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PostgreSQL High Availability Cookbook 2nd edition
Edition Thomas Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Thomas, Shaun M
ISBN(s): 9781787125674, 178712567X
Edition: 2nd edition
File Details: PDF, 4.14 MB
Year: 2017
Language: english
PostgreSQL High Availability
Cookbook
Second Edition

Master over 100 recipes to design and implement a highly

available server with the advanced features of PostgreSQL

Shaun M. Thomas

BIRMINGHAM - MUMBAI
PostgreSQL High Availability Cookbook
Second Edition

Copyright © 2017 Packt Publishing

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the
publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

Every effort has been made in the preparation of this book to ensure the accuracy of the
information presented. However, the information contained in this book is sold without
warranty, either express or implied. Neither the author, nor Packt Publishing, and its
dealers and distributors will be held liable for any damages caused or alleged to be caused
directly or indirectly by this book.

Packt Publishing has endeavored to provide trademark information about all of the
companies and products mentioned in this book by the appropriate use of capitals.
However, Packt Publishing cannot guarantee the accuracy of this information.

First published: February 2017

Production reference: 1010217

Published by Packt Publishing Ltd.

Livery Place
35 Livery Street
Birmingham
B3 2PB, UK.
ISBN 978-1-78712-553-7
www.packtpub.com
 Credits

Author Copy Editors

Shaun M. Thomas Safis Editing

Reviewer Project Coordinator

Sheldon E. Strauch Shweta H Birwatkar

Commissioning Editor Proofreader

Amey Varangaonkar Safis Editing

Acquisition Editor Indexer

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Content Development Editor Graphics

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Technical Editor Production Coordinator

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 About the Author
Shaun M. Thomas has been working with PostgreSQL since late 2000. He is a frequent
contributor to the PostgreSQL Performance and General mailing lists, assisting other DBAs
with the knowledge he's gained over the years. In 2011 and 2012, he gave presentations at
the Postgres Open conference on topics such as handling extreme throughput, high
availability, server redundancy, and failover techniques. Most recently, he has contributed
the Shard Manager extension and the walctl WAL management suite. Currently, he serves
as the database architect at PEAK6 Investments, where he develops standard operating
procedure (SOP) guidelines to facilitate reliable server architecture among many other
tasks. Many of the techniques used in this book were developed specifically for this extreme
environment. He believes that PostgreSQL has a stupendous future ahead, and he can't wait
to see the advancements subsequent versions will bring.
https://www.linkedin.com/in/bonesmoses
 About the Reviewer
Sheldon Strauch is a 22-year veteran of software consulting at companies such as IBM,
Sears, Ernst & Young, and Kraft Foods. He has a Bachelor's degree in Business
Administration and leverages his technical skills to improve the business' self-awareness.
His interests include data gathering, management, and mining; maps and mapping;
business intelligence; and application of data analysis for continuous improvement. He is
currently focused on development of end-to-end data management and mining at Enova
International, a financial services company located in Chicago. In his spare time, he enjoys
the performing arts, particularly music, and traveling with his wife, Marilyn.
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 Table of Contents
Preface 1
Chapter 1: Hardware Planning 9
Introduction 9
Planning for redundancy 10
Getting ready 10
How to do it… 11
How it works… 11
There's more… 12
See also 13
Having enough IOPS 13
Getting ready 13
How to do it… 14
How it works… 14
There's more… 15
A working example 16
Making concessions 16
Sizing storage 17
Getting ready 17
How to do it… 18
How it works… 19
There's more… 19
Real-world example 19
Adjusting the numbers 20
Incorporating the spreadsheet 21
Investing in a RAID 21
Getting ready 22
How to do it… 22
How it works… 23
There's more… 24
See also 24
Picking a processor 25
Getting ready 25
How to do it… 25
How it works… 27
There's more… 27
 Hyperthreading 28
Turbo Boost 28
Power usage 28
See also 29
Making the most of memory 29
Getting ready 29
How to do it… 30
How it works… 30
There's more… 31
Exploring nimble networking 31
Getting ready 32
How to do it… 32
How it works… 34
There's more… 35
A networking example 35
Remembering redundancy 35
Saving the research 36
See also 36
Managing motherboards 36
Getting ready 37
How to do it… 37
How it works… 38
There's more… 39
See also 39
Selecting a chassis 40
Getting ready 40
How to do it… 40
How it works… 41
There's more… 42
Saddling up to a SAN 42
Getting ready 43
How to do it… 43
How it works… 44
There's more… 45
See also 45
Tallying up 46
Getting ready 46
How to do it… 46
How it works… 46
There's more… 47

[ ii ]
 Protecting your eggs 48
Getting ready 48
How to do it… 48
How it works… 48
There's more… 49
Chapter 2: Handling and Avoiding Downtime 51
Introduction 51
Determining acceptable losses 52
Getting ready 53
How to do it… 53
How it works… 54
Configuration – getting it right the first time 54
Getting ready 55
How to do it… 55
How it works… 56
There's more… 59
See also 59
Configuration – managing scary settings 59
Getting ready 59
How to do it… 60
How it works… 60
There's more… 61
Distinct settings 62
More information 62
See also 62
Identifying important tables 63
Getting ready 63
How to do it… 64
How it works… 65
There's more… 66
Reset stats 66
Using pgstattuple 67
See also 67
Defusing cache poisoning 68
Getting ready 68
How to do it… 69
How it works… 70
See also 72
Exploring the magic of virtual IPs 72

[ iii ]
 Getting ready 73
How to do it… 73
How it works… 74
There's more… 74
Terminating rogue connections 75
Getting ready 76
How to do it… 76
How it works… 77
There's more… 78
Reducing contention with concurrent indexes 79
Getting ready 79
How to do it… 80
How it works… 80
There's more… 80
No transactions 81
One at a time 81
Danger with OLTP use 81
See also 81
Managing system migrations 82
Getting ready 82
How to do it… 83
How it works… 84
There's more… 85
See also 85
Managing software upgrades 85
Getting ready 86
How to do it… 86
How it works… 88
There's more… 89
See also 89
Mitigating the impact of hardware failure 89
Getting ready 90
How to do it… 91
How it works… 92
There's more… 92
Copying WAL files more easily 93
Adding compression 93
Secondary delay 94
See also 94
Applying bonus kernel tweaks 94

[ iv ]
 Getting ready 95
How to do it… 95
How it works… 96
There's more… 97
Chapter 3: Pooling Resources 99
Introduction 99
Determining connection costs and limits 101
Getting ready 101
How to do it… 102
How it works… 102
There's more… 103
Installing PgBouncer 103
Getting ready 104
How to do it… 104
How it works… 106
There's more… 106
See also 107
Configuring PgBouncer safely 107
Getting ready 107
How to do it… 108
How it works… 109
There's more… 110
What about pool_mode? 110
Problems with prepared statements 111
See also 111
Connecting to PgBouncer 111
Getting ready 112
How to do it… 112
How it works… 112
See also 112
Listing PgBouncer server connections 113
Getting ready 113
How to do it… 113
How it works… 113
There's more… 115
See also 115
Listing PgBouncer client connections 115
Getting ready 116
How to do it… 116

