172 HUNTING THE GRISLY. 



chased with his beloved dachshunds. So, 

 among my neighbors in the cattle country, is 

 a gentleman from France, a very successful 

 ranchman, and a thoroughly good fellow ; he 

 cares nothing for hunting big game, and will 

 not go after it, but is devoted to shooting 

 cotton-tails in the snow, this being a pastime 

 having much resemblance to one of the recog- 

 nized 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 

 killing big game at long ranges with the large- 

 bore rifle, at the cost of fatiguing tramps, but 

 they had a positive distaste for the sport 

 and would never allow that it equalled their 

 own stealthy hunts in eastern forests. So I 

 know plenty of men, experts with the shot- 

 gun, who honestly prefer shooting quail in the 

 East over well-trained setters or pointers, to 

 the hardier, manlier sports of the wilderness. 



As it is with hunting, so it is with riding. 

 The cowboy's scorn of every method of riding 

 save his own is as profound and as ignorant 

 as is that of the school rider, jockey, or fox- 

 hunter. The truth is that each of these is 

 best in his own sphere and is at a disadvant- 

 age when made to do the work of any of the 

 others. For all-around riding and horseman- 

 ship, I think the West Point graduates is 



