i22 Deer and Antelope of North America 



Hour after hour the wiry pony shuffled onward 

 across the sea of short, matted grass. On every 

 side the plains stretched seemingly limitless. 

 Sometimes there would be no object to break 

 the horizon ; sometimes across a score of miles 

 there would loom through the clear air the fan- 

 tastic outlines of a chain of buttes, rising grim and 

 barren. Occasionally there might be a slightly 

 marked watercourse, every drop of moisture long 

 dried; and usually there would not be as much 

 as the smallest sage brush anywhere in sight. As 

 the sun rose higher and higher the shadows of 

 horse and rider shortened, and the beams were 

 reflected from the short, bleached blades until in 

 the hot air all the landscape afar off seemed to 

 dance and waver. Often on such trips days went 

 by without our coming across another human 

 being, and the loneliness and vastness of the 

 country seemed as unbroken as if the old van- 

 ished days had returned — the days of the wild 

 wilderness wanderers, and the teeming myriads 

 of game they followed, and the scarcely wilder 

 savages against whom they warred. 



Now and then prongbuck would appear, singly 

 or in bands ; and their sharp bark of alarm or 

 curiosity would come to me through the still, hot 

 air over great distances, as they stood with head 

 erect looking at me, the white patches on their 

 rumps shining in the sun, and the bands and 



