94 The Wilderness Hunter. 



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 parties, and the lay of the land made it exceed- 

 ingly difficult to get within range. The last time I had 

 hunted in this neighborhood was in the fall, at the height 

 of the rutting season. Prong-bucks, even more than other 

 game, seem fairly maddened by erotic excitement. At 

 the time of my former hunt they were in ceaseless motion ; 

 each master buck being incessantly occupied in herding 

 his harem, and fighting would-be rivals, while single bucks 

 chased single does as greyhounds chase hares, or else, if 

 no does were in sight, from sheer excitement ran to and 

 fro as if crazy, racing at full speed in one direction, then 

 halting, wheeling, and tearing back again just as hard as 

 they could go. 



At this time, however, the rut was still some weeks 

 off, and all the bucks had to do was to feed and keep a 

 look-out for enemies. Try my best, I could not get 

 within less than four or five hundred yards, and though I 

 took a number of shots at these, or at even longer, dis- 

 tances, I missed. If a man is out merely for a day's hunt, 

 and has all the time he wishes, he will not scare the game 

 and waste cartridges by shooting at such long ranges, 

 preferring to spend half a day or more in patient waiting 



