HUNTING ON THE TURIN PLAIN 119 



was almost at my side. Her hair had loosened and was 

 flying back like a veil behind her head. Tense with ex- 

 citement, eyes shining, she was heedless of everything 

 save those skimming yellow forms before us. It was 

 useless to look for holes; ere I had seen one we were over 

 or around it. With head low down and muzzle out, my 

 pony needed not the slightest touch to guide him. He 

 knew where we were going and the part he had to 

 play. 



More than a thousand antelope were running diag- 

 onally across our course. It was a sight to stir the gods ; 

 a thing to give one's life to see. But when we were 

 almost near enough to shoot, the herd suddenly swerved 

 heading directly away from us. In an instant we were 

 enveloped in a whirling cloud of dust through which the 

 flying animals were dimly visible like phantom figures. 

 Kublai Khan was choked, and his hot breath rasped 

 sharply through his nostrils, but he plunged on and on 

 into that yellow cloud. Standing in my stirrups, I fired 

 six times at the wraithlike forms ahead as fast as I could 

 work the lever of my rifle. Of course, it was useless, but 

 just the same I had to shoot. 



In about a mile the great herd slowed down and 

 stopped. We could see hundreds of animals on every 

 side, in groups of fifty or one hundred. Probably two 

 thousand antelope were in sight at once and many more 

 were beyond the sky rim to the west. We gave the 

 ponies ten minutes' rest, and had another run as unsuc- 

 cessful as the first. Then a third and fourth. The ante- 

 lope, for some strange reason, would not cross our path, 



