Hunting the Prong-Buck. 79 



regular work. His existence had been one of excitement, 

 adventure, and restless roaming, when it was not passed in 

 lazy ease ; his times of toil and peril varied by fits of 

 brutal revelry. He had no kin, no ties of any kind. He 

 would accept no help, for his wants were very few, and he 

 was utterly self-reliant. He got meat, clothing, and bed- 

 ding from the antelope and deer he killed ; the spare hides 

 and venison he bartered for what little else he needed. So 

 he built him his tepee in one of the most secluded parts 

 of the Bad Lands, where he led the life of a solitary 

 hunter, awaiting in grim loneliness the death which he 

 knew to be near at hand. 



I unsaddled and picketed my horse, and followed the 

 old hunter into his smoky tepee ; sat down on the pile of 

 worn buffalo robes which formed his bedding, and waited 

 in silence while he fried some deer meat, and boiled some 

 coffee he was out of flour. As I ate, he gradually unbent 

 and talked quite freely, and before I left he told me exactly 

 where to find the band, which he assured me was located 

 for the winter, and would not leave unless much harried. 



After a couple of hours' rest I again started, and 

 pushed out to the end of the Bad Lands. Here, as there 

 had been no wind, I knew I should find in the snow the 

 tracks of one of the riders from the line camp, whose 

 beat lay along the edge of the prairie for some eight miles, 

 until it met the beat of a rider from the line camp next 

 above. As nightfall came on it grew even colder ; long 

 icicles hung from the lips of my horse ; and I shivered 

 slightly in my fur coat. I had reckoned the distance ill, 

 and it was dusk when I struck the trail ; but my horse at 



