124 Deer and Antelope of North America 



was out of range to linger around, shifting his 

 position as I shifted mine, until by some sudden 

 gallop or twist I was able to get close enough to 

 empty my magazine at him. 



When the shadows had lengthened, but before 

 any coolness had come into the air, I would head 

 for the appointed camping-place. Sometimes 

 this would be on the brink of some desolate little 

 pool under a low, treeless butte, or out on the 

 open prairie where the only wood was what we 

 had brought with us. At other times I would 

 find the wagon drawn up on the edge of some 

 shrunken plains river, under a line of great cotton- 

 woods with splintered branches and glossy leaves 

 that rustled all day long. Such a camp was al- 

 ways comfortable, for there was an abundance of 

 wood for the fire, plenty of water, and thick feed 

 in which the horses grazed — one or two being 

 picketed and the others feeding loose until night 

 came on. If I had killed a prongbuck, steaks 

 were speedily sizzling in the frying-pan over the 

 hot coals. If I had failed to get anything, I would 

 often walk a mile or two down or up the river to 

 see if I could not kill a couple of prairie-chickens 

 or ducks. If the evening was at all cool, we built 

 a fire as darkness fell, and sat around it, while 

 the leaping flames lit up the trunks of the cotton- 

 woods and gleamed on the pools of water in the 

 half dry river bed. Then I would wrap myself 



