Hunting the Prong-Buck. 89 



It was late in the summer. I was with the ranch wagon 

 on the way to join a round-up, and as we were out of meat 

 I started for a day's hunt. Before leaving in the morning 

 I helped to haul the wagon across the river. It was for- 

 tunate I stayed, as it turned out. There was no regular 

 ford where we made the crossing ; we anticipated no 

 trouble, as the water was very low, the season being dry. 

 However, we struck a quicksand, in which the wagon 

 settled, while the frightened horses floundered helplessly. 

 All the riders at once got their ropes on the wagon, and 

 hauling from the saddle, finally pulled it through. This 

 took time ; and it was ten o'clock when I rode away from 

 the river, at which my horse and I had just drunk our 

 last drink for over twenty-four hours as it turned out. 



After two or three hours' ride, up winding coulies, and 

 through the scorched desolation of patches of Bad Lands, 

 I reached the rolling prairie. The heat and drought had 

 long burned the short grass dull brown ; the bottoms of 

 what had been pools were covered with hard, dry, cracked 

 earth. The day was cloudless, and the heat oppressive. 

 There were many antelope, but I got only one shot, 

 breaking a buck's leg ; and though I followed it for a 

 couple of hours I could not overtake it. By this time it 

 was late in the afternoon, and I was far away from the 

 river ; so I pushed for a creek, in the bed of which I had 

 always found pools of water, especially towards the head, 

 as is usual with plains watercourses. To my chagrin, 

 however, they all proved to be dry ; and though I rode 

 up the creek bed toward the head, carefully searching for 



