"Deer!" said the Alferez, in whom the hunter's instinct was suddenly aroused, "there are at least thirty; suppose we try to catch some."
"It is difficult."
"Pshaw!" another soldier shouted, "It is light enough for each of us to send them a bullet."
"You must by no means use your carbines," the Alferez interposed sharply; "if our shots, re-echoed through the mountains, caught the ears of the Indians, who are probably ambushed in the thickets, we should be ruined."
"What is to be done, then?"
"Lasso them, caspita, as you wish to try and catch them."
"That is true; I did not think of that."
The dragoons, delighted at the opportunity of indulging in their favourite sport, dismounted, fastened their horses to the roadside trees and seized their lassos. They then advanced cautiously toward the deer, which continued grazing tranquilly, without appearing to suspect that enemies were so near them. On arriving at a short distance from the game, the dragoons separated in order to have room for whirling their lassos, and making a covering of each tree, they managed to approach within fifteen paces of the animals. Then they stopped, exchanged glances, carefully calculated the distance, and, at a signal from their leader, sent their lassos whizzing through the air.
A strange thing happened at this moment, however. All the deer hides fell simultaneously to the ground, displaying Valentine, Curumilla, and a dozen Comanche warriors, who, profiting by the stupor of the troopers at their extraordinary metamorphosis, hunted the hunters by throwing lassos over their shoulders and hurled them to the ground. The ten dragoons and their leader were prisoners.
"Well, my friends," Valentine said with a grin, "how do you like that sort of fun?"