126 Audubon's Western Journal 



cricket, or distant scream of a hawk to tell me that 

 living things are about me. 



July 2^th. We have been feasting on venison, 

 here very plentiful, and much sought after by the 

 men, to such an extent indeed that Nicholas Walsh 

 having w^ounded a deer yesterday, which was both 

 misty and cloudy, followed it over hill and dale 

 and lost himself. 



We made a large fire hoping he might see it, 

 fired guns and shouted, and early today he was 

 found by a Mexican scout; he had wandered about 

 for thirty hours between leaving the party and 

 returning to it. He had been greatly frightened, 

 and looked wild, when the Mexican brought him 

 in. He said he kept getting almost within range 

 of the wounded animal when it disappeared, and 

 heavy rain began falling which washed out the 

 blood of the trail which would have showed him 

 the way back. He thought his heart would burst 

 when he realized he was lost in an Indian country; 

 he had no idea where he was ; everything was mist 

 and greyness; he was cold, hungry, and soaked 

 through, and worst of all his gun and ammunition 

 were wet; he was so eager not to lose sight of the 

 deer that he had forgotten the rule always to reload 

 as soon as a charge is fired, when in an enemy's 

 country, as the report of the gun will inform the 

 Indian of your proximity. He never heard one 

 of the guns that were fired every fifteen minutes 



