Shooting the Prong-buck 



any game. Our two ponies went steadily 

 forward at a single foot or shack, as the 

 cow-punchers term w r hat Easterners call 

 "a fox trot." Most of the time we were 

 passing over immense grassy flats, where 

 the mats of short curled blades lay brown 

 and parched under the bright sunlight. 

 Occasionally w^e came to ranges of low, 

 barren hills, which sent off gently round- 

 ing spurs into the plain. 



It was on one of these ranges that we 

 first saw our game. As we were travelling 

 along the divide we spied eight antelope 

 far ahead of us. They saw us as soon as 

 we saw them, and the chance of getting 

 to them seemed small; but it was worth 

 an effort, for by humoring them when 

 they start to run, and galloping towards 

 them at an oblique angle to their line 

 of flight, there is always some little chance 

 of getting a shot. Sylvane was on a light 

 buckskin horse, and I left him on the 



