To shoot precisely from the automatic machine, holding its one hand practically to a canopy, it is impossible even from such short
distance. Having shot all holder in air and having thought that the cattle will not get rid now of it, Maxim has rejected the
automatic machine, has leant against an elbow of a wounded hand and, without fainting nearly from a pain, has got because of
a bosom a pistol, has made some fast and deep breaths and exhalations, expelling, as far as possible, a pain from a body and a
shiver from hands, has wiped a cuff sweat filling in eye, has extended calmed down left hand with a pistol, has blinked the eyes,
aiming as in a dash, and began to press accurately a cock while all to a uniform bullet from a holder have not laid down precisely
in the centre of a whitish brawny horse breast. Each hit as if hammer blow beat in a horse, forcing it to do though also small, but
nevertheless steps back, pulling out, splashing out the big bloody pieces from a horse flesh and deepening a shaking live hole
almost to the heart.