Hunting in Many Lands 



about the anticipated pleasures of the morrow, 

 it seemed to me that I had hardly closed my 

 eyes when Steamboat's heavy cavalry boots 

 were heard beating a tattoo on the shack 

 door, I rolled out of my bunk, to find Maje 

 and Zach, my companions in the hunt, dressed 

 and pulling on their shaps. Hastily dressing, 

 I followed them out to the corral just as the 

 gray tints of earliest morning were gathering 

 in the sky. The horses had been corralled the 

 night before, and, with Steamboat standing in 

 the door, using anything but choice language 

 at our delay in coming to breakfast, we sad- 

 dled up. Having ridden my own horse, a 

 sturdy half-breed from Salt Lake, very hard 

 the day before in running down a wounded 

 antelope, I decided on a fresh mount ; and, as 

 luck would have it, I selected one of the best 

 lookers in the band, only to find out later, to 

 my sorrow, that I had fallen upon the only 

 bucking horse in the lot. While we break- 

 fasted upon antelope steak, flapjacks and 

 strong coffee. Steamboat was harnessing a 

 couple of wiry cayuses to a buckboard, and, 

 as we came out, we found him with the strike 

 dogs chained to the seat behind him, impa- 

 tient to be off. The party consisted of Maje, 



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