Hunting in the Cattle Country 



broke his shoulder, and broke his neck with 

 another bullet when I came up. This one 

 was shot while going out to the hunting 

 ground. While there, Lambert killed four 

 or five; most of the meat we gave away. I 

 did not fire again until on our return, when 

 I killed another buck one day while we were 

 riding with the wagon. 



The day was gray and overcast. There 

 were slight flurries of snow, and the cold wind 

 chilled us as it blew across the endless reaches 

 of sad-colored prairie. Behind us loomed Sen- 

 tinel Butte, and all around the rolling surface 

 was broken by chains of hills, by patches of bad 

 lands, or by isolated, saddle -shaped mounds. 

 The ranch wagon jolted over the uneven 

 sward, and plunged in and out of the dry 

 beds of the occasional water courses ; for we 

 were following no road, but merely striking 

 northward across the prairie toward the P. K. 

 ranch. We went at a good pace, for the after- 

 noon was bleak, the wagon was lightly loaded, 

 and the Sheriff, who was serving for the nonce 

 as our teamster and cook, kept the two gaunt, 

 wild-looking horses trotting steadily. Lambert 

 and I rode to one side on our unkempt cow 

 ponies, our rifles slung across the saddle bows. 



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