[v]
 How it works… 116
There's more… 117
See also 118
Evaluating PgBouncer pool health 118
Getting ready 118
How to do it… 118
How it works… 119
There's more… 121
See also 121
Installing pgpool 122
Getting ready 122
How to do it… 122
How it works… 124
There's more… 125
See also 125
Configuring pgpool for master/slave mode 125
Getting ready 126
How to do it… 126
How it works… 128
There's more… 129
See also 129
Testing a write query on pgpool 130
Getting ready 130
How to do it… 130
How it works… 131
There's more… 132
Swapping active nodes with pgpool 132
Getting ready 133
How to do it… 133
How it works… 134
There's more… 135
See also 136
Combining the power of PgBouncer and pgpool 136
Getting ready 136
How to do it… 137
How it works… 137
There's more… 137
Chapter 4: Troubleshooting 138
Introduction 138

[ vi ]
Performing triage 139
Getting ready 139
How to do it… 140
How it works… 140
There's more… 142
Installing common statistics packages 142
How to do it… 143
How it works… 143
Evaluating the current disk performance with iostat 143
Getting ready 144
How to do it… 144
How it works… 144
There's more… 146
See also 146
Tracking I/O-heavy processes with iotop 146
Getting ready 147
How to do it… 147
How it works… 147
There's more… 148
See also 149
Viewing past performance with sar 149
Getting ready 149
How to do it… 149
How it works… 150
There's more… 151
See also 152
Correlating performance with dstat 152
Getting ready 152
How to do it… 152
How it works… 153
See also 155
Interpreting /proc/meminfo 155
Getting ready 156
How to do it… 156
How it works… 156
There's more… 158
See also 158
Examining /proc/net/bonding/bond0 159
Getting ready 159

[ vii ]
 How to do it… 160
How it works… 160
See also 161
Checking the pg_stat_activity view 161
Getting ready 162
How to do it… 162
How it works… 163
There's more… 165
See also 166
Checking the pg_stat_statements view 166
Getting ready 166
How to do it… 167
How it works… 168
There's more… 169
Resetting the stats 169
Catching more queries 170
See also 170
Deciphering database locks 170
Getting ready 171
How to do it… 171
How it works… 172
There's more… 172
See also 174
Debugging with strace 174
Getting ready 174
How to do it… 174
How it works… 175
There's more… 177
See also 177
Logging checkpoints properly 177
Getting ready 178
How to do it… 179
How it works… 179
There's more… 181
See also 181
Chapter 5: Monitoring 182
Introduction 182
Figuring out what to monitor 183
Getting ready 183

[ viii ]
 How to do it… 184
How it works… 184
There's more… 185
Installing and configuring Nagios 186
Getting ready 186
How to do it… 187
How it works… 188
There's more… 189
See also 189
Configuring Nagios to monitor a database host 190
Getting ready 190
How to do it… 190
How it works… 192
There's more… 193
See also 194
Enhancing Nagios with check_mk 194
Getting ready 194
How to do it… 195
How it works… 195
There's more… 197
See also 197
Getting to know check_postgres 197
Getting ready 198
How to do it… 198
How it works… 199
There's more… 200
See also 201
Installing and configuring collectd 201
Getting ready 201
How to do it… 202
How it works… 203
See also 205
Adding a custom PostgreSQL monitor to collectd 205
Getting ready 205
How to do it… 205
How it works… 206
There's more… 208
See also 209
Installing and configuring Graphite 209

[ ix ]
 Getting ready 209
How to do it… 210
How it works… 211
See also 213
Adding collectd data to Graphite 214
Getting ready 214
How to do it… 214
How it works… 215
See also 217
Building a graph in Graphite 217
Getting ready 218
How to do it… 218
How it works… 219
There's more… 220
Customizing a Graphite graph 220
Getting ready 221
How to do it… 221
How it works… 221
Creating a Graphite dashboard 223
Getting ready 223
How to do it… 223
How it works… 224
There's more… 225
Chapter 6: Replication 226
Introduction 226
Deciding what to copy 227
Getting ready 227
How to do it… 227
How it works… 228
Securing the WAL stream 229
Getting ready 230
How to do it… 230
How it works… 231
There's more… 233
See also 233
Setting up a hot standby 233
Getting ready 234
How to do it… 234
How it works… 235

[x]
 See also 238
Upgrading to asynchronous replication 238
Getting ready 238
How to do it… 238
How it works… 240
There's more… 241
Cascading replication 241
Using replication slots 241
Viewing replication status on a replica 242
See also 242
Bulletproofing with synchronous replication 243
Getting ready 243
How to do it… 243
How it works… 244
There's more… 245
Being less strict 245
Being more strict 246
Enabling extreme durability 247
See also 247
Faking replication with pg_receivexlog 248
Getting ready 248
How to do it… 248
How it works… 249
There's more… 250
See also 250
Setting up Slony 251
Getting ready 251
How to do it… 251
How it works… 253
See also 254
Copying a few tables with Slony 255
Getting ready 255
How to do it… 255
How it works… 257
There's more… 258
See also 258
Setting up Bucardo 259
Getting ready 259
How to do it… 259
How it works… 261

[ xi ]
 See also 262
Copying a few tables with Bucardo 262
Getting ready 263
How to do it… 263
How it works… 264
See also 266
Setting up Londiste 266
Getting ready 266
How to do it… 267
How it works… 269
See also 270
Copying a few tables with Londiste 271
Getting ready 271
How to do it… 271
How it works… 272
See also 273
Setting up pglogical 273
Getting ready 273
How to do it… 274
How it works… 276
See also 276
Copying a few tables with pglogical 277
Getting ready 277
How to do it… 277
How it works… 278
There's more… 279
See also 280
Chapter 7: Replication Management Tools 281
Introduction 282
Deciding when to use third-party tools 283
Getting ready 283
How to do it… 283
How it works… 284
There's more… 285
Installing and configuring Barman 285
Getting ready 285
How to do it… 286
How it works… 287
There's more… 288

[ xii ]
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
 CHAPTER XII.
OSCAR TALKS TO THE COLONEL.

