turning towards Hal.

"But I did fire twice, though," said Hal.

"Le'me see yer pistol, youngster," said Jerry; after examining it, he
again burst into a loud laugh.

"Jest as I 'spected! Every barr'l loaded. Yer see you was so 'cited that
yer forgot all about firin'. You thought yer did, I s'pose; but don't be
too sartin next time, 'cause the fever allers takes what little sense a
feller's got, when it strikes him."

The antelope were soon dressed; but Hal's chagrin was so great at the
thought of being so cleverly detected by Jerry's shrewdness, that I
attempted to comfort him by promising to relate my own misfortunes upon
experiencing my first attack. After supper, and while we were smoking our
pipes, the boys claimed the fulfilment of my promise.

I only hope that the narrative may prove as interesting to my young
readers, as it did to Hal and Ned, who heard the story with roars of
laughter at my blunders.

Well, boys, I was once passing through the Sacramento range of mountains
in New Mexico, in company with an old trapper and hunter, named Nat Beal.

Nat was a jovial, pleasant companion; and, in truth one of the best
shots I ever saw.

While riding through one of the numerous little valleys with which that
range abounds, we saw at a little distance, a magnificent specimen of a