Hunting the Prong-Buck 113 



and without so much as a shrub of wood, and then 

 ascending the gentle rise on the other side until at 

 last it topped the broad divide, or watershed, be- 

 yond which lay the shallow winding coulies of an- 

 other creek system. From each rise of ground we 

 1'ooked far and wide over the sunlit prairie, with its 

 interminable undulations. The sickfebill curlews, 

 which in spring, while breeding, hover above the 

 traveling horseman with ceaseless clamor, had for 

 the most part gone southward. We saw only one 

 small party of half a dozen birds; they paid little 

 heed to us, but piped to one another, making short 

 flights, and on alighting stood erect, first spreading 

 and then folding and setting their wings with a slow, 

 graceful motion. Little horned larks continually ran 

 along the ruts of the faint wagon track, just ahead 

 of the team, and twittered plaintively as they rose, 

 while flocks of long-spurs swept hither and thither, 

 in fitful, irregular flight. 



My foreman and I usually rode far off to one side 

 of the wagon, looking out for antelope. Of these 

 we at first saw few, but they grew more plentiful as 

 we journeyed onward, approaching a big, scantily 

 wooded creek, where I had found the prong-horn 

 abundant in previous seasons. They were very wary 

 and watchful whether going singly or in small par- 

 ties, and the lay of the land made it exceedingly diffi- 

 cult to get within range. The last time I had hunted 

 in this neighborhood was in the fall, at the height 