“W hat shall I do with the clothes?” continued Oscar. “Shall I

bring them to you, or would you rather go up to the sutler’s
and pick them out for yourself?”
“I’d rather you would bring them to me,” answered Tom, without
looking at his brother. “Bring them to the mouth of the ravine, and I
will meet you there—say in a couple of hours. You had better not
come in here again, for my partner is an odd sort of a fellow, and
doesn’t like to have any strangers about his camp. If I shouldn’t
happen to be on hand when you come back, don’t wait for me. Just
hide the clothes in the bushes at the foot of a big rock you will see
there, and I’ll find them. You will know what rock I mean when you
see it, for there is a large oak tree leaning over it. Good-by till I see
you again.”
While Oscar was listening to what his brother had to say in regard
to the disposal of the clothing, something told him that Tom did not
intend to be at the place appointed to receive them.
Impressed with this idea, and believing that it would be a long
time before he would meet him again,—if, indeed, he ever met him,—
he resolved to extort from him a promise that he would not only
withdraw from the companionship of such men as the one he had
seen in the sage-brush, but that he would make an honest and
persevering effort to refund the money he had stolen, and regain a
place among reputable people. But he did not have time to say a
word, for Tom’s good-by was an abrupt dismissal.
That he intended it should be taken as such was proved by his
actions. As soon as he ceased speaking, he caught up the axe and
plunged into the bushes.
 “Don’t leave me in that way. I want to say something more to you,”
cried Oscar.
He listened intently for a reply, but the only one he received was
the echo of his own voice thrown back from the cliffs.
He called again, with no better success, and then, unhitching his
pony, he sprang upon his back, and slowly and sadly rode down the
ravine.
He turned in his saddle occasionally, to run his eye over the thicket
in which Tom had disappeared; but he could see nothing of him, and
finally a sudden turn in the road shut the camp out from his view.
The exhilarating gallop Oscar had enjoyed on his new pony had
done much to cure his homesickness and banish the gloomy
thoughts that had crowded upon him when he saw Leon Parker
setting out for the States; but the events of the last half hour had
brought them all back again.
He had never dreamed that he would stumble upon his brother in
that wilderness, or that he would ever see him in a condition so
deplorable.
Tom’s ill-gotten gains, which he had expected would bring him so
much happiness, had brought him nothing but misery. He was thinly
clad, his pockets were empty, he had often gone hungry, and he was
the companion and associate of the lowest characters.
“His case certainly looks desperate,” thought Oscar, glancing at his
watch and putting his pony into a gallop, “and I am completely at my
wit’s end. I don’t know what to do, and I wish there was someone
here to whom I could go for advice. Tom will never be anything
better than he is while he remains with such fellows as that ‘partner’
of his, that’s certain; but how shall I get him away from them? That’s
the question that troubles me.”
And we may add that it troubled him all the way to the fort; but
just as he was riding into the gate a thought passed through his
mind, inducing him to turn his pony toward the stable instead of
toward the hitching-post in front of the commandant’s head-
quarters, as he had at first intended to do. If anybody could help him
it was the colonel.
He would not take the officer into his confidence, of course, but he
would question him in a roundabout way, and perhaps during the
conversation some hint would be dropped that would show him a
way out of his difficulty.
Leaving his pony in the stall that had been set apart for his use,
Oscar walked across the parade-ground and entered the hall leading
to the colonel’s quarters, the orderly, as before, opening the door for
him. He was glad to find that the officer was alone. He was engaged
in writing, but when Oscar came in he laid down his pen and greeted
him with:
“Ah! you have turned up at last, have you? I have had an orderly
looking for you, thinking that perhaps you would like to take a short
ride to try your new horse.”
“I have just returned from a five-mile gallop,” answered Oscar,
who hoped that the colonel would not offer to accompany him when
he left the fort to carry the clothes to the ravine. “I am going to start
right back, and this time I shall take my gun with me. I saw some
grouse and a big jack-rabbit down there in the sage-brush.”
“Oh, you can find them any day if you keep your eyes open,” said
the colonel carelessly. “But I suppose you might as well begin to form
your collection one time as another. How does your pony suit?”
“Very well so far. He showed a disposition to be ugly at first, but I
had no trouble to bring him to his senses. By-the-way, I met a couple
of wolfers while I was gone.”
“Well, what did they steal from you?”
“Nothing, sir. The only thing I had with me that was worth stealing
was my pony. No doubt you will be surprised when I tell you that one
of these wolfers is an old acquaintance of mine.”
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed the colonel, who was indeed
surprised. “You beat anybody I ever heard of. How many more
acquaintances are you going to find while you are out here? Are you
going to ship this fellow off to the States, too?”
“No, sir; because he can’t very well—I mean he doesn’t want to go
back where he came from,” stammered Oscar, who was not a little
confused when he found that he had let out more than he had
intended.
“Ah!” said the colonel in a very significant tone of voice. “It is a
wonder you met him at all, for these wolfers generally have good
reasons for keeping themselves hidden in the thickest part of the
woods they can find. If you have cause to dislike this man—whoever
he is—you may have the satisfaction of knowing that he can’t get any
lower down in the world—not by land, as some humorist remarks.”
“I have no cause to dislike him,” replied Oscar. “On the contrary, I
think a good deal of him; but I do not like the company he keeps. I
met his partner while I was riding through the sage-brush, and I
must say that he was the worst specimen of humanity that I ever
looked at. He was tall and raw-boned, with grizzly hair and whiskers,
a pair of wild-looking eyes——”
“And rode a little sorrel pony, with a sheepskin for a saddle,”
added the colonel. “That was Lish, the Wolfer. I know him. Where is
he now?”
“In the village, probably. I judge so, from the fact that, when I met
him, he carried a couple of empty sacks across his pony’s neck. I
thought he was going after supplies.”
“Where did you find his companion?”
“In camp, on the banks of the brook that runs through the ravine,
about——”
“Orderly, tell Lieutenant Fitch I want to see him!” shouted the
colonel.
Oscar was very much surprised at this unceremonious
interruption, and he was still more surprised, and not a little
alarmed, besides, when the lieutenant—who happened to be close at
hand—entered the room in haste, and was thus addressed by his
superior:
“Mr. Fitch,” said the colonel, “Lish, the Wolfer, has been in
Julesburg. How long ago was it you met him?” he added, turning to
Oscar.
“About two hours, I should say.”
“Well, he has had plenty of time to get drunk. Go and find him, Mr.
Fitch, and listen to what he has to say. When he is in his cups, he is
like an Indian in the war-dance—much given to boasting of his
valorous deeds. If he says anything relating to that affair of last
summer, take him into custody at once, and then go up and arrest his
companion, whom you will find on the banks of that little trout-
stream we fished in last summer. If one had a hand in it, the other
did, too, and so we must pull them both.”
 Having received his instructions, the lieutenant hurried from the
room, while Oscar sank helplessly back in his chair, almost overcome
with bewilderment and alarm.
“Worse and worse,” he thought, when he had recovered himself so
that he could think at all. “Tom has been doing something else that
renders him liable to arrest. What will become of him?”
Then, seeing that the colonel’s eyes were fastened upon him with
an inquiring look, he called a sickly smile to his face, and asked, in a
voice that was strangely calm, considering the circumstances:
“Are the wolfers all bad men?”
“Oh, no. There are exceptions, of course; but take them as a class,
they are a desperate lot. I know of several men, two of whom I have
in my mind at this moment, who made their start in life as wolfers.
One of them is now a prosperous merchant in an Eastern city, and
the other is running an extensive cattle ranch in Texas. But they were
careful of their money, while the majority of those who follow that
business squander every cent they earn. They brave hunger, cold,
and all sorts of hardships for several months in the year, and devote
the rest of their time to getting rid of their money. They are held in
supreme contempt by all honest plainsmen, and this acquaintance of
yours had better break off associating with them before he gets
himself into trouble, if he hasn’t done so already. If he is going to be
a wolfer, he had better hunt alone than in the company of that
miserable fellow he seems to have chosen for a companion. No
matter how much money he makes, Lish will find means to obtain
possession of the whole of it.”
“Do you think he will rob him?” exclaimed the boy.
“He is capable of anything,” was the colonel’s reply.
And it was accompanied by a shrug of the shoulders that spoke
volumes and excited a train of serious reflections in Oscar’s mind.
 CHAPTER XIII.
OSCAR WRITES A NOTE.

