ts motions that it was another antelope. It
approached within a hundred yards, arched its graceful neck, and gazed
intently. I leveled at the white spot on its chest, and was about to
fire when it started off, ran first to one side and then to the other,
like a vessel tacking against a wind, and at last stretched away at full
speed. Then it stopped again, looked curiously behind it, and trotted up
as before; but not so boldly, for it soon paused and stood gazing at
me. I fired; it leaped upward and fell upon its tracks. Measuring the
distance, I found it 204 paces. When I stood by his side, the antelope
turned his expiring eye upward. It was like a beautiful woman's, dark
and rich. "Fortunate that I am in a hurry," thought I; "I might be
troubled with remorse, if I had time for it."

Cutting the animal up, not in the most skilled manner, I hung the meat
at the back of my saddle, and rode on again. The hills (I could not
remember one of them) closed around me. "It is too late," thought I,
"to go forward. I will stay here to-night, and look for the path in the
morning." As a last effort, however, I ascended a high hill, from which,
to my great satisfaction, I could see Laramie Creek stretching before
me, twisting from side to side amid ragged patches of timber; and
far off, close beneath the shadows of the trees, the ruins of the old
trading fort were visible. I reached them at twilight. It was far from
pleasant, in that uncertain light, to be pushing through the dense trees
and shrubbery of the grove beyond. I listened anxiously for the footfall
of man or beast. Nothing was stirring but one harmless brown bird,
chirping among the branches. I was glad when I gained the open prairie
once more, where I could see if anything approached. When I came to the
mouth of Chugwater, it was totally dark. Slackening the reins, I let my
horse take his own course. He trotted on with unerring instinct, and by
nine o'clock was scrambling down the steep ascent into the meadows where
we were encamped. While I was looking in vain for the light of the
fire, Hendrick, with keener perceptions, gave a loud neigh, which was
immediately answered in a shrill note from the distance. In a moment I
was hailed from the darkness by the voice of Reynal, who had come out,
rifle in hand, to see who was approaching.

He, with his squaw, the two Canadians and the Indian boys, were the sole
inmates of the camp, Shaw and Henry Chatillon being still absent. At