THE BATTLE OF THE PRONGHORNS. 



W. T. HEDDON. 



The early part of last October I was 

 welcomed by my friend Parker as I alight- 

 ed from a Pullman which had conveyed 

 me safe to a little hamlet in Wyoming. 

 The hour required to drive 7 miles to the 

 R. B. ranch was fully occupied by queries 

 and replies relative to prospects for the 

 morrow and in recalling our experiences of 

 the 3 preceding autumns together, hunting 

 the keen eyed and fleet footed antelope, 

 which without doubt is the most difficult 

 of approach of all American game animals. 

 Mr. Parker is the most successful ante- 

 lope hunter it has been my good fortune to 

 know. Not only does he thoroughly un- 

 derstand the nature of these animals, but 

 he is a born plainsman and mountaineer, 

 and an excellent rifle shot at game, either 

 standing or running. It is rare, indeed, 

 to secure shots at antelope in that section 

 at less than 200 yards, as the country af- 

 fords too many comparatively level ranges 

 on which grows that far famed, sweet buf- 

 falo grass. 



Breakfast over the next morning, we 

 saddle and bridled 2 cow ponies, strapped 

 our scabbards containing 30-30 rifles to the 

 saddles, mounted and with wishes of 

 "good luck, boys ; sorry I can not join 

 you" from the good wife of my friend, who 

 is equally at home in divided skirts in the 

 saddle, chasing a crippled antelope, or in 

 evening dress in the ballroom doing a 

 2-step with her most obedient servant, we 

 "gave 'em the steel" and were off. For 

 the first time in nearly a year I was speed- 

 ing over the former haunts of the buffalo 

 and the rightful owner of our country, 

 the red man. How clear, cool and pure 

 the air ! Away to the Southwest some 70 

 miles the peaks of snow-capped mountains 

 were plainly seen, and I was speechless 

 with thrills of a true happiness from which 

 comes no reactive sting. 



We passed over bluffs on which thou- 

 sands of warriors had camped, and from 

 which they had cautiously scanned the 

 country for miles. The only remaining 

 evidences of their last stand for possession 

 of this former hunters' paradise, against 

 the hand of the white man's greed, clothed 

 in the pretext of "advancement of civili- 

 zation," are the circles of flat stones used 

 to hold down the circular edges of their 

 tepees. Numerous horns of our buffalo 

 scattered about are still another evidence 

 that civilization has mowed a swath in the 

 heart of every lover of nature. 



When about 3V2 miles from the ranch we 

 sighted a herd of 15 antelopes about 400 

 yards away. Unfortunately for us they re- 



turned the compliment. Before we could 

 get a rise of ground between us, they had 

 taken fright and had run up a hill from 

 which they could make a more thorough 

 observation. There they halted an instant 

 and while we were filling the air with re- 

 grets, Parker, who is the taller and could 

 see into sink holes where I could not, ex- 

 claimed, 



"See those bucks fight !" 



Rising in my stirrups, I saw, some 100 

 yards to the left of the herd, 2 bucks in 

 deadly combat. Two other antelopes were 

 running around and past them, back and 

 forth, as we supposed in an endeavor to 

 warn them of impending danger. We both 

 took in the situation in an instant, and 

 without further words wheeled our horses 

 and, riding rapidly out of their sight, cir- 

 cled in such a manner as to cat the un- 

 suspecting 4 off from the herd. When 

 we again came in sight all 4 were still 

 there, but the main bunch were running. 

 What a fight ! Neither of us had ever 

 before seen wild animals contesting for 

 right as lord and master. At that point the 

 ground was such that by advancing a few 

 rods we would be under cover and could 

 approach unseen to within 150 yards. 

 Keyed to the highest pitch with excite- 

 ment, not buck fever, I shouted, 



"Let's make a run !" and we did, for 

 200 yards, in the meantime taking our 

 rifles from their scabbards and preparing 

 for action. We quickly dismounted, threw 

 the reins over the ponies' heads, which is 

 just as safe as tying them, and started, 

 bare headed, on a run toward our certain 

 victory. As soon as we came in sight the 

 young buck and doe, which were cutting 

 capers around their companions, circled 

 past us at about 100 yards and joined the 

 herd, then far away. What an opportunity, 

 and ;how 2 hearts ached to give him the 

 lead, but neither spoke, nor did we raise 

 our rifles. Slackening our pace, we walked, 

 in plain sight of our quarry, 25 yards 

 more, and being within 125 yards, halted to 

 shoot. We spoke not a word, but watched 

 them separate and come together with 

 heads down ; heard their horns clash and 

 saw them locked. It was a grand and 

 nobly fought battle, but both were destined 

 to lose, for the next moment my friend 

 raised his rifle and fired. It was not a kill 

 and both bucks circled past us at full 

 speed to join their band. I fired and 

 missed. Parker fired. I shot again, and 

 as my buck fell, in wildest excitement I 

 shouted, 



"That's mine!" 



"3 



