I never tired of listening to Haught. He had killed over a hundred
bears, many of them vicious grizzlies, and he had often escaped by a
breadth of a hair, but the killing stories were not the most interesting
to me. Haught had lived a singularly elemental life. He never knew what
to tell me, because I did not know what to ask for, so I just waited for
stories, experiences, woodcraft, natural history and the like, to come
when they would. Once he had owned an old bay horse named Moze. Under
any conditions of weather or country Moze could find his way back to
camp. Haught would let go the bridle, and Moze would stick up his ears,
look about him, and circle home. No matter if camp had been just where
Haught had last thrown a packsaddle!
When Haught first came to Arizona and began his hunting up over the rim
he used to get down in the cedar country, close to the desert. Here he
heard of a pure black antelope that was the leader of a herd of ordinary
color, which was a grayish white. The day came when Haught saw this
black antelope. It was a very large, beautiful stag, the most noble and
wild and sagacious animal Haught had ever seen. For years he tried to
stalk it and kill it, and so did other hunters. But no hunter ever got
even a shot at it. Finally this black antelope disappeared and was never
heard of again.
By this time Copple had been permitted a long breathing spell, and now
began a tale calculated to outdo the Arabian Nights.
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