Frank was on his feet almost as soon as his cousin, and, to his delight, saw the leader of the antelopes struggling on the ground, while the rest of the herd were scampering away at the top of their speed.
“What will Dick and Bob say now?” exclaimed Archie, who skipped about as though he were almost beside himself. “What will they—hold on—hold on—shoot him, Frank!” he shouted. “We’re going to lose him after all.”
Archie’s shot had not been fatal. The buck was only disabled for a moment, and, after a few struggles, he succeeded in regaining his feet, and started to run. Had his cousin been as excited as he was, they certainly would have had all their trouble for nothing, for Archie, instead of stopping to reload, dropped his gun and started in pursuit of the wounded animal, which—although he ran but slowly—was fast leaving him behind, when Frank, by an excellent shot, again brought him to the ground. This time the wound was fatal; but Archie, to put all further attempts at escape out of the question, ran up and seized the buck by the horns.
“He’s done for now,” said Frank, as he proceeded to reload his rifle; “I shot him through the head.”
“I see you did,” replied his cousin, still retaining his hold upon the antelope; “but there’s no knowing what he might do. I wouldn’t trust him.” And it was not until he had turned the deer over several times, and fully satisfied himself that he had ceased to breathe, that Archie released him.
“What will Dick and Bob say now?” he continued, as Frank came up, and they began to examine their prize, which was much larger than the one the trapper had killed. “You know they said we couldn’t shoot an antelope. Now, the next thing is to get him back to the wagon. He’s too heavy for us to carry, so if you’ll stay here, and watch him and keep the wolves off, I’ll go back and get the horses.”
Frank agreed to this arrangement, and Archie, after he had found and reloaded his gun, started off after the horses. He was gone almost two hours—so long that Frank began to be uneasy; but at length he appeared, riding post-haste over a neighboring swell, mounted on Sleepy Sam, and leading Pete by the bridle. As soon as he came within speaking distance, he exclaimed, with blanched cheeks:
“Frank, we’re lost! I can’t see the wagon any where.”
“Don’t be uneasy,” replied his cousin, who, although thoroughly alarmed by this announcement, appeared to be perfectly unconcerned. “Don’t be uneasy.”
“But I haven’t seen the wagon since we left it this morning,” persisted Archie. “I thought it was close behind us. I tell you we’re lost.”