Hunting the Prong-Buck. 75 



Often I have killed prong-bucks while riding between 

 the outlying line camps, which are usually stationed a 

 dozen miles or so back from the river, where the Bad 

 Lands melt into the prairie. In continually trying long 

 shots, of course one occasionally makes a remarkable hit. 

 Once I remember while riding down a broad, shallow 

 coulie with two of my cow-hands Seawell and Dow, 

 both keen hunters and among the staunchest friends I 

 have ever had, rousing a band of antelope which stood 

 irresolute at about a hundred yards until I killed one. 

 Then they dashed off, and I missed one shot, but with my 

 next, to my own utter astonishment, killed the last of the 

 band, a big buck, just as he topped a rise four hundred 

 yards away. To offset such shots I have occasionally 

 made an unaccountable miss. Once I was hunting with 

 the same two men, on a rainy day, when we came on a 

 bunch of antelope some seventy yards off, lying down on 

 the side of a coulie, to escape the storm. They huddled 

 together a moment to gaze, and, with stiffened fingers I 

 took a shot, my yellow oilskin slicker flapping around me 

 in the wind and rain. Down went one buck, and away 

 went the others. One of my men walked up to the fallen 

 beast, bent over it, and then asked, " Where did you aim ? " 

 Not reassured by the question, I answered doubtfully, 

 " Behind the shoulder " ; whereat he remarked drily, " Well, 

 you hit it in the eye ! " I never did know whether I killed 

 the antelope I aimed at or another. Yet that same day I 

 killed three more bucks at decidedly long shots ; at the 

 time we lacked meat at the ranch, and were out to make 

 a good killing. 



