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- 



