I gave a low whistle and one of them looked toward me long enough for me to put a ball in it.

The third one was now behind a clump of sycamores, and I soon saw its face through a little opening not more than three inches wide.

I made a shot, and wounded it, and then rushed up and gave it a fatal one.
I examined my game and found the first one was a poor old cow, but the others were yearlings, one of them very fat and nice, and I soon had the hind quarters skinned out, and all the fat I could find, which made a big load for the mule.

It was now almost dark, and the next problem was to get back to camp again.

The brushy hills would be terrible to cross with a load of meat, and by the way the ground lay I concluded our camp was on this same creek farther down.
The only way that seemed at all feasible was to follow the course of the stream if possible, rather than return the course over which I had come.
There were so many bushes and trees along the bank that I had to take to the bed and follow in the water, and as it was rocky and rough, and so dark I could not see well how to step, I stumbled into holes and pools up to my waist, wet as a rat.