142 AN AMERICAN HUNTER 



it. As I sat inside the house it would come in and hop 

 up on a chair, looking at me sharply all the while. No 

 matter how cautiously I approached, I could never put 

 my hand upon it, as at the last moment it would spring 

 off literally as quick as a bird would fly. One of my 

 neighbors on the Little Missouri, Mr. Howard Eaton, 

 had at one time upon his ranch three little antelope whose 

 foster-mother was a sheep, and who were really absurdly 

 tame. I was fond of patting them and of giving them 

 crusts, and the result was that they followed me about 

 so closely that I had to be always on the lookout to see 

 that I did not injure them. They were on excellent terms 

 with the dogs, and were very playful. It was a comic 

 sight to see them skipping and hopping about the old ewe 

 when anything happened to alarm her and she started off 

 at a clumsy waddle. Nothing could surpass the tameness 

 of the antelope that are now under Mr. Hornaday's care 

 at the Bronx Zoological Garden in New York. The last 

 time that I visited the garden some repairs were being 

 made inside the antelope enclosure, and a dozen work- 

 men had gone in to make them. The antelope regarded 

 the workmen with a friendliness and curiosity untem- 

 pered by the slightest touch of apprehension. When the 

 men took off their coats the little creatures would nose 

 them over to see if they contained anything edible, and 

 they would come close up and watch the men plying the 

 pick with the utmost interest. Mr. Hornaday took us in- 

 side, and they all came up in the most friendly manner. 

 One or two of the bucks would put their heads against 

 our legs and try to push us around, but not roughly. Mr. 



