his
remembrance. He resolved, therefore, to try this expedient, and secure
an antelope if possible.

Cautioning his brothers to remain quiet, he took up one of the red
blankets that lay near. He had already cut a long forked sapling, and
sharpened it at one end with his knife. He now spread out the blanket,
holding it up before him; and, with his rifle in one hand, and the
sapling in the other, he passed out of the willows into the open
ground--keeping the blanket between him and the animals, so that his
body was completely hidden from them. In this way he advanced a few
paces, walking in a bent attitude, until he had attracted the attention
of the antelopes. He then stuck the sapling firmly in the ground, hung
the blanket upon its forks, and knelt down behind it.

An object so odd-looking, both as regarded form and colour, at once
excited the curiosity of the herd. They left off feeding, and commenced
approaching it--halting at short intervals, and then continuing to
advance. They did not move in single file--as the former herd had
done--but first one, and then another of the bucks took the lead, each
wishing to make a display of his courage. In a few minutes one of the
largest was within range; when Basil, who was lying flat along the
grass, took sight at the animal's breast and fired.

The buck leaped up at the shot; but, to the great disappointment of the
marksman, turned in his tracks, and fled along with the rest of the
herd, all of which had bounded off on hearing the crack of the rifle.

Basil beheld this with some surprise. He had taken deliberate aim; and
he knew that when he did so, it was seldom that his rifle failed him.
He had missed this time, however, as he thought, when he saw the
antelope run off apparently unhurt; and, attributing his failure to the
hurried manner in which he had loaded his piece, he took up the blanket,
and turned with a mortified look towards his companions.

"Look yonder!" cried Francois, who still watched the retreating
antelopes; "look at the wolves! Away they go after."

"Ha!" exclaimed Lucien, "you have wounded the buck, brother, else the
wolves would never follow. See! they are running upon his track like
hounds!"

Lucien was right. The animal was hit, or the wolves would not have
embarked in a chase so hopeless as the pursuit of a prong-horn; for,
strange to say, these cunning creatures can tell when game has been
wounded better than the hunters themselve