There are two methods of hunting them practised by the Indians, on horseback and on foot. If the former, three or four mounted savages, armed with bows, arrows, and lassos, approach from different points, so as to get a herd of antelopes between them on the open prairie. They then ride slowly round and round the herd, each time diminishing the circle: the terror-stricken beasts huddle closer and closer together, and appear perfectly bewildered. When, by this manœuvre, the Indians have approached sufficiently near, each throws his unerring lasso, then shoots arrows at the flying herd. As many as six are often killed and caught at one circling. On foot the crafty savage, getting the wind of the herd, crawls along the grass, and every now and then lies on his back, and elevates his two legs into the air. Attached to the heel of each mocassin is a strip of ermine-skin, which floats like a pennant. The antelopes soon notice it, stand, and look; down go the heels, and on the Indian crawls; and if the herd does not come towards him, he gets a little nearer. In a short time their curiosity tempts them to approach slowly and cautiously towards the two feet, which are performing every variety of strange evolution. Near enough, they too soon discover their error; the twang of the string and whistling arrow, that goes up to the feather-end in the chest of the foremost male, warns the others to fly, and leave their leader and king a prey to the wily redskin. We are on the sandy waste, and right well does it merit its name desert, for a more dismal barren wilderness cannot be imagined; its surface is all pumice and cinders, with nothing growing on it but a few sage-bushes and dwarfed junipers. Every step the animals make is fetlock-deep; and dust, that nearly chokes and blinds us, comes from every direction. On, and on, and on we go, but no change, no hope of water. Just before dark—when I begin to think I have been guilty of an awful mistake, and brought needless misery on both men and animals—I push ahead of the train, in hope of finding water, for the guide is utterly lost. Suddenly I descry the tracks of the prong-buck in the sand; hope revives, water must be near at hand! Carefully I follow on their tracks, that lead down a sloping bank of scoria, and slags of lava, through a narrow gorge, with rocks on either side that look as if they had been burnt in a limekiln—to come out into a narrow valley, where the sight of trees, grass, and water makes my heart leap with delight.