60 The Wilderness Hunter 



in the last stage of panic at finding itself again 

 almost touching one of its foes, sped off across the 

 grassy slopes like a quarter horse. When at last 

 the hunter did turn, it was too late; and our long- 

 range fusillade proved harmless. During the next 

 two days I redeemed myself, killing four deer. 



Coming back our wagon broke down, no unusual 

 incident in ranch-land, where there is often no road, 

 while the strain is great in hauling through quick- 

 sands, and up or across steep broken hills ; it rarely 

 makes much difference beyond the temporary de- 

 lay, for plains-men and mountain-men are very 

 handy and self-helpful. Besides, a mere break- 

 down sinks into nothing compared to having the 

 team play out; which is, of course, most apt to 

 happen at the times when it ensures hardship and 

 suffering, as in the middle of a snowstorm, or when 

 crossing a region with no water. However, the 

 reinsmen of the plains must needs face many such 

 accidents, not to speak of runaways, or having the 

 wagon pitchpole over on to the team in dropping 

 down too steep a hillside. Once after a three days' 

 rainstorm some of us tried to get the ranch wagon 

 along a trail which led over the ridge of a gumbo 

 or clay butte. The sticky stuff clogged our shoes, 

 the horses' hoofs, and the wheels; and it was even 

 more slippery than it was sticky. Finally we struck 

 a sloping shoulder; with great struggling, pulling, 

 pushing, and shouting, we reached the middle of 



