped. Now he could hear nothing but a bird singing, and the sound of the rustling () whispering ants. He peered over at the blackness that twitched with the jerking(抽搐) nerves. It grew quieter. There were small twitches from the mass that still looked vaguely like the shape of a small animal. It came into his mind that he could shoot it and end its pain and he raised the gun. Then he lowered it again. The deer could no longer feel its fighting was a mechanical protest of the nerves. But it was not that which made him put down the gun. It was a swelling feeling of rage and misery and protest that expressed itself in the thought: if I had not come it would have died like this, so why should I interfere? All over the bush things like this happen they happen all the time this is how life goes on, by living things dying painfully. I cannot stop it. He was glad that the deer was unconscious and had gone past suffering so that he did not have to make a decision to kill it. At his feet, now, were ants tricking back with pink fragments in their mouths and there was a fresh acid smell in his nose. He sternly controlled the uselessly convulsing(痉挛的) muscles of his empty stomach, and reminded himself: the ants must eat too. The shape had grown small. Now it looked like nothing to be recognized. He saw the blackness thin, and bits of white showed through, shining in the sun—yes, there was the sun just up. Then the boy looked at those insects. A few were standing and gazing up at him with small glittering eyes. 'Go away!' he said to the ants coldly. 'I am not for you—not just yet, at any rate.' He bent over the bones and touched the sockets() in the skull: that was where the eyes were, he thought suspiciously, remembering the liquid eyes of a deer. That morning, perhaps an hour ago, this small creature had been stepping proud and free through the bush even as he himself had done. Proudly stepping the earth, it had smelt the cold morning air. Walking like kings, it had moved freely through this bush, where each blade of grass grew for it alone, and where the river ran pure sparkling water for it to drink. And then—what had happened? Such a sure swift footed thing could surely not be trapped by a swarm of ants? How was the deer when the boy first saw it?