Hunting the Prong-Buck. 97 



under the blankets, pulled the tarpaulins over us, and lis- 

 tened drowsily to the wailing of the coyotes until we fell 

 sound asleep. 



We determined to stay in this camp all day, so as to 

 try and kill another prong-buck, as we would soon be past 

 the good hunting grounds. I did not have to go far 

 for my game next morning, for soon after breakfast, while 

 sitting on my canvas bag cleaning my rifle, the sheriff 

 suddenly called to me that a bunch of antelope were 

 coming towards us. Sure enough there they were, four 

 in number, rather over half a mile off, on the first bench 

 of the prairie, two or three hundred yards back from the 

 creek, leisurely feeding in our direction. In a minute or 

 two they were out of sight, and I instantly ran along the 

 creek towards them for a quarter of a mile, and then 

 crawled up a short shallow coulie, close to the head of 

 which they seemed likely to pass. When nearly at the 

 end I cautiously raised my hatless head, peered through 

 some straggling weeds, and at once saw the horns of the 

 buck. He was a big fellow, about a hundred and twenty 

 yards off; the others, a doe and two kids, were in front. 

 As I lifted myself on my elbows he halted and turned his 

 raised head towards me ; the sunlight shone bright on 

 his supple, vigorous body with its markings of sharply 

 contrasted brown and white. I pulled trigger, and away 

 he went ; but I could see that his race was nearly run, 

 and he fell after going a few hundred yards. 



Soon after this a wind storm blew up so violent that 

 we could hardly face it. In the late afternoon it died 

 away, and I again walked out to hunt, but saw only does 



