no THE WILDERNESS HUNTER. 



haze, and their irregular outlines gradually 

 losing their sharpness in the fading twilight. 



Next morning the weather changed, grow- 

 ing cooler, and we left the tangle of ravines 

 and Bad Lands, striking out across the vast 

 sea-like prairies. Hour after hour, under the 

 bright sun, the wagon drew slowly ahead, over 

 the immense rolling stretches of short grass, 

 dipping down each long slope until it reached 

 the dry, imperfectly outlined creek bed at the 

 bottom, — wholly devoid of water and without 

 so much as a shrub of wood, — and then 

 ascending the gentle rise on the other side 

 until at last it topped the broad divide, or 

 watershed, beyond which lay the shallow wind- 

 ing coulies of another creek system. From 

 each rise of ground we looked far and wide 

 over the sunlit prairie, with its interminable 

 undulations. The sicklebill curlews which in 

 spring, while breeding, hover above the travel- 

 ling horseman with ceaseless clamor, had for 

 the most part gone southward. We saw only 

 one small party of half a dozen birds; they 

 paid little heed to us, but piped to one 

 another, making short flights, and on alight- 

 ing stood erect, first spreading and then fold- 

 ing and setting their wings with a slow, 

 graceful motion. Little horned larks contin- 

 ually ran along the ruts of the faint wagon 

 track, just ahead of the team, and twittered 

 plaintively as they rose, while flocks of long- 

 spurs swept hither and thither, in fitful, irreg- 

 ular flight. 



My foreman and I usually rode far off to 

 one side of the wagon, looking out for ante- 

 lope. Of these we at first saw few, but they 



