204 Hunting the Grisly 



frontier. He was living in a squalid little 

 hut, almost unfurnished, but studded around 

 with the diminutive horns of the European 

 roebuck. These were the only treasures he 

 had taken with him to remind him of his for 

 mer life, and he was never tired of describ 

 ing what fun it was to shoot roebucks when 

 driven by the little crooked-legged dachs 

 hunds. There were plenty of deer and ante 

 lope round about, yielding good sport to any 

 rifleman, but this exile cared nothing for 

 them ; they were not roebucks, and they could 

 not be chased with his beloved dachshunds. 

 So, among my neighbors in the cattle coun 

 try, is a gentleman from France, a very suc 

 cessful ranchman, and a thoroughly good fel 

 low; he cares nothing for hunting big game, 

 and will not go after it, but is devoted to shoot 

 ing cotton-tails in the snow, this being a pas 

 time having much resemblance to one of the 

 recognized sports of his own land. 



However, our own people afford precisely 

 similar instances. I have met plenty of men 

 accustomed to killing wild turkeys and deer 

 with small-bore rifles in the Southern forests 

 who, when they got on the plains and in the 

 Rockies, were absolutely helpless. They not 

 only failed to become proficient in the art of 



