178 AN AMERICAN HUNTER 



if possible. For two or three hours we saw nothing. The 

 unshod feet of the horses made hardly any noise on the 

 stretches of sun-cured grass, but now and then we passed 

 through patches of thin weeds, their dry stalks rattling 

 curiously, making a sound like that of a rattlesnake. At 

 last, coming over a gentle rise of ground, we spied two 

 more prongbucks, half a mile ahead of us and to our 

 right. 



Again there seemed small chance of bagging our 

 quarry, but again fortune favored us. I at once can- 

 tered Muley ahead, not toward them, but so as to pass 

 them well on one side. After some hesitation they 

 started, not straight away, but at an angle to my own 

 course. For some moments I kept at a hand gallop, until 

 they got thoroughly settled in their line of flight; then 

 I touched Muley, and he went as hard as he knew how. 

 Immediately the two panic-stricken and foolish beasts 

 seemed to feel that I was cutting off their line of retreat, 

 and raced forward at mad speed. They went much faster 

 than I did, but I had the shorter course, and when they 

 crossed me they were not fifty yards ahead by which 

 time I had come nearly a mile. At the pull of the rein 

 Muley stopped short, like the trained cow-pony he is; 

 I leaped off, and held well ahead of the rearmost and 

 largest buck. At the crack of the little rifle down he went 

 with his neck broken. In a minute or two he was packed 

 behind me on Muley, and we bent our steps toward 

 camp. 



During the remainder of my trip we were never out 

 of fresh meat, for I shot three other bucks one after a 



