Still we raced on, neck and neck, she riding with hands
low and weight slightly forward, workmanlike as a jockey. Now and again
I heard her call out in eagerness.
We should perhaps have continued this chase until one or the other of
the horses dropped, but now her horse picked up a pebble and went
somewhat lame. She pulled up and told me to ride on alone. After a pause
I slowly approached the top of the next ridge, and there, as I more than
half suspected, I saw the antelope lying down, its head turned back.
Eager to finish the chase, I sprang down, carelessly neglecting to throw
the bridle rein over my horse's head. Dropping flat, I rested on my
elbow and fired carefully once more. This time the animal rolled over
dead. I rose, throwing up my hat with a shout of victory, and I heard,
shrilling to me across the distance, her own cry of exultation, as that
of some native woman applauding a red hunter.
Alas for our joy of victory! Our success was our undoing. The very
motion of my throwing up my hat, boyish as it was, gave fright to my
horse, already startled by the shot. He flung up his head high, snorted,
and was off, fast as he could go. I followed him on foot, rapidly as I
could, but he would none of that, and was all for keeping away from me
at a safe distance.
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