Twice we thought the hound had closed, but instantly succeeding views showed daylight still between, although the narrow strip was being blotted out with the same regular certainty with which the dark slide of the magic lantern seizes the figures on the wall. Down into a ravine, and out of sight they passed, and we were fearing the finale would be hidden, when they came into view on the opposite side and pressed up the bank. The bounds of the hound were magnificent, and we all gave a cry of admiration, as with a splendid effort he launched himself like a black ball upon the herd. In an instant after we saw him hurled back and taking a very unvictor-like roll down the hill. He quickly recovered, however, and fastened on an antelope which seemed lagging behind. His first selection, the leader of the herd, had proved an unfortunate one, and he bore a bruise for some time where the buck had struck him with his horns.
The second seizure turned out to be a doe, and was quite dead when we reached it. The victor was lying along side, looking very much as if one antelope hunt a day was sufficient for even a greyhound. We noticed that the hair was rubbed off from the doe's sides by its struggles, and on passing our hands over the neck found that its coarse coat parted from the skin at a slight touch. This peculiarity in the antelope is very marked. In a subsequent hunt I once saw a wounded buck plunge forward, roll along the ground for a few feet, and then run off with the bare skin along his entire side showing just where he had struck the earth.
One of our party produced a knife, and the animal was bled and the entrails taken out. We seemed destined to have a mishap with every adventure, and had already learned to expect such sequences, the only question being whose turn should come next. This time it proved to be Semi-Colon's. We were a mile from the wagons, and Semi's horse, being considered the most thoroughly broken, was nominated to bear the game to them. To this proceeding Cynocephalus seemed in nowise indisposed, quietly submitting to the management of one of the hostlers and our guide, as they lashed the antelope across his back, securing it to the rear of the large Texas saddle with the powerful straps which always hang there for purposes of this kind. This accomplished, Semi climbed into the saddle, gave a click and a kick, and set his steed in motion. That eccentric assemblage of bones made one spasmodic step forward, which brought the bloody, hairy carcass with a swing against his loins.
What a change that touch produced! Those wasted nostrils emitted a terrific snort, the stiff stump-tail jerked upward like the lever of a locomotive, and with a dart Cynocephalus was off across the plains. He probably imagined that some beast of prey had coveted his spare-ribs, and was whetting its teeth on the vantage-ground of his backbone. Occasionally the frightened animal would slack up and indulge in a fit of kicking, looking back meanwhile with terror at the object fastened upon his hide, then plunge frantically forward again. The antelope stuck to the saddle for some time, but not so Semi-Colon. The first of these irregular proceedings caused that young man, as Sachem expressed it, "to get off upon his head." Cynocephalus finally burst his saddle-girths, and we were obliged to furnish other transportation for our game.
Let me say, en passant, that I am trying to chronicle minutely the events which befel our half-scientific, half-sporting, and somewhat incongruous party on its trip through Buffalo Land; and, although my readers may think us particularly unfortunate, we really suffered no more than amateurs usually do. My object is to set up guide boards at the dangerous places, that other travelers may avoid the pitfalls and the perils into which we fell. And to every amateur hunter we beg to offer this advice: Never tie dead game upon a strange horse unless you owe the rider a grudge.
"Young men," said the Doctor, from his saddle, "you have seen a beautiful illustration in the theory of development. The hound and the antelope may have been originally an oyster and a worm. From their first slow motion, when one only opened its jaws to seize the other, they have progressed until the speed of to-day results. Should the hound ever become wild, and pursuit and flight change to an every-day matter instead of a holiday-sport, development would still continue. A giraffe-like antelope, with the speed of the wind, would fly before a hound the size of a stag." The Doctor's "clinic," as Sachem called it, was suddenly cut short at this point by a struggle for mastery between himself and the human spirit concealed in his horse.
"How much," exclaimed the Professor, when Pythagoras had at length come off triumphant, and we again moved forward—"How much the race that we have witnessed is like that we all run. Powerful and eager as the greyhound, man sees flying before him, on the plain of life, an object which he thirsts to grasp. Taxing every muscle in pursuit, panting after it over the smooth country below the 40th mile-post, he crosses there the ravine where rheumatism and straggling gray hairs lurk, and with these clinging to him, starts up the hill of later life. Half-way to its summit, on which the three-score stone marking the down-hill grade looks uncomfortably like that over a tomb, he seizes the object of pursuit only to be flung back by it bruised. If of the proper metal, he falls but to rise again, and should the first wish be out of reach, fastens on one of its companions. There is where blood tells. If the least taint of cur is in it the first blow sends its recipient yelling to his kennel, there to whine for the remainder of life over bruised ribs."
Muggs thought a single toss was sufficient, and retreat then only prudence. If the bones on one side were broken, he saw no reason to expose the other. Dying successful was only procuring meat for others to enjoy.
The Professor was developing a remarkable talent for finding not only the stones of the past written all over with a wonderful and translatable history, but also the moral connected with each incident of our journey. Had any of us broken our necks he would doubtless have improved the occasion to draw a comparison and have made it the text of a philosophic disquisition.