1 64 AN AMERICAN HUNTER 



a shot at him at a little over 400 paces, as he slowed to 

 a walk, bewildered by the firing, and the bullet broke his 

 hip. I missed him two or three times as he plunged off, 

 and then by hard running down a watercourse got a shot 

 at 1 80 paces and broke his shoulder, and broke his neck 

 with another bullet when I came up. 



This one was shot while going out to the hunting- 

 ground. While there Lambert killed four others. I did 

 not fire again until on our return, when I killed another 

 buck one day while we were riding with the wagon. 

 The day was gray and overcast. There were slight flur- 

 ries of snow, and the cold wind chilled us as it blew across 

 the endless reaches of sad-colored prairie. Behind us 

 loomed Sentinel Butte, and all around the rolling surface 

 was broken by chains of hills, by patches of bad lands, 

 or by isolated, saddle-shaped mounds. The ranch wagon 

 jolted over the uneven sward, and plunged in and out of 

 the dry beds of the occasional water courses; for we were 

 following no road, but merely striking northward across 

 the prairie toward the P. K. ranch. We went at a good 

 pace, for the afternoon was bleak, the wagon was lightly 

 loaded, and the Sheriff of the county, whose deputy I had 

 been, and who was serving for the nonce as our teamster 

 and cook, kept the two gaunt, wild-looking horses trot- 

 ting steadily. Lambert and I rode to one side on our 

 unkempt cow-ponies, our rifles slung across the saddle 

 bows. 



Our stock of fresh meat was getting low and we were 

 anxious to shoot something; but in the early hours of the 

 afternoon we saw no game. Small parties of horned larks 



