CHATI, THE BLACKTAIL 



431 



ily, it was only a flesh wound, though it 

 pained him much. Soon the Indian ap- 

 peared running low on their trail, for 

 the sportsman had offered him much 

 money — as much as five adobe dollars — 

 for Pronghorn's antlers. On they fled, 

 again doubling, twisting through the 

 defiles and over the ridges, and after 

 them trailed the Indian. Yet he only 

 caught occasional glimpses of them, and 

 at night when twenty miles away gave 

 up pursuit. Pronghorn nursed his 

 wound and soon was well. He had 

 learned of a new enemy even more ter- 

 rible than the cougars, the rattlesnakes 

 or the wolves. 



Winter again came and the snow 

 heaped high, forced them to seek the 

 lower slopes for food, and they took 

 their accustomed way down through the 

 snowy moonlit forest. Far back on their 

 trail sounded the howling of a pack of 

 gray wolves. They quickened their pace 

 to a trot, yet the sound of the howling 

 grew louder and presently the pack ap- 

 peared behind, skulking shadows glid- 

 ing over the crusted snow. Breaking into 

 a run away down the long slope went 

 the deer with the speed of an arrow. 

 Their antlers thrown far back on their 

 shoulders offered 11 d resistance to their 

 progress through the brushy thickets, 

 their course led down to the valley, 

 across it and far into the hills to the 

 east, the howls of their pursuers grew 

 fainter and fainter until lost in the dis- 

 tance. Then they doubled on their trail 

 and trotted off at right angles through 

 th2 hills. But there was no eluding the 

 pack of ferocious pursuers, mad with 

 their winter hunger. Again they came 

 in full cry and the tired deer turned and 

 sought a refuge in the mountains to the 

 east. Mile after mile they covered, the 

 pack ever drawing nearer. In the gray 

 light of dawn, the foremost wolf snap- 

 ping at their heels they turned at bay. 

 Whirling Pronghorn struck him sav- 

 agely with his antlers and flung him far 

 into the snow. Savage now was the 

 pack's attack met with a ' defense as 

 fierce. Braced back against a ledge of 

 rocks the deer gave thrust of hoof and 



antler for gash of fang. A great gaunt 

 wolf seized Pronghorn by the flank. 

 With a mighty sweep of his antlers he 

 caught vulpes and flung him far away. 

 A second wolf gashed his exposed 

 shoulder only to encounter the forward 

 sweep of the antlers, which cut him 

 from flank to shoulder and flung him 

 dying among his snarling fellows. Sud- 

 denly a monster black-maned wolf 

 dashed in and hamstrung Sixpointer. 

 The snow reddened from the many 

 wounds of antlers, hoofs and fangs. 

 Sixpointer, now down, uttered a last de- 

 spairing bleat, and Pronghorn leaped 

 backward over the rock ledge, whirled 

 and ran, leaving the pack busy with his 

 unfortunate comrade. Far to the east 

 he pursued his way with a great fear in 

 his heart, and in a cedar thicket in Ton- 

 to Basin he found a refuge and lay 

 down and licked his wounds. The cedars 

 hung thick with purple berries, and on 

 these he browsed. In a month his 

 wounds had healed, and with the sure 

 instrnct of his species he sought and 

 found his kind. Again he was the leader 

 of a band of ten deer, leader by right of 

 conquest, for he had vanquished them 

 each in turn and they acknowledged his 

 supremacy. 



All winter long they ranged the hills. 

 Down in a deep canon the smoke of a 

 trapper's camp fire curled lazily above 

 the tree tops. They heard the sound of 

 the trapper's axe and the barking of his 

 dogs, and sometimes in the distance the 

 boom of his gun. Occasionally they 

 caught a glimpse of him climbing the 

 trail with his clumsy burro loaded with 

 traps. They did not know he was set- 

 ting these traps for their enemies, the 

 cougars and the wolves. They were sus- 

 picious of this trapper and avoided the 

 trails he traveled and ceased to slake 

 their thirst at the spring near his camp, 

 and found a new feeding ground on the 

 other side of a high ridge. Then Prong- 

 horn had another adventure. 



He was leading his band to a spring. 

 The old scent of a cougar was in the 

 air and he was watching the brushy 

 thickets, else he should have certainly 



