48 The Wilder7iess Htmter. 



stones and cactus. By some indiscriminate firing at 

 long range we dropped the deer ; and as Old Tompkins 

 cooled down he realized that his bare feet had paid full 

 penalty for his dash. 



One of these wagon trips I remember because I 

 missed a fair running shot which I much desired to hit ; 

 and afterwards hit a very much more difficult shot about 

 which I cared very little. Ferguson and I, with Sylvane 

 and one or two others, had gone a day's journey down 

 the river for a hunt. We went along the bottoms, cross- 

 ing the stream every mile or so, with an occasional 

 struggle through mud or quicksand, or up the steep, rot- 

 ten banks. An old buffalo hunter drove the wagon, with 

 a couple of shaggy, bandy-legged ponies ; the rest of us 

 jogged along in front on horseback, picking out a trail 

 through the bottoms and choosing, the best crossing 

 places. Some of the bottoms were grassy pastures ; on 

 others great, gnarled cottonwoods, with shivered branches, 

 stood in clumps ; yet others were choked with a true for- 

 est growth. Late in the afternoon we went into camp, 

 choosing a spot where the cottonwoods were young ; their 

 glossy leaves trembled and rustled unceasingly. We 

 speedily picketed the horses — changing them about as 

 they ate off the grass, — drew water, and hauled great logs 

 in front of where we had pitched the tent, while the wagon 

 stood nearby. Each man laid out his bed ; the food and 

 kitchen kit were taken from the wagon ; supper was 

 cooked and eaten ; and we then lay round the camp-fire, 

 gazing into it, or up at the brilliant stars, and listening to 

 the wild, mournful wailing of the coyotes. They were 



