IN COWBOY LAND, 227 



dently he himself, plodding northwards, passed 

 over the road without seeing it in the gather- 

 ing gloom ; probably he struck it at some 

 point where the ground was bad, and the dim 

 trail in consequence disappeared entirely, as 

 is the way with these prairie roads making 

 them landmarks to be used with caution. He 

 must then have walked on and on, over rugged 

 hills and across deep ravines, until his horse 

 came to a standstill ; he took off its saddle 

 and picketed it to a dwarfed ash. Its frozen 

 carcass was found with the saddle near by, 

 two months later. He now evidently recog- 

 nized some landmark, and realized that he 

 had passed the road, and was far to the north 

 of the round-up wagons; but he was a res- 

 olute, self-confident man, and he determined 

 to strike out for a line camp, which he knew 

 lay about due east of him, two or three miles 

 out on the prairie, on one of the head branches 

 of Knife River. Night must have fallen by 

 this time, and he missed the camp, probably 

 passing it within less than a mile ; but he did 

 pass it, and with it all hopes of life, and walked 

 wearily on to his doom, through the thick 

 darkness and the driving snow. At last his 

 strength failed, and he lay down in the tall 

 grass of a little hollow. Five months later, in 

 the early spring, the riders from the line camp 

 found his body, resting face downwards, with 

 the forehead on the folded arms. 



Accidents of less degree are common. Men 

 break their collar-bones, arms, or legs by fall- 

 ing when riding at speed over dangerous 



