82 The Wilderness Hunter. 



I walked back to my game, dressed it, and lashed the 

 saddles and hams behind me on my horse ; I had chosen 

 old Sorrel Joe for the trip because he was strong, tough, 

 and quiet. Then I started for the ranch, keeping to the 

 prairie as long as I could, because there the going was 

 easier ; sometimes I rode, sometimes I ran on foot leading 

 Sorrel Joe. 



Late in the afternoon, as I rode over a roll in the 

 prairie I saw ahead of me a sight very unusual at that 

 season ; a small emigrant train going westward. There 

 were three white-topped prairie schooners, containing the 

 household goods, the tow-headed children, and the hard- 

 faced, bony women ; the tired horses were straining 

 wearily in the traces ; the bearded, moody men walked 

 alongside. They had been belated by sickness, and the 

 others of their company had gone ahead to take up claims 

 along the Yellowstone ; now they themselves were push- 

 ing forward in order to reach the holdings of their friends 

 before the first deep snows stopped all travel. They had 

 no time to halt ; for there were still two or three miles to 

 go that evening before they could find a sheltered resting- 

 place with fuel, grass, and water. A little while after pass- 

 ing them I turned in the saddle and looked back. The 

 lonely little train stood out sharply on the sky-line, the 

 wagons looming black against the cold red west as they 

 toiled steadily onward across the snowy plain. 



Night soon fell ; but I cared little, for I was on ground 

 I knew. The old horse threaded his way at a lope along 

 the familiar game trails and cattle paths ; in a couple of 

 hours I caught the gleam from the firelit windows of the 



