178 Hunting Trips of a Ranchman 



before had been gray or dull green there are now 

 patches of russet red and bright yellow. The clumps 

 of ash, wild plum-trees, and rose-bushes in the 

 heads and bottoms of the sloping valleys become 

 spots of color that glow among the stretches of 

 brown and withered grass; the young cottonwoods, 

 growing on the points of land round which flow the 

 rivers and streams, change to a delicate green or 

 yellow, on which the eye rests with pleasure after 

 having so long seen only the dull drab of the 

 prairies. Often there will be days of bitter cold, 

 when a man who sleeps out in the open feels the 

 need of warm furs; but still more often there will 

 be days and days of sunny weather, not cold enough 

 to bring discomfort, but yet so cool that the blood 

 leaps briskly through a man's veins and makes him 

 feel that to be out and walking over the hills is a 

 pleasure in itself, even were he not in hopes of any 

 moment seeing the sun glint on the horns and hide 

 of some mighty buck, as it rises to face the intruder. 

 On days such as these, mere life is enjoyment; and 

 on days such as these, the life of a hunter is at its 

 pleasantest and best. 



Many black-tail are sometimes killed in a day. 

 I have never made big bags myself, for I rarely hunt 

 except for a fine head or when we need meat, and if 

 it can be avoided do not shoot at fawns or does ; so 

 the greatest number I have ever killed in a day was 

 three. This was late one November, on an occasion 

 when our larder was running low. My foreman and 

 I, upon discovering this fact, determined to make a 



