chanced to be slightly hollowed out,
he led the mustang forward, until her fore feet rested in the hollow.
The tail was thus thrown above the body.

Having squared her hips to the camp, he whispered something at her head;
and going round to the hind quarters, adjusted the pear upon the highest
curve of the stump. He then came walking back.

Would the mare stand? No fear of that. She had been trained to stand
in one place for a longer period than was now required of her.

The appearance which the old mare exhibited, nothing visible but her
hind legs and buttocks, for the mules had stripped her tail of the hair,
had by this time wound the spectators up to the risible point, and most
of them were yelling.

"Stop yur giggle-goggle, wull yur!" said Rube, clutching his rifle, and
taking his stand. The laughter was held in, no one wishing to disturb
the shot.

"Now, old Tar-guts, don't waste your fodder!" muttered the trapper,
addressing his gun, which the next moment was raised and levelled.

No one doubted but that Rube would hit the object at which he was
aiming. It was a shot frequently made by western riflemen; that is, a
mark of the same size at sixty yards. And no doubt Rube would have done
it; but just at the moment of his pulling trigger the mare's back heaved
up in one of its periodic jerks, and the pitahaya fell to the ground.

But the ball had sped; and grazing the animal's shoulder, passed through
one of her ears!

The direction of the bullet was not known until afterwards, but its
effect was visible at once; for the mare, stung in her tenderest part,
uttered a sort of human-like scream, and wheeling about, came leaping
into camp, kicking over everything that happened to lie in her way.

The yells and loud laughing of the trappers, the odd ejaculations of the
Indians, the "vayas" and "vivas" of the Mexicans, the wild oaths of old
Rube himself, all formed a medley of sounds that fell strangely upon the
ear, and to give an idea of which is beyond the art of my pen.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

THE PROGRAMME.

Shortly after, I was wandering out to the caballada to look after my
horse, when the sound of a bugle fell upon my ear. It was the signal
for the men to assemble, and I turned back towards the camp.

As I re-entered it, Seguin was standing near his tent, with the bugle
still in his hand. The hunters were gathering around him.

They were soon all assembled, and stood in groups, waiting fo