126 A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 



Upon coming to, — observe all the words imply, — I was dis- 

 mounted, and in the act of picking up my gun. The conduct of man 

 was never more purely instinctive than mine had been throughout. 

 I make the confession without shame, for I am not of those who 

 believe thought must govern and direct what all we do, other- 

 wise there is no credit. In cases of peril bullet-swift, to wait on 

 reflection is to die. Instinct moves us ; we obey, and live. Thought 

 implies conditions, and a final judgment upon them ; instinct implies 

 instant action — something dull men are incapable of. 



Let me pass the pride and happiness of that triumphant moment. 

 The fisherman who has landed the traditional trout of a famous 

 brook, or a ten-pound golden salmon from the golden beds of the 

 Kankakee, can tell you my feelings ; and to enable a hunter to inter- 

 pret for me, it is only required that he should have bagged a wild 

 goose, flying full-quilled from the Arctics. 



The mustang was at last reduced to quiet ; then I looked about. 

 The huntsmen and the herd were out of sight in a trough of the 

 land ahead; yells and frequent shots signaled their whereabouts. 

 Not another carcass was to be seen ; I had made the first capture ; 

 what if it should be the only one ? While so thinking, — the faintest 

 semblance of a selfish wish lurking under the reflection, — suddenly 

 the noise ceased. Strange ! Something had certainly occurred. I 

 swung into the saddle ; then up from the hollow rode a ranchero, 

 coming to speak to me, I supposed ; he went by like a ricochetting 

 shot. Others appeared ; the same haste possessed them, only they 

 shouted: " Priesa, senor / Los Indios, los Indios /" (" Make haste, 

 sir! Indians, Indians!") 



Ah, the cursed Apaches ! 



The interruption was not an agreeable one ; in fact, the effect 

 was decidedly chilling ; yet I managed to control myself, and ride 

 forward. The last of the ranckeros passed in flight ; only the colonel, 

 Don Miguel, his friends, and Santos and Teodora, remained. 



" What's up now ?" 



The colonel answered coolly: 



"The fellows say they came upon Indians in the grass down 

 yonder. I think they are lying." 



Don Miguel shrugged his shoulders nearly to the top of his head, 

 and fairly hissed : 



