Hunting the Prong-Buck. 99 



covered with a growth of pine. We came upon acres of 

 sunflowers as we journeyed southward ; they are not as tall 

 as they are in the rich bottom lands of Kansas, where the 

 splendid blossoms, on their strong stalks, stand as high as 

 the head of a man on horseback. 



Though there were many cattle here, big game was 

 scarce. However, I killed plenty of prairie chickens and 

 sage hens for the pot ; and as the sage hens were 

 still feeding largely on crickets and grasshoppers, and not 

 exclusively on sage, they were just as good eating as the 

 prairie chickens. I used the rifle, cutting off their heads 

 or necks, and, as they had to be shot on the ground, and 

 often while in motion, or else while some distance away, 

 it was more difficult than shooting off the heads of grouse 

 in the mountains, where the birds sit motionless in trees. 

 The head is a small mark, while to hit the body is usually 

 to spoil the bird ; so I found that I averaged three or 

 four cartridges for every head neatly taken off, the 

 remaining shots representing spoiled birds and misses. 



For the last sixty or seventy miles of our trip we left 

 the river and struck off across a great, desolate gumbo 

 prairie. There was no game, no wood for fuel, and the 

 rare water-holes were far apart, so that we were glad 

 when, as we toiled across the monotonous succession of 

 long, swelling ridges, the dim, cloud-like mass, looming 

 vague and purple on the rim of the horizon ahead of us, 

 gradually darkened and hardened into the bold outline of 

 the Black Hills. 