W hile the colonel was speaking, Oscar had twisted uneasily

about on his chair, waiting with the utmost impatience for him
to bring his remarks to a close.
At almost any other time he would have plied the officer with
questions regarding the class of nomads known as “wolfers,” for he
would like to have learned more about them; but he had already
found out all he cared to know just then.
Tom was suspected of complicity in some crime that rendered him
liable to punishment; and, if he escaped and went to the hills with
Lish, he would run the risk of being robbed by him.
Oscar thought it was his duty to warn him of these dangers. He
knew that the lieutenant would carry out his instructions with the
utmost promptness and decision—these regulars waste no time when
acting under orders—and not a moment was to be lost.
The colonel settled back in his chair as though he had nothing
more to say just then, and Oscar arose to his feet and went into his
bedroom.
After slinging on his powder-flask and shot-pouch, and making
sure that the little box in the stock of his fowling-piece was filled with
caps, he opened his trunk, and, taking from it a sum of money
sufficient to pay for the clothes he had promised to purchase for his
brother, he went back into the colonel’s room.
There the officer detained him for a few minutes in order to
describe the localities in the immediate vicinity of the fort in which
he would be likely to find the most game, and to tell him how to
shape his course in order to reach those localities. He thought he was
doing the boy a kindness; but instead of that he was putting him on
nettles.
Oscar listened as patiently as he could; and, when the colonel
ceased speaking, he bade him good-by and left the room.
He bolted through the outer door, and ran at the top of his speed
across the parade-ground to the sutler’s store. Fortunately there were
no customers present, and so the sutler was at liberty to attend to his
wants at once.
Slinging his double-barrel over his shoulder by the broad strap
that was attached to it, Oscar quickly selected the articles he thought
his brother needed, paid the price demanded for them, and, as soon
as they had been tied up in a compact bundle, he hurried to the
stable after his horse.
The animal, as before, showed a desire to use his heels, but Oscar,
having no time to waste, paid not the slightest attention to him. The
curb and the rawhide lasso were both brought into requisition; and,
before the vicious little beast was fairly through smarting under the
energetic pulls and blows he had received, he had carried his rider
through the gate and out of sight of the flag-staff.
The pony accomplished the distance that lay between the fort and
the mouth of the gully in much less time than he had accomplished it
before; for Oscar made no effort to check him, not even when he was
moving with headlong speed down the steep path that led through
the sage-brush.
Almost before he knew it, the boy found himself in the mouth of
the ravine, and there he drew rein and brought his pony to a stand-
still.
He now had another cause for uneasiness. Suppose the lieutenant
had found Lish at the village, and that the wolfer had said or done
something to warrant his arrest! Suppose, too, having placed Lish
safely in the guard-house, the young officer should come after Tom,
and find Oscar there in the ravine!
Even if he did not suspect him of something—and it is hard to see
how the lieutenant could help it when he caught sight of the big
bundle that was tied to the horn of Oscar’s saddle—would he not
mention the circumstance to the colonel when he made his report,
and wouldn’t the colonel have a word or two to say about it?
 “Gracious!” exclaimed Oscar; “I’ll be in trouble myself if I don’t
look out. What could I say to the colonel if he should ask me what I
was doing here, and what I had in my bundle? Tom!” he added,
calling as loudly as he dared. “If you are about here, show yourself
without any fooling. I am in a great hurry, and I have news for you.”
Tom was about there, but he would not show himself. He was
lying at the foot of a scrub-oak, on the other side of the ravine,
keeping a close watch over his brother’s movements; but not even the
announcement that Oscar had some news to communicate, could
induce him to stir from his place of concealment. He felt so heartily
ashamed of himself that he did not want to meet his brother face to
face again, if he could help it.
“I can’t waste any words on him. There are his clothes, and when
he wants them he can come after them,” said Oscar, pitching the
bundle down behind the rock Tom had described to him. “Now then,
I don’t know whether or not I shall have time to do it, but I’ll take the
risk.”
So saying, Oscar drew from his pocket a diary and lead-pencil, and
dashed off a short note to his brother, using the pommel of his saddle
for a writing-desk. The pony was as motionless as the rock beside
which he stood.
Probably he thought—if he was able to think at all—that Oscar had
ridden into the bushes in order to conceal himself from some enemy
who was in pursuit of him. At any rate, he showed the training he
had received at the hands of his Indian master.
The note ran as follows:

Dear Tom:

Here are the clothes you need. I am sorry I cannot see you again, for I should like
to ask you some questions in regard to a certain “affair” that happened last
summer; and in which you and Lish, the Wolfer, are supposed to have been
engaged. If you had anything to do with it, you will know what I mean, and you had
better dig out of here without the loss of a minute’s time. Go off somewhere among
white folks; begin all over again, with an earnest resolution to do better, and, as
soon as you are able, make amends for what you have done. But first drop Lish, as
you would drop a hot potato. You will never amount to a row of pins so long as you
have anything to do with him or men like him. I have as good evidence as I want
that he will rob you before the season is over, as Frank Fuller and Eben Webster
robbed Leon Parker. If you had no hand in that “affair,” whatever it may be, come
up to the fort as soon as you have read this note and put on these clothes, and I will
do everything in my power to give you a start. In either case drop Lish. It would be
better for you to work for nothing and board around, as you did in Denver, than to
associate longer with him.

