This conviction turned out to be well founded; and on we went over the prairie, with all the speed that bird and beast were capable of commanding.
For the first half-mile or so I saw that I was gaining upon the gobbler—not rapidly; for the mustang, though tough, was far from being a fast one. He promised bottom, however; and I was indulging in high hopes that in time I should overtake the turkey, and carry him back a prize, a triumph in the eyes of my hunting companions.
All at once this agreeable prospect began to appear doubtful. Although I continued to press the mustang, both with spurs and voice, I still perceived that the distance between me and the turkey was gradually growing greater, instead of less!
Surely the horse had not slackened his speed? I had guarded against that. The gobbler, then, must have quickened his.
What was the explanation?
I soon discovered it. I saw that the chase was carrying me up a hill.
A sharp ridge trended across the prairie, transversely to the line of the pursuit. Both pursued and pursuer had parted from the level plain, and were now gliding up the acclivity.
I knew the meaning of this. I remembered a chapter of my ornithology, studied among the pine barrens of Tennessee, where I had observed a turkey-gobbler distance the hounds against the steep slope of a ridge; and do it with perfect ease. I knew that the bird, aided by its extended wings, could run against the hill with almost double the speed of either dog or horse; and that was the reason why my mustang was falling so far into the rear.
I kept on; but only to have my chagrin increased, by seeing the gobbler go much faster than myself.
He reached the crest of the ridge before my little steed, badly blown, had got half up its sloping side!