Hunting in Many Lands 



his head a reddish bandanna handkerchief in 

 the last stages of decay; and as he peered 

 over some rock, glaring long and earnestly in 

 search of game, he reminded one of those lean 

 and wolfish Apaches that Remington draws in 

 a way so dramatic and so full of grim sig- 

 nificance. 



Anastasio was fifty-one years old and had 

 no upper incisors, but the way he flung his 

 gaunt leathern shanks over those mountains 

 of volcanic clinkers, armed with the poisoned 

 bayonets of myriads of mescal, cactus and 

 Spanish dagger, was astonishing. 



I told him that I was not racing and that he 

 would scare the game. In fact, he did start 

 one little fellow, but he said he always saw 

 the game first, and for this day I was quite 

 powerless to hold him in ; so I decided to 

 return to camp before dark. This disgusted 

 Anastasio greatly. "In this way we shall 

 never kill," said he. " We are going to suffer 

 from hunger." I assured him that we had 

 plentiful supplies, but he had come for meat. 

 Unbounded meat had been the chief incentive 

 for his trip, and hungry he was determined 

 to be. 



The next day J. B. set out early with the 

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