For prudential reasons, Oscar signed no name to the note; and,

indeed, no signature was needed to tell Tom where it came from. He
read it over hastily, and bending down from his saddle, he thrust it
under the string with which the bundle of clothing was tied up.
“It isn’t as emphatic as I wish it was,” thought he, “but I have no
time to re-write it, and I don’t know that I could make any
improvements in it if I should try. I would much rather talk to him,
and I wish he had——”
Just then the pony’s head came up with a jerk, and his ears were
thrown back as if he were listening to some sound behind him.
He did not turn about as most horses would have done, nor did he
move one of his feet an inch—not even when the clatter of hoofs on
the hard path began to ring out clearly and distinctly, as it did a
moment later.
Somebody was coming through the sage-brush toward the ravine—
that was evident. Beyond a doubt it was the lieutenant; and here was
Oscar, fairly cornered.
A person thinks rapidly when placed in a situation like this, and it
did not take the boy an instant to make up his mind that everything
depended on his pony.
The rock behind which he had hidden the bundle stood on the
hillside, fully twenty feet from the path, and the intervening space
was thickly covered with trees and bushes.
If the pony could be kept from revealing his presence, it was
possible that the approaching horseman might pass on into the
ravine, without suspecting that there was anyone near him.
“It’s rather a slender chance,” Oscar thought, as he swung himself
from the saddle and seized his pony by the bit; “but it is the only one
I have. Now, old fellow,” he added in a whisper, “just imagine that I
am an Indian hiding here to escape from a white man who wants to
shoot me!”
 If the pony had been able to understand every word his master
said to him, he could not have behaved with more circumspection.
He stood perfectly still, and there was nothing but the motion of
his ears to indicate that he heard anything.
Oscar kept a close watch of the path through a convenient opening
in the bushes, and presently the horseman passed across the range of
his vision.
 CHAPTER XIV.
LEFT IN THE SAGE-BRUSH.

T he opening in the bushes was so small that Oscar was able to

obtain but a momentary glimpse of the passing horseman, but
that momentary glimpse was enough to satisfy him on two points. It
was not the lieutenant, after all, but Lish, the Wolfer, and he had not
been to the village for the purpose of getting drunk, as the colonel
had intimated, but to lay in some necessary supplies in the way of
provisions. The well-filled bags that were slung across his pony’s
neck, and the side of bacon which hung from the muzzle of the long
rifle he carried over his shoulder testified to this fact.
Oscar drew a long breath of relief when he saw the man ride down
the path, and told himself that one thing was certain: If Tom was
determined to go with the wolfer he would have something to eat
during the journey to his hunting-grounds, and if he went hungry
after that, it would be because his partner was too lazy to keep the
larder supplied with meat.
As soon as the wolfer had passed out of hearing Oscar mounted his
pony and rode down into the path. He made his way around the brow
of the hill; and, when he had put a safe distance between himself and
the mouth of the ravine, he checked his pony and proceeded to load
his gun.
“Tom has got the matter in his own hands,” said he, as he rested
the butt of the weapon on the toe of his boot and poured a charge of
powder into each barrel. “If he had nothing to do with that ‘affair’
that happened last summer—I wish to goodness I knew what it was—
and has any desire to turn over a new leaf and to go to work in
earnest, he will come up to the fort as soon as he has read that note.
If he does not come I shall have to look upon his absence either as a
confession of guilt, or as a declaration that he prefers the
companionship of such men as that wolfer to the society of honest
folks. In either case I have done all I can, and the business ends right
here so far as I am concerned.”
Oscar would have been very much surprised if anyone had told
him that he had not seen the end of the business after all; that, in
fact, he had seen only the beginning of it.
The note he had written, as well as the clothing he had purchased
to keep Tom from freezing, were destined at no distant day to be
produced as evidence against him.
Was it a dread of impending evil that prompted him to say, as he
placed the caps on his gun and started his pony forward again:
“Mr. Chamberlain was always right, and he shot close to the mark
when he told me that I would not find plain sailing before me, simply
because I was about to engage in a congenial occupation. I have been
at the fort but a few hours, and yet I have wished myself back in
Eaton more than a dozen times. Why didn’t I keep away from that
ravine? Thoughts of Tom will force themselves upon me continually,
and all my pleasure will be knocked in the head. How can I enjoy
myself when I know that he is in such a situation? Hold on there! I
am ready for you now!”
Although he was deeply engrossed in his meditations, Oscar could
still keep an eye out for game; and when that flock of sage-hens arose
from the bushes almost at his pony’s feet, they did not catch him
napping.
Being accustomed to the noise made by the grouse of his native
hills when it suddenly bursts from its cover, the sound of their wings
did not startle him as it startles the tyro.
He was so excited that he did not think to stop his pony, but still he
was cool enough to make his selections before he fired; and when he
saw, through the thick cloud of smoke that poured from each barrel,
two little patches of feathers floating in the air, and marking the spot
where a brace of the finest members of the flock had been neatly
stopped in their rapid flight, he knew that his ammunition had not
been expended in vain.
There was another thing Oscar did not think of, and that was
whether or not his pony would stand fire. But it was now too late to
