"...The sun had hardly risen when we left the house. We were looking for quail, each with a shotgun, but we had only one dog. Morgan said that our best ground was beyond a certain ridge that he pointed out, and we crossed it by a trail through the _chaparral_. On the other side was comparatively level ground, thickly covered with wild oats. As we emerged from the _chaparral_, Morgan was but a few yards in advance. Suddenly, we heard, at a little distance to our right, and partly in front, a noise as of some animal thrashing about in the bushes, which we could see were violently agitated. "'We've started a deer,' said. 'I wish we had brought a rifle.' "Morgan, who had stopped and was intently watching the agitated chaparral, said nothing, but had cocked both barrels of his gun, and was holding it in readiness to aim. I thought him a trifle excited, which surprised me, for he had a reputation for exceptional coolness, even in moments of sudden and imminent peril. "'O, come!' I said. 'You are not going to fill up a deer with quail-shot, are you?' "Still he did not reply; but, catching a sight of his face as he turned it slightly toward me, I was struck by the pallor of it. Then I understood that we had serious business on hand, and my first conjecture was that we had 'jumped' a grizzly. I advanced to Morgan's side, cocking my piece as I moved. "The bushes were now quiet, and the sounds had ceased, but Morgan was as attentive to the place as before. "'What is it? What the devil is it?' I asked. "'That Damned Thing!' he replied, without turning his head. His voice was husky and unnatural. He trembled visibly. "I was about to speak further, when I observed the wild oats near the place of the disturbance moving in the most inexplicable way. I can hardly describe it. It seemed as if stirred by a streak of wind, which not only bent it, but pressed it down--crushed it so that it did not rise, and this movement was slowly prolonging itself directly toward us.