OF SHOOTING AND FISHING) 207 
myself ascended the hill. When we were close 
to the buck, he suddenly rose and rushed into the 
aspens; reaching the spot where he had entered, I 
made him out standing some distance away, so knelt 
down and emptied my magazine at him without 
scoring a hit. Of course the little trees had de- 
flected the bullets. 
We now crushed into the brush, but in a few 
minutes the animal had vanished and we were un- 
able to find him. As he had a pretty head, I was 
loth to leave him, but we had to go on. Crossing 
the divide, we left the basin and went down to a 
ranch, as it was getting dark. We camped for the 
night at a small creek beside this ranch. Next 
morning we were ready for a long day’s antelope 
hunting. We intended reaching Cottonwood 
Creek by night, but our way was through fine game 
country. Shortly after starting I marked a band 
on a perfectly flat plain surrounded by an amphi- 
theatre of low hills. There was no cover but sage- 
brush and I determined to stalk these beasts and 
get one should it take me all day. A patch of 
serub oak permitted me to approach within half a 
mile and then the creep began. Even the non- 
botanical sportsman who essays to pursue the elu- 
sive pronghorn over the Western prairie on his 
hands and knees cannot fail to be interested in a 
little plant which grows there. It is a cactus, and 
when the hunt is over and the day’s work done, he 
will spend many a half hour by the dim light of a 
candle in his tent looking for spikes which he un- 
intentionally brought away with him from the little 
