Then, too, its forelegs were lacerated, the skin having been cut away by repeated blows from the sharp points of the hinder hoofs, and Oscar knew that it must be suffering intensely. Besides this, Gipsy, who was doing her duty faithfully, was leaning back so heavily on the lariat that the iron ring which formed the noose was pressed down upon the little creature’s throat until it seemed on the point of strangling. “Good gracious!” cried Oscar, who took this all in at a glance, “I can’t stand it, and I won’t, either. There you are! Clear out, and take better care of yourself in future.” To run to his horse and undo the lariat that was made fast around the horn of his saddle was scarcely the work of a moment. Holding it in his hand, just tightly enough to prevent the captive from jumping to its feet, he approached it, and with a quick movement opened the noose and threw it off its neck. The fawn was on its feet in an instant, and in a few seconds more it was making railroad time down the ridge. CHAPTER XVII. COURSING AND STILL-HUNTING. Oscar watched the fawn as long as it remained in sight; and was glad to see that the injuries it had inflicted upon itself did not in the least interfere with its running. When it disappeared from his view, he mounted his horse and turned about, to find the lieutenant sitting motionless in his saddle and looking at him with every expression of astonishment. “What did you do that for?” he asked, as Oscar came up. “That wasn’t a very bright trick.” “I couldn’t help it,” was the reply. “He cried so, and seemed to be in such misery.” “Well, you beat anybody I ever heard of!” exclaimed the young officer, who could scarcely believe his ears. “You come out here on purpose to hunt game, and when you secure as fine a specimen as one can find in a year’s shooting, you must up and let it go because it _cries_!” The lieutenant shouted out the last word at the top of his voice, and clapped his hands, and waved himself back and forth in the saddle, and laughed until Oscar was obliged to laugh too. “That’s the way they all do,” continued the officer, as soon as he could speak. “You’ll have to get used to it.” “I can’t, and I’ll not try,” was the emphatic rejoinder. “I’ll never chase another antelope on horseback, unless I am in danger of going hungry. Why, his forelegs were all cut to pieces!” “That’s another thing they always do when they begin to get tired and are hard pressed. It is because they don’t pick up their forefeet fast enough to keep them out of the way of the hind ones. Well, we have seen all we shall see of this drive, and we’d better go back and find the others. The colonel will want to try the speed of his dogs now. You’ll not mind looking at a pretty race, I suppose?” “I shall take no part in it,” answered Oscar. “If the colonel wants more antelope, why doesn’t he shoot them and be done with it?”