Hunting the Prong-Buck 95 



cottonwoods along the river brink, showing large in 

 the leafless branches ; they called and clucked to one 

 another. 



Where the ground was level and the snow not too 

 deep I loped, and before noon I reached the sheltered 

 coulie where, with long poles and bark, the hunter 

 had built his tepee-wigwam, as Eastern woodsmen 

 would have called it. It stood in a loose grove of 

 elms and box-alders ; from the branches of the near- 

 est trees hung saddles of frozen venison. The smoke 

 rising from the funnel-shaped top of the tepee 

 showed that there was more fire than usual within; 

 it is easy to keep a good tepee warm, though it is 

 so smoky that no one therein can stand upright. As 

 I drew rein the skin door was pushed aside, and the 

 hard old face and dried, battered body of the hunter 

 appeared. He greeted me with a surly nod, and 

 a brief request to "light and hev somethin' to eat" 

 the invariable proffer of hospitality on the plains. 

 He wore a greasy buckskin shirt or tunic, and an 

 odd cap of badger skin, from beneath which strayed 

 his tangled hair ; age, rheumatism, and the many ac- 

 cidents and incredible fatigue, hardship, and ex- 

 posure of his past life had crippled him, yet he still 

 possessed great power of endurance, and in his 

 seamed, weather-scarred face his eyes burned fierce 

 and piercing as a hawk's. Ever since early manhood 

 he had wandered over the plains, hunting and trap- 

 ping ; he had waged savage private war against half 



