Hunting the Prong-Buck 115 



of the most stupid curiosity and panic. Late in the 

 afternoon, on topping a rise I saw two good bucks 

 racing off about three hundred yards to one side; I 

 sprang to the ground, and fired three shots at them 

 in vain, as they ran like quarter horses until they 

 disappeared over a slight swell. In a minute, how 

 ever, back they came, suddenly appearing over the 

 crest of the same swell, immediately in front of me, 

 and, as I afterward found by pacing, some three 

 hundred and thirty yards away. They stood side 

 by side facing me, and remained motionless, unheed 

 ing the crack of the Winchester ; I aimed at the right- 

 hand one, but a front shot of the kind, at such a 

 distance, is rather difficult, and it was not until I 

 fired for the fourth time that he sank back out of 

 sight. I could not tell whether I had killed him, 

 and took two shots at his mate, as the latter went 

 off, but without effect. Running forward, I found 

 the first one dead, the bullet having gone through 

 him lengthwise ; the other did not seem satisfied even 

 yet, and kept hanging round in the distance for some 

 minutes, looking at us. 



I had thus bagged one prong-buck, as the net out 

 come of the expenditure of fourteen cartridges. 

 This was certainly not good shooting; but neither 

 was it as bad as it would seem to the man inexpe 

 rienced in antelope hunting. When fresh meat is 

 urgently needed, and when time is too short, the 

 hunter who is after antelope in an open, flattish coun- 