debate that question, and besides, it had been settled to his entire
satisfaction. Almost simultaneously with the quick reports of the
fowling-piece there arose other sounds of an entirely different
character—a crashing in the bushes, followed by muffled
exclamations of astonishment and anger. These sounds were made
by Oscar, who had been very neatly unhorsed.
The pony would no doubt stand fire well enough to suit his half-
savage, rough-riding Indian master, but he was not steady enough to
suit the young taxidermist.
When the double-barrel roared almost between his ears, his head
went down, his hind feet came up, and Oscar, being taken off his
guard, went whirling through the air as if he had been thrown from a
catapult.
He lost no time in scrambling to his feet, but he was too late to
catch his pony. All he saw of him was the end of his tail, which was
flourishing triumphantly in the breeze as the tricky little beast went
out of sight over the brow of the hill.
“Well, go if you want to!” shouted Oscar, holding one hand to his
head, and rubbing his shoulder with the other. “You’ll never come
that on me again, I tell you. I can hunt just as well on foot. Now,
where’s my gun?”
The weapon had been pitched into a thick bush, a short distance in
advance of the one in which Oscar had brought up, and fortunately it
had sustained no injury beyond a few deep scratches in the stock,
which Oscar tried to rub out with the sleeve of his coat.
The boy’s first care was to put fresh loads into each barrel, and his
second to hunt up his specimens, which he found to be perfect in
every way.
After examining them to his satisfaction, he placed them in a
couple of paper cones which he had taken the precaution to put into
his game-bag before leaving the fort, and then set out in search of the
jack-rabbit he had seen a few hours before.
He did not waste any time in looking for his pony, for he knew that
all efforts to recapture him would be unavailing. The animal would
no doubt make the best of his way back to the corral from which he
had been taken in the morning, and Oscar would find him there
when he returned to the fort.
 If he ever got on his back again, he would teach him that he was
expected to halt the instant he saw his rider raise a gun to his face,
and give him to understand, besides, that any and every attempt to
throw that rider would be sure to bring a certain and speedy
punishment.
The young hunter walked up and down the ridge several times,
carefully beating the cover on each side of the path, but he could not
make the jack-rabbit, or any member of his family, show himself.
Probably there were plenty of his species running about in the
brush, within easy range, or hiding away in secure retreats, listening
to the sound of his footsteps; but he had no dog to drive them out
into the open so that he could get a shot at them. How Bugle would
have enjoyed an hour’s run in that thicket!
Becoming weary of the hunt at last, Oscar looked at his watch, felt
of his head—which must have been pretty severely bumped, judging
by the way it ached—and drew a bee-line for the post.
Tom had been allowed ample time to read the note and put on the
clothes that had been provided for him; and, if he thought it best to
come up to the fort, Oscar wanted to be on hand to meet him. It was
near the hour of dress-parade, too.
As soon as that was over, and supper had been served, the officers
who were to compose the hunting expedition were to be ready for the
start.
Oscar knew that the hunt had been planned solely for his own
benefit, and since the colonel had shown him so much courtesy, it
would not do for him to be a minute behind time.
There was a vast difference, Oscar found, in traveling over two
miles and a half of prairie on a swift and willing horse, and walking
the same distance when one has an aching head on his shoulders and
a fowling-piece to carry, even though it does weigh but little over
seven pounds.
It seemed a long way from the sage-brush to the fort, but he
reached his journey’s end at last, and just in time to see the
companies fall in for dress-parade.
From the top of the hill on which the fort was located, Oscar
witnessed, for the first time, this imposing ceremony, which took
place on a level plain a short distance away.
 It consisted principally of a short exercise in the manual of arms,
the reception of the reports of the first sergeants, and the publication
of the latest orders.
There were eight companies in line, and every one of them was
composed entirely of well-dressed veterans. There was not a man in
the ranks who had not heard the warwhoop, and joined in headlong
charges against the hostile Sioux.
They presented a fine appearance as they sat there in their saddles,
the rays of the declining sun glancing from their bright weapons and
burnished accoutrements, every man’s arm and body moving as one,
in obedience to the sharp words of command. As Oscar looked at
them his heart thrilled, and he wished that he was a soldier himself.
This wish he communicated to a young second lieutenant, Joel
Warwick by name, who was to be one of the hunting party, and who
joined him as soon as the parade was dismissed.
The officer stared at Oscar a moment, as if to assure himself that
he was really in earnest, and then astonished him by saying:
“I would change places with you to-day, if I could, and give you
boot into the bargain. You see us now in our Sunday clothes, and you
think we look nice. So we do; for there’s not a finer sight to be seen in
this world than a battalion of cavalry drawn up in line, unless it be
that same battalion making a charge. But you ought to see us and our
clothes after a hard scout!”
“Well, you don’t go on scout every day,” said Oscar. “Besides, you
have a life position; you get good pay for what you do, and there are
your chances for promotion. You’ll be a colonel yourself some day.”
“Not much. We go by the seniority rule in peace times, and there
are a good many on the list above me, I tell you. Nothing but a war
that will kill off some of my seniors will advance me.”
 CHAPTER XV.
THE HUNTING PARTY.

