198 BIO GAME OF NORTH AMERICA. 



wintry winds. It was built of railroad-ties and mud, warm 

 enough in its way, but somewhat close, owing to the fact 

 that its one window was nailed in position. A sheet-iron 

 stove occupied one corner, a bunk one end, a table one side, 

 and the remainder was more than comfortably filled with 

 saddles, harness, ammunition, and provisions. Boxes 

 served as chairs, but, after a supper of bacon, fried potatoes, 

 hot bread and molasses, it proved a very comfortable place 

 for a game of " high-five." 



We were again on the way early in the morning, riding 

 northward in the face of a stiff, cutting zephyr from the 

 summits of the Wind River Mountains. It is never very 

 warm before sunrise at an elevation of seventy -five hundred 

 feet, and on this Christmas morning the cold was almost 

 unendurable. We were clad as warmly as was consistent 

 with freedom of movement, and our pockets were full of 

 cartridges. 



Northward, still northward; the rising sun showed Table 

 Rock and Old Steamboat to the left, Sweetwater to the east, 

 while far ahead the mighty peaks of the Wind River Range 

 shone like icicles above the clouds. We passed a wallow in 

 which four Buft'alo were taking their morning drink. Away 

 they went over the alkaline waste, and we did not pursue. 

 They were the last Bison that I saw, and probably the last 

 that I shall ever see outside of an inclosure. Possibly they 

 are the same bunch that were captured last summer on Red 

 Desert. About nine o'clock we came to a steep slope. 



"Duck your head," said Si; " we always see Antelope 

 here." 



Sure enough, we reached the crest in time to start a bunch 

 of seven within a hundred yards. We were off our horses 

 and got in a couple of shots before they were out of range. 

 "Dum our skins," was all my companion said, as he re- 

 mounted, which was sufficient evidence to me that we had 

 thrown away our ammunition. 



Away we went after them, and had ridden, perhaps, half 

 a mile, when a sheep-like "Ba-a-a" on one side made us 

 pull up. There lay a young doe shot through the hind 



