American Big-Game Hunting 
dian’s skull with a neat round hole through 
the crown. 
The Keogh stage road crossed the river 
near by, and I found out that the place was 
the scene of the last Indian deviltry in this 
section. It was the old story. A man, 
while looking for the stage-horses, was shot; 
a second, hearing the report, went out to see 
what it meant, and was in turn killed; while 
a third, with perhaps a little more experi- 
ence, jumped on the only horse left at the 
station and fled for his life, with half a dozen 
Indians in full cry in pursuit. 
I walked on along the old trail taken by the 
lucky fugitive, and up out of the river-valley 
to a level plateau above. From the top could 
be seen in the distance several big buttes, 
and a dark pine-tree, which was to be my 
objective point for the day’s hunt. To the 
right, as I stepped briskly forward, was a 
large washout, cut deep into the clay soil, 
broken and irregular, with sage-brush scat- 
tered here and there along its sides and bot- 
tom. At the head of the washout I spied 
some yellow long-horned Texas cattle, and 
gave them a wide berth. I had had some 
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