J oel Warwick was a dashing young officer, proud of his chosen

profession, and anxious for an opportunity to distinguish himself
in it. Although he was fresh from West Point—he had been on the
plains but little more than a year—he had shown himself to be
possessed of a good many qualities that go to make up a first-class
soldier.
“I have been thinking of you ever since we were introduced,”
continued the lieutenant, “and wondering if you really knew the
worth of the attentions that have been shown you. You came out here
a perfect stranger, and yet you were received at once on terms of
intimacy by the colonel, who can’t do too much for you; while we
little fellows, who have risked our lives in obedience to his orders,
must keep our distance. The gulf between line and field officers in
the regular army is a wide one, and no subordinate must attempt to
cross it. Before my commander will be as free with me as he is with
you, I must wear an eagle on my shoulders.”
“And yet he thinks a great deal of you,” said Oscar. “He told me
that you would some day make a fine officer.”
“Did he say that?” exclaimed the lieutenant, his eyes sparkling with
pleasure. “Well, I knew that he was satisfied with me. If he wasn’t, he
never would have invited me to go on this hunt.”
“What did you do to please him?”
“I rode my horse to death while carrying despatches for him. While
we were out on our last scout, it became necessary for him to
communicate with the commandant at Fort Wallace; so he started
me off with Big Thompson for a guide. I rode a splendid animal,
which my father had presented to me when I was first ordered out
here, and which I believe to be equal, if not superior, to anything that
ever stood on four feet; but, before we had gone half the distance, he
was completely done up, and Thompson had to shoot him. That was
in accordance with orders, you know. If a horse gives out, he is killed,
to keep him from falling into the hands of the hostiles who may use
him against us. My guide then ran ahead, on foot, and I rode his
horse. And would you believe it?—that miserable little pony of his
was none the worse for the journey, and neither was Thompson,
while I was so completely played out that I wasn’t worth a cent for a
whole week. By the way, I thought I saw you leave the post on
horseback?”
“So I did; but out there in the sage-brush he threw me, and made
off before I could catch him. I hope to find him somewhere about the
corral.”
“I hope you will, but I am afraid you won’t. I think you will find
that he has struck a straight course for the camp where his old
master hangs out. Let’s go and see if we can find him, and then we’ll
come back and take a look at that mule and wagon the quartermaster
sent up from the village. The man who owns them has been waiting
for you over an hour.”
“Have you heard anybody else inquiring for me?” asked Oscar,
thinking of his brother. “Well, I have done all I can,” he added to
himself, upon receiving a reply in the negative. “Tom has made his
own bed, and he must occupy it.”
What the lieutenant said about the pony made Oscar a little
uneasy. If it was true that the animal had gone off to hunt up his
former owner, he might make up his mind that he had seen the last
of him; for the Indian would take particular pains to see that he did
not fall into the hands of the soldiers again very soon.
If he did not send him off to some secure hiding-place among the
ravines, he would turn him loose with a lot of other ponies, and the
most experienced horseman at the post could not have picked him
out from among them.
If by any chance he was discovered and taken possession of by the
soldiers, some “good” Indian would lay claim to him, and the agent—
who is always more in sympathy with his Indians than he is with the
troops whose presence protects him—would order him to be given
up.
The lieutenant explained all this to Oscar as the two walked toward
the corral. When they arrived there they could see nothing of the
missing steed.
The guards were questioned, but the invariable reply was that no
pony wearing a saddle and bridle had passed through the lines that
afternoon.
He was not to be found in his stall either: and, after spending half
an hour in fruitless search, Oscar gave him up for lost, and followed
the lieutenant across the parade-ground to the colonel’s quarters, in
front of which stood the wagon and mule the quartermaster had sent
up for the boy’s inspection.
“Be you the college-sharp that’s needin’ a mu-el?” asked a roughly
dressed man, who arose from the warehouse steps and sauntered up
to them while they were critically examining the wagon and the long-
eared animal that was hitched to it.
Oscar looked at the man, and then he turned and looked at the
lieutenant, who said in a low tone:
“Every expert is called a ‘sharp’ out here. If he is a good poker-
player he is called a card-sharp; if he is an eloquent preacher he is
called a gospel-sharp—and no disrespect is intended either. It is
simply a plainsman way of talking. He has heard somewhere that you
are backed up by a university, and that’s the reason he calls you a
college-sharp. It’s a pretty fair looking rig, isn’t it? I don’t know that
you can do better, for you may rest assured that the quartermaster
wouldn’t pick out anything inferior for you. You can easily find sale
for it when you come back; and, if your horse is lost, and you don’t
feel like buying another, you can ride the mule when you want to go
hunting. Now, then, what are you laughing at?”
“I am laughing at the idea of making a hunting horse out of a
mule,” replied Oscar.
“Now, I’ll tell you what’s a fact—they make good ones,” exclaimed
the lieutenant. “One of our favorite scouts rides a mule on all his
hunting excursions, and that same mule can make an elk break his
trot quicker than any thoroughbred in the regiment.”
 The officer might almost as well have talked Greek, for Oscar did
not know what he meant when he spoke of an elk being made to
break his trot; but, before he could ask an explanation, the lieutenant
continued:
“You look him over, and I’ll go and find the major. It isn’t always
safe to invest in horse- or mule-flesh in this country until you know
how many owners it has. You don’t want to pay for it more than
once.”
The young officer hurried off as he said this, and Oscar was left to
complete his examination alone.
It was easy enough to see that the mule was a superior animal.
Although he was not very large or heavy, he was well put together,
and looked strong enough to draw a much weightier vehicle than the
one to which he was hitched—a light “three-spring,” built something
like an ambulance, and provided with a canvas top to protect its
cargo from the weather.
Oscar had already made up his mind to purchase, and a few words
from the major—who presently came up—confirmed him in his
decision.
The money—a good round sum—was paid over to the owner, who
departed satisfied; the mule and wagon were given into the charge of
one of the teamsters, and Oscar and the lieutenant hurried to their
rooms to get ready for supper.
During the meal the loss of Oscar’s pony was discussed, and the
conclusion at which all the officers arrived was that the young
taxidermist was just fifty dollars out of pocket, besides the amount
he had paid for the lasso, saddle, and bridle, which the animal had
carried away with him.
“No doubt those articles will be very acceptable to the Indian, who
will be delighted to get his horse back again,” said the major. “But I
can mount you for this hunt. I’ll give you Gipsy. She is a beautiful
rider, and as gentle as a kitten. She is pretty fast, too, but when you
are in the chase you’ll have to look out for her. She is not as sure-
footed as your last pony, and if you should happen to get into a
prairie-dog’s nest she might break her legs, and your neck into the
bargain. While you are gone I’ll make every effort to recover your
horse, but you mustn’t be disappointed if I fail.”
 Supper over, Oscar went into his room to get ready for the start.
When he came out again he carried his heavy Sharpe’s rifle on his
shoulder, a pair of saddle-bags, containing a few necessary articles,
over his arm, and a belt filled with cartridges was buckled about his
waist.
The other members of the party were waiting for him on the
parade-ground. There were six of them in all, not counting the
soldier who was to drive the wagon in which the tents and other
camp equipage was stowed away, and the Osage guide, who sat on
his pony near the gate, waiting for the party to start.
The hunters were all in their saddles, and the colonel’s hounds
were frisking about in front of the wagon, with every demonstration
of joy.
The quartermaster stood holding by the bridle a beautiful little
nag, which was affectionately rubbing her head against his shoulder.
This was the major’s holiday horse—the one he rode on dress-
parades, and other extra occasions. The one he rode on his scouts
and campaigns was a tall, raw-boned roan, which he called his war-
horse.
Oscar threw his rifle over his shoulder—it was provided with a
sling similar to the one that was attached to the fowling-piece—
placed his saddle-bags in the wagon, and mounted his horse,
whereupon the guide put his pony in motion and rode out of the
gate, the cavalcade following close at his heels.
The sun was just setting as they started out; and, before they had
proceeded many miles on their way, night settled down over the
prairie.
As the sky was cloudy, and no stars were to be seen, the darkness
soon became intense. All Oscar could see in advance of him was the
white blanket worn by the Indian guide, who kept steadily on his
way, as sure of his course as he would have been in broad daylight.
But the darkness did not affect the spirits of the hunters, who
acted like a lot of boys just turned loose from school. Even the
colonel had thrown aside his dignity, and seemed delighted to have
the opportunity to let out a little of the jovial spirit and good feeling
which had so long been restrained by the requirements of official
etiquette.
 He shouted and sang songs until he was hoarse, and even yelled
back at the wolves, which now and then serenaded the party.
Shortly after midnight they arrived at the place which had been
selected for their camping-ground—a little grove of timber situated
on one of the branches of the Platte.
Here the wagon was brought to a halt, and almost before Oscar
had had time to gain any idea of his surroundings, the horses had
been staked out, the tents pitched, and a fire started in the edge of
the timber.
Oscar had often made camp in the woods after dark, but he found
that the officers were better at such business than he was.
 CHAPTER XVI.
A CHASE AND A CAPTIVE.

