OF SHOOTING AND FISHING 173 
tled with him, and promised a bounty of one dollar 
per capita for all goats killed and picked up, so 
after a draught from the tepid stream, we started. 
Our trail lay by the creek for some distance, then 
we turned from it and ascended to a small plateau. 
From this height we viewed the valley in which 
there was a lot of scrub, and some grass-grown open 
spaces. In the distance lay the ocean, looking very 
blue beneath the cloudless sky. With my glasses 
I scanned the country and marked down eight or 
ten goats half a mile away. Suddenly, while we 
were wondering from which direction they could 
be approached, a kid stuck its head up from behind 
a clump of cactus beside us and an instant later, 
with its mother, it bounded down the hill. Im- 
mediately several little flocks were seen breaking 
cover and hurrying towards some heavy scrub be- 
tween us and the sea. I examined the heads with 
glasses and could see that some of them were very 
fine—then putting the sights of my rifle up, I fired 
at a white chap many hundred yards away. This 
performance lowered me so in the eyes of Joe that 
he showed it at once. He was scarcely civil, and 
hunger had so put my nerves on edge that, had 
he known it, his life was hardly safe. 
We now mounted and started off to intercept our 
game, going to the hills which were on our left. 
This time I took the slow horse, as I had had enough 
of the other. The guide dashed off through heavy 
scrub, and I followed slowly, punching the horse 
with the butt of my rifle. In this way, we managed 
to cover about a mile when the guide halting for 
