ht, but they
turned on the opposite hillside, slowed down, and moved uncertainly
up the valley.

Much to our surprise four of the animals detached themselves from
the others and crossed the depression in our direction. When we saw
that they were really coming we threw ourselves into the saddles and
galloped forward to cut them off. Instantly the antelope increased
their speed and literally flew up the hill slope. I shouted to
Yvette to watch the holes and shook the reins over Kublai Khan's
neck. Like a bullet he was off. I could feel his great muscles
flowing between my knees but otherwise there seemed hardly a motion
of his body in the long, smooth run. Standing straight up in the
stirrups, I glanced back at my wife who was sitting her chestnut
stallion as lightly as a butterfly. Hat gone, hair streaming, the
thrill of it all showed in every line of her body. She was running a
close second, almost at my side. I saw a marmot hole flash by. A
second death trap showed ahead and I swung Kublai Khan to the right.
Another and another followed, but the pony leaped them like a cat.
The beat of the fresh, clean air; the rush of the splendid horse;
the sight of the yellow forms fleeing like wind-blown ribbons across
our path--all this set me mad with excitement and a wild
exhilaration. Suddenly I realized that I was yelling like an Indian.
Yvette, too, was screaming in sheer delight.

The antelope were two hundred yards away when I tightened on the
reins. Kublai Khan stiffened and stopped in twenty yards. The first
shot was low and to the left, but it gave the range. At the second,
the rearmost animal stumbled, recovered itself, and ran wildly about
in a circle. I missed him twice, and he disappeared over a little
hill. Leaping into the saddle, we tore after the wounded animal. As
we thundered over the rise I heard my wife screaming frantically and
saw her pointing to the right where the antelope was lying down.
There was just one more shell in the gun and my pockets were empty.
I fired again at fifty yards and the gazelle rolled over, dead.

Leading our horses, Yvette and I walked up to the beautiful
orange-yellow form lying in the fresh, green grass. We both saw its
horns in the same instant and hugged each other in sheer delight. At
this time of the year the bucks are seldom with the does and then only
in the largest herds. This one was in full pelage, spotless and with
the hair unworn. Moreover, it had finer horns than a