I went back over the hill to my horse, with my heart full of disappointment and my magazine only half full of cartridges. I loaded up, however, mounted, and, as I rode away in search of more game, I could occasionally hear the almost whispered "puff, puff" of Fishel's and Thomas's rifles away to the south and west, which brought me the cheering assurance that they were also having fun, and also assured me that we should not be without meat for supper and breakfast.
I soon sighted a band of about thirty antelopes, and riding into a coulee dismounted, picketed my horse, and began another crawl. In due time I reached the desired "stand," within about eighty yards of them, and, picking out the finest buck in the bunch, again took a careful, deliberate aim and fired, scoring another clear miss. The band, instead of running away, turned and ran directly toward me, and, circling, slightly, passed within thirty yards of me, drawn out in single file. It was a golden opportunity and I felt sure I should kill half a dozen of them at least; but, alas! for fleeting hopes. I knew not the frailty of the support on which I built my expectations. I fanned them as long as there was a cartridge in my magazine, and had to endure the intense chagrin of seeing the last one of them go over a ridge a mile away safe and sound.
I was dumb. If there had been anyone there to talk to, I don't think I could have found a word in the language to express my feelings. As before, the smoke prevented me from seeing just where my bullets struck the ground, but I felt sure they must be striking very close to the game. I sat down, pondered, and examined my rifle. I could see nothing wrong with it, and felt sure it must be perfect, for within the past week I had killed a deer with it at 170 yards and had shaved the heads off a dozen grouse at short range. I was, therefore, forced to the conclusion that I had merely failed to exercise proper care in holding. I returned to my horse, mounted, and once more set out in search of game, determined to kill the next animal I shot at or leave the country.
I rode away to the west about two miles, and from the top of a high hill saw another band of forty or fifty antelopes on a table-land. I rode around till I got within about two hundred yards of them, when I left my horse under cover of a hill and again began to sneak on the unsuspecting little creatures. They were near the edge of the table, and from just beyond them the formation fell abruptly away into the valley some fifty feet. I crawled up this bluff until within about forty yards of the nearest antelope, and then, lying flat upon the ground, I placed my rifle in position for firing, and, inch by inch, edged up over the apex of the bluff until within fair view of the game. Again selecting the best buck--for I wanted a good head for mounting--I drew down on his brown side until I felt sure that if there had been a silver dollar hung on it I could have driven it through him. Confidently expecting to see him drop in his tracks, I touched the trigger. But, alas! I was doomed to still further disgrace. When the smoke lifted, my coveted prize was speeding away with the rest of the herd.