Hunting -- West (U.S.); Indians of North America -- West (U.S.); West (U.S.) -- Description and travel
I had shot it near the heart, and in a few minutes it was
quite dead. Tiger was greatly delighted with the splendid skin, which he
stripped off the brute with extraordinary skill, and left the huge claws
on it.
At about ten o'clock we were ready to start, and rode through a narrow
gorge toward the hill ahead of us, which soon brought us to a wide
plateau, on which we and our horses were greatly troubled by the sun, as
the breeze was very slight. For several days we proceeded without any
great difficulty through the mountains, which constantly surprised us
both on the heights and in the valleys with the most beautiful
landscapes, the wildest rocks, cascades, uprooted trees piled on each
other; and then again the pleasantest and most peaceful valleys, in
which we every moment expected to see the smoking chimneys of a
settlement or a slowly turning mill-wheel. The mountains now grew much
more impracticable, their sides steeper and the valleys narrower; our
paths frequently led us from our course, wound round the precipices, and
at times trended due south; so that during a day's ride we only advanced
a few miles to the north. We reached a small river, which wound through
the rocks from the north-east, and which Tiger told us was the Rio
Colorado, which flowed in a great curve through these mountains and
Texas to the Gulf of Mexico. We had great difficulty in passing its
steep banks, and spent half a day ere we found a spot where we could
ride through it. On its banks we found enormous cypresses and live oaks,
and a generally rich vegetation for these regions, and above all,
musquito grass, which was of incalculable advantage for our cattle.
We had hardly scaled the heights on the opposite side and were riding
through a narrow path between two not very steep slopes, when we heard
the barking of a hunting dog rapidly advancing towards us. I leaped from
my horse and at the same moment there appeared on the left-hand
precipice a flying antelope and at some distance behind it a black and
white spotted dog, which only barked faintly at intervals. The buck was
very fast and took enormous leaps over the loose boulders, and when it
passed within a hundred yards of us a shower of bullets was sent after
it. It turned a somersault and rolled down the precipice to our feet,
when we cut it up and divided the game among our mules. The dog,
however, halted on the rock with hanging tail, and looked at us for a
while thoughtfully, then turned and slowly made back tracks. Tiger said
it was an Indian's dog, but not thoroughbred, as the latter never bark
(I do not know whether they cannot, but I never heard them bark). As we
rode along we looked for the dog's master, but did not catch sight of
him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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