H aving picketed his horse and placed his saddle and bridle under
the wagon with the others, Oscar joined the group about the
fire, who were preparing to dispose of a second supper before going
to bed—their long ride in the keen air having given them a most
ravenous appetite.
Oscar was as hungry as the rest, and never did he partake of
homely fare with more relish than he did that night. The black coffee
sweetened with brown sugar, and served up without milk, was equal
to any his mother had ever made; the fat bacon was better than most
beef, and the hardtack was to be preferred to pastry.
He ate his full share of the viands, and then rolled himself up in his
blankets, and, with his saddle for a pillow, slept the sleep of the
weary, until he was aroused by the voices of the teamsters, who, with
the help of the Indian, had kept watch of the horses during the night.
A dash of cold water in his face, and a hasty breakfast, prepared
him for the hunt, the details of which were arranged while the horses
were being brought up.
“Now, Oscar,” said the colonel, as he sprang into the saddle and
led the way toward a plateau that lay about two miles distant from
the camp, “stay as close to me as you can, and if we don’t secure a
specimen of something before another meal is served up to us, it will
not be our fault. What do you intend to do with that rifle, I’d like to
know?”
“Why, I am going to shoot a prong-horn with it if I get the chance,”
answered Oscar.
“Take it back to camp, and tell the teamsters to take care of it until
you return,” said the colonel. “It will only be in your way. Your
revolver and lasso are what you must depend on this morning.”
Oscar hastened to obey, and, when he reached the camp, he found
that the colonel had not brought his hounds along. As soon as he
came up with the officer again he asked why he had not done so.
“We want to see some sport while our horses are fresh,” was the
reply, “and the best way to get it is to run the game down ourselves. A
dash of three or four miles will take all the breath out of them, and
then we’ll give the hounds a chance. This afternoon we will try still-
hunting, which has gone almost out of style, except among the
Indians and a few white pot-hunters, and then you can use your
rifle.”
During the ride to the plateau the colonel improved the
opportunity to give Oscar some instructions in regard to the manner
in which antelope were hunted, and the course he must pursue to
make the hunt successful.
He showed him how to throw the lasso, and, although the boy tried
hard to imitate him, he did it simply out of politeness, and not
because he believed that he would ever be able to capture anything
with that novel weapon.
He could throw the lasso with all ease as far as its length would
permit, and sometimes the noose would go, and sometimes it
wouldn’t. He was not very expert with the revolver either, and often
wished he had held fast to his rifle.
When the hunting party mounted the hills that led to the plateau,
Oscar obtained his first view of a prong-horn.
He was disappointed, as almost everybody is who sees for the first
time something he has often read or heard about. He knew that the
antelope seldom exceeds three feet in height at the shoulders, and
that it rarely weighs more than sixty or seventy pounds; but still he
did not expect to find it so diminutive a creature.
There were several small herds grazing quietly within range of his
vision, and but for their color they might have been taken for so
many sheep.
Having carefully marked the position of the different herds, the
hunters drew silently back down the ridge, and following in the lead
of the colonel made a detour of a mile or more, in order to reach
some hillocks on the leeward side of the game, under cover of which
they could approach some hundreds of yards nearer to the spot on
which they were grazing.
On reaching this place of concealment, they dismounted for a few
minutes to tighten their saddle-girths, arrange their lassoes and look
to their revolvers; and, when everything was ready for the exciting
chase that was to follow, they rode out on the plateau and showed
themselves to the antelope.
The actions of the animals, who were thus disturbed at their quiet
repast by the sudden appearance of enemies whose presence they
had never suspected, astonished Oscar.
Instead of setting off in full flight at once, as he had expected they
would, they one and all made a few “buck-jumps”—that is, sprang
straight up and down in the air; and then, running together in a
group, stood and stared at the intruders.
But when the colonel, with a wild Indian yell and a wave of his hat,
dashed toward them at the top of his speed, they scattered like leaves
before a storm, and made off at their best pace.
Oscar followed close at the colonel’s heels, the gallant little black
on which he was mounted easily keeping pace with the officer’s more
bulky horse; and presently he saw a full-grown doe, with a couple of
fawns at her side, break away from the others and direct her course
across the plateau toward the lower prairie that lay beyond.
“There’s your chance, Preston!” shouted the colonel. “Shoot the
doe and lasso the youngsters. You’ll never find finer specimens if you
hunt until your hair is as white as mine. Go it, now, and don’t forget
that the louder you yell the more fun you’ll have!”
The hubbub that arose behind him made Oscar believe that the
other members of the party must be of the same opinion.
The chorus of whoops and howls that rent the air when the game
was seen in full flight was almost enough to raise a doubt in his mind
as to whether his hunting companions were friendly white men or
hostile Indians.
 Oscar shoots the Prong-horn.

The colonel kept on after a magnificent buck on which he had set

his eye. Oscar turned off in pursuit of the trio which had been
pointed out to him as his quarry, and Lieutenant Warwick came
dashing after him, uttering hideous yells to urge both horses to
renewed exertions.
The prong-horns ran with such surprising swiftness that Oscar,
almost from the start, began to despair of overtaking them; but by
the time he had gone half a mile, he saw that he was rapidly closing
up the gap that lay between himself and the game.
If the antelope’s staying powers were equal to its speed for a short
distance, all efforts to run it down on horseback would be unavailing;
but it soon begins to show signs of weariness, and then even a
moderately fast horse can come up with it.
As soon as he had approached within easy range, Oscar drew his
revolver from his belt, and, by a lucky snap shot, threw the doe in her
tracks—an achievement which the lieutenant hailed with another
chorus of yells.
Well satisfied with his work so far, Oscar returned his revolver to
its place, and taking his lasso from the horn of his saddle, kept on
after the fawns, which were running wildly about, as if bewildered
and terror-stricken by the loss of their guardian.
He hardly expected to capture one of them, for the little fellows,
having shown themselves to be very light of foot, now proved that
they were equally quick at dodging and doubling; but after he had
made a few throws, which were nimbly eluded by the game, he
succeeded, to his great surprise and the infinite delight of the
lieutenant, who still followed close at his heels, shouting out words of
encouragement and advice, in slipping the noose over the head of the
nearest fawn and pulling it to the ground.
In an instant the two horses were at a stand-still, and the
lieutenant was on the ground beside the struggling captive. With his
own lariat he securely tied its feet, and then he threw off the noose
that was around its neck.
“Go on and capture the other one,” he shouted, “and you will have
a couple of the nicest pets you ever saw! You know how it is done
now.”
Setting his horse in motion again, the successful hunter galloped
away in pursuit of the captive’s mate, and soon discovered it standing
on a little hill a short distance away, looking wistfully around, as if
trying to find its lost companion.
It allowed Oscar to come pretty close to it before it took the alarm;
but when it was fairly started it made up for lost time. It ran faster
than it did before; and it was only after a two-mile chase that Oscar
was near enough to it to use his lasso.
He threw until his arm ached, and was on the point of settling the
matter with a shot from his revolver, when the fawn, in the most
accommodating manner, ran its head directly into the noose and was
quickly pulled to the ground.
“There!” exclaimed Oscar, panting loudly after his exertions, “I did
it, didn’t I? Now, Gipsy, I am going to see if you are as smart as your
master thinks you are. I want you to hold that fellow for me until I
see what he looks like.”
Oscar had often heard and read of the wonderful intelligence
exhibited by trained horses in assisting their riders to secure animals
that had been lassoed in the chase, but he had never put the least
faith in it. Now he had an opportunity to test the matter for himself,
and the result proved that their skill had not in the least been
exaggerated.
Having wrapped his lariat around the horn of his saddle, Oscar
dismounted to take a nearer look at his captive.
 As he approached, the little creature sprang to its feet, but was
almost instantly pulled down again by a quick movement on the part
of the horse, which stepped backward, throwing her weight upon the
lasso as she did so.
“I declare, you do understand your business, after all, Gipsy!”
exclaimed the boy, who watched her movements with great
admiration. “Now, how am I going to tie this fellow? I believe I’ll slip
that noose under his forelegs, and make him walk to camp. If he
doesn’t feel like going peaceably, I can make the mare drag him.
Hollo! What’s that?”
Oscar, who had bent over his captive in readiness to carry out the
plan he had hit upon, suddenly straightened up, and burying his
hands deep in his pockets, looked first toward a distant swell, down
which the lieutenant was coming at headlong speed, waving his hat
in the air and uttering triumphant yells, and then he looked at the
fawn.
He was a born hunter, and whenever he bagged any game of which
he had long been in search, and which promised, when mounted, to
make an unusually fine specimen, he was a proud and happy boy;
but just now he felt anything but pride in his success.
His little captive shed tears so copiously, and looked up at him
with so appealing an expression, that Oscar, for the moment, was
completely unnerved.
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.
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