160 AN AMERICAN HUNTER 



purely through their own fault. Though the prairie 

 seemed level, there was really a constant series of un- 

 dulations, shallow and of varying width. Now and then 

 as I topped some slight rise I would catch a glimpse of 

 a little band of pronghorns feeding, and would slip off 

 my horse before they could see me. A hasty determina- 

 tion as to where the best chance of approaching them lay 

 would be followed by a half-hour's laborious crawl, a 

 good part of the time flat on my face. They might dis- 

 cover me when I was still too far for a shot; or by taking 

 advantage of every little inequality I might get within 

 long range before they got a glimpse of me, and then in 

 a reasonable proportion of cases I would bag my buck. 

 At other times the buck would come to me. Perhaps one 

 would suddenly appear over a divide himself, and his 

 curiosity would cause him to stand motionless long 

 enough to give me a shot; while on other occasions I 

 have known one which was out of range to linger around, 

 shifting his position as I shifted mine, until by some sud- 

 den gallop or twist I was able to get close enough to 

 empty my magazine at him. 



When the shadows had lengthened, but before any 

 coolness had come into the air, I would head for the ap- 

 pointed camping-place. Sometimes this would be on 

 the brink of some desolate little pool under a low, tree- 

 less butte, or out on the open prairie where the only wood 

 was what we had brought with us. At other times I 

 would find the wagon drawn up on the edge of some 

 shrunken plains river, under a line of great cottonwoods 

 with splintered branches and glossy leaves that rustled 



