antelopes was seen approaching from the plain. These walked directly
for the spring, one following the other in Indian file. They were soon
close in to the willows where the hunters had concealed themselves.
Here they suddenly halted, throwing up their heads and snuffing the air.
They had scented danger, but it was too late for the foremost to turn
and lope off.

"Yonder goes the lasso!" cried one.

We saw the noose flying in the air and settling over his head. The herd
suddenly wheeled, but the loop was around the neck of their leader; and
after three or four skips, he sprang up, and falling upon his back, lay
motionless.

The hunter came out from the willows, and, taking up the animal, now
choked dead, carried him towards the entrance of the defile. His
companion followed, blinding the tracks of both. In a few minutes they
had reached us. The antelope was skinned, and eaten raw, in the blood!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Our horses grow thin with hunger and thirst. We fear to go too often to
the water, though we become less cautious as the hours pass. Two more
antelopes are lassoed by the expert hunter.

The night of the fourth day is clear moonlight. The Indians often march
by moonlight, particularly when on the war-trail. We keep our vidette
stationed during the night as in the day. On this night we look out
with more hopes than usual. It is such a lovely night! a full moon,
clear and calm.

We are not disappointed. Near midnight the vidette awakes us. There
are dark forms on the sky away to the north. It may be buffaloes, but
we see that they are approaching.

We stand, one and all, straining our eyes through the white air, and
away over the silvery sward. There are glancing objects: arms it must
be. "Horses! horsemen! They are Indians!"

"Oh, God! comrades, we are mad! Our horses: they may neigh!"

We bound after our leader down the hill, over the rocks, and through the
trees. We run for the thicket where our animals are tied. We may be
too late, for horses can hear each other miles off; and the slightest
concussion vibrates afar through the elastic atmosphere of these high
plateaux. We reach the caballada. What is Seguin doing? He has torn
the blanket from under his saddle, and is muffling the head of his
horse!

We follow his example, without exchanging a word, for we know this is
the only plan to pursue.

In a few minutes we