HUNTING IN CATTLE COUNTRY 167 



pushed ourselves forward, flat on our faces to peep over. 

 We had judged the distance well, for we saw the antelope 

 at once, now stopping to graze. Drawing back, we ran 

 along some little distance nearer, then drew up over the 

 same rise. He was only about 125 yards off, and this 

 time there was no excuse for my failing to get him; but 

 fail I did, and away the buck raced again, with both of 

 us shooting. My first two shots were misses, but I kept 

 correcting my aim and holding farther in front of the 

 flying beast. My last shot was taken just as the antelope 

 reached the edge of the broken country, in which he 

 would have been safe ; and almost as I pulled the trigger 

 I had the satisfaction of seeing him pitch forward and, 

 after turning a complete somerset, lie motionless. I 

 had broken his neck. He had cost us a good many car- 

 tridges, and, though my last shot was well aimed, there 

 was doubtless considerable chance in my hitting him, 

 while there was no excuse at all for at least one of my 

 previous misses. Nevertheless, all old hunters know that 

 there is no other kind of shooting in which so many car- 

 tridges are expended for every head of game bagged. 



As we knelt down to butcher the antelope, the clouds 

 broke and the rain fell. Hastily we took off the saddle 

 and hams, and, packing them behind us on our horses, 

 loped to the wagon in the teeth of the cold storm. When 

 we overtook it, after some sharp riding, we threw in the 

 meat, and not very much later, when the day was grow- 

 ing dusky, caught sight of the group of low ranch build- 

 ings toward which we had been headed. We were re- 

 ceived with warm hospitality, as one always is in a ranch 



