OF A RANCHMAN 163 



ihe black-tail and prong-horn abound, and 

 feast to their heart's content all the winter 

 through on the white, luscious, and nutri- 

 tious mesquite grass. Through the valley 

 with its flashing silver stream ran the dark 

 line of the famous pecan-tree forests the 

 nightly resting-place of that king of game 

 birds, the wild turkey. It would sound like 

 romancing to tell of the endless number and 

 variety of the waterfowl upon the river; 

 while the multitude of game fish inhabiting 

 the waters make the days spent on the river 

 with the rod rival in excitement and good 

 sport the nights passed gun in hand among 

 the trees in the roosts. Of course, as we are 

 purely out on a turkey shoot, during the 

 day no louder sport is permitted than whip- 

 ping the stream, or taking the greyhounds 

 well back on the plains away from the river 

 to course antelope, jack-rabbit, or maybe 

 even some fine old gobbler himself. 



" When, after our journey, we reached 

 the brink of the canyon, to drop down into 

 the valley, pass over the lowlands, and settle 



