n8 The Wilderness Hunter 



pulled trigger, and away he went; but I could see 

 that his race was nearly run, and he fell after going 

 a few hundred yards. 



Soon after this a wind storm blew up so violent 

 that we could hardly face it. In the late afternoon 

 it died away, and I again walked out to hunt, but 

 saw only does and kids, at which I would not shoot. 

 As the sun set, leaving bars of amber and pale red 

 in the western sky, the air became absolutely calm. 

 In the waning evening the low, far-off ridges were 

 touched with a violet light; then the hues grew 

 sombre, and still darkness fell on the lonely prairie. 



Next morning we drove to the river, and kept 

 near it for several days, most of the time following 

 the tracks made by the heavy wagons accompanying 

 the trail herds this being one of the regular routes 

 followed by the great throng of slow-moving cattle 

 yearly driven from the south. At other times we 

 made our own road. Twice or thrice we passed 

 ranch houses; the men being absent on the round 

 up, they were shut, save one which was inhabited by 

 two or three lean Texan cow-punchers, with sun 

 burned faces and reckless eyes, who had come up 

 with a trail herd from the Cherokee strip. Once, 

 near the old Sioux crossing, where the Dakota war 

 bands used to ford the river on their forays against 

 the Crows and the settlers along the Yellowstone? 

 we met a large horse herd. The tough, shabby, 

 tired-looking animals, one or two of which were 



