1 4 Ranching in the Bad Lands. 



There is another bird also which sings on the wing, though 

 I have not seen the habit put down in the books. One 

 bleak March day, when snow covered the ground and the 

 shaggy ponies crowded about the empty corral, a flock 

 of snow-buntings came familiarly round the cow-shed, 

 clambering over the ridge-pole and roof. Every few mo- 

 ments one of them would mount into the air, hovering 

 about with quivering wings and warbling a loud, merry 

 song with some very sweet notes. They were a most 

 welcome little group of guests, and we were sorry when, 

 after loitering around a day or two, they disappeared toward 

 their breeding haunts. 



In the still fall nights, if we lie awake we can listen to 

 the clanging cries of the water-fowl, as their flocks speed 

 southward ; and in cold weather the coyotes occasionally 

 come near enough for us to hear their uncanny wailing. 

 The larger wolves, too, now and then join in, with a kind 

 of deep, dismal howling ; but this melancholy sound is 

 more often heard when out camping than from the ranch- 

 house. 



The charm of ranch life comes in its freedom, and the 

 vigorous, open-air existence it forces a man to lead. Ex- 

 cept when hunting in bad ground, the whole time away 

 from the house is spent in the saddle, and there are so 

 many ponies that a fresh one can always be had. These 

 ponies are of every size and disposition, and rejoice in 

 names as different as their looks. Hackamore, Wire Fence, 

 Steel-Trap, War Cloud, Pinto, Buckskin, Circus, and 

 Standing Jimmie are among those that, as I write, are 

 running frantically round the corral in the vain effort to 



