very fond of this sport and indulged in it frequently. One day I
sighted a band of antelope--these most beautiful and graceful
animals. I tried to head them off, in order to get within rifle-shot
distance, and drifted farther and farther away from camp until I must
have strayed at least five miles. Like a rebounding rubber ball,
their four feet striking the ground simultaneously, they fled until
at last they faded from sight on the horizon, engulfed in a
shimmering wave of heat, the reflection from a sun-scorched ground.
Reluctantly I gave up the chase, as I could by no means approach the
game, although they could not have winded me.

In order to determine the direction of our camp, I ascended a little
hill, when I suddenly espied an Indian. He was in a sitting posture,
less than a quarter of a mile away. Apparently he was stark naked and
his face was turned away from me, for I saw his broad back where not
covered by his long hair glisten in the hot rays of the sun. His gun
was lying within reach of his right hand, but I could not see what he
was doing. On the impulse of the moment I dropped behind a flowering
cactus for concealment. Then I took counsel with myself and decided
that it would be too risky to return to camp as I had intended to do.
In that direction for a long distance the ground was gently rising
and most likely the Indian would have seen me. I thought it probable
that he had staked his horse out in some nearby gulch, and if seen I
would have been at his mercy, as perhaps he was also in touch with
other Indians of his tribe. I reasoned that I could not afford to
make the mistake of incurring the risk to stake my life on the chance
of escaping his observation. I had started out to hunt antelopes, but
now I coolly prepared myself to stalk an Indian warrior instead. I
went about it as if I were hunting a coyote. First of all, I
ascertained the direction of the wind, which was very light. It blew