Coursing the Prongbuck 
trying to break out of the herd, or whether 
he was overcome by dim reminiscences of 
buffalo-hunting in his Indian youth, I know 
not. At any rate, after the doe he went, and 
in a minute or two I found I was drawing up 
to it. I had a revolver, but of course did not 
wish to kill her, and so got my rope ready 
to try to take her alive. She ran frantically, 
but the old pony, bending level to the 
ground, kept up his racing lope and closed 
right in beside her. As I came up she fairly 
bleated. An expert with the rope would 
have captured her with the utmost ease; but 
I missed, sending the coil across her shoul- 
ders. She again gave an agonized bleat, or 
bark, and wheeled around like a shot. The 
cow-pony stopped almost, but not quite, as 
fast, and she got a slight start, and it was 
some little time before I overhauled her 
again. When I did I repeated the perform- 
ance, and this time when she wheeled she 
succeeded in getting on some ground where 
I could not follow, and I was thrown out. 
I have done a good deal of coursing with 
greyhounds at one time or another, but al- 
ways with scratch packs. The average fron- 
* 133 
