OF A RANCHMAN 117 



close to the ground underneath a sage-brush. 

 It v. as some minutes before I could make 

 out what they were, they kept so low and so 

 quiet, and their color harmonized so well 

 with their surroundings. Finally I was con- 

 vinced that they were grouse, and rode my 

 horse slowly by them. When opposite, I 

 reigned him in and fired, killing the whole 

 hunch of five birds. Another time at the 

 ranch our supply of fresh meat gave out 

 entirely, and I sallied forth with the ranch 

 gun, intent, not on sport, but on slaughter. 

 It was late fall, and as I rode along in the 

 dawn (for the sun was not up) a small pack 

 of prairie fowl passed over my head and lit 

 on a dead tree that stood out some little dis- 

 tance from a grove of cotton-woods. They 

 paid little attention to me, but they are so 

 shy at that season that I did not dare to try 

 to approach them on foot, but let the horse 

 jog on at the regular cow-pony gait a kind 

 of single-foot pace, between a walk and a 

 trot, and as I passed by fired into the tree 



