COURSING THE PROXGHORX. 



CAPT. E. L. MUNSON, U. S. A. 



My friend the ranchman shook his head 

 doubtfully as he warmed his numbed fingers 

 before the red hot stove at the little prairie 

 railroad station of Assinniboine. 



" There's sure enough of 'em there," he 

 said, " for I passed a bunch of 'bout 40 

 not a mile from the railroad no more'n 10 

 minutes ago ; but it takes a sure swift 

 greyhound to round up an antelope. He's 

 got to be a regular wind splitter, I tell 

 you! " I modestly stated my belief that the 

 particular kind of dog required was very 

 much in evidence in my pack, and that I 

 had been looking for just such a chance 

 during a 4 years' residence in the country. 



" Well, you won't have to wait more'n 20 

 minutes longer, for they wuz workin' off 

 slow toward Sandy, and left a trail you 

 can't miss. Likely you'll strike 'em in a 

 couple of miles," and, with another scepti- 

 cal remark as to the abilities of the grey- 

 hound when it came to catching antelope, 

 my informant went out to look up the 

 freight which had brought him out this bit- 

 ter weather. 



I had ridden down from the post with the 

 greatest reluctance, and only a desperately 

 sick patient at the section house had in- 

 duced me to go. The clouds far to the 

 Northeast foretold a storm, while, though 

 the sky above was as yet clear, the mercury 

 standing at 30 below zero gave the lie to 

 the brilliant Montana sunlight. 



November had been an awful month from 

 the very outset. Blizzard had followed bliz- 

 zard in rapid succession; snow had fallen to 

 an unprecedented depth, and for some time 

 the starving cattle had forsaken the range 

 to browse on the willows along the water 

 courses or nibble the sparse sage brush 

 here and there. 



Antelope, too, had suffered from cold 

 and hunger, and were moving southward in 

 search of better protection and food. Only 

 the day before news had been brought of a 

 large band seen slowly drifting across the 

 frozen prairie, and down into the Milk river 

 valley — but that such a wary animal should 

 venture so close to the post was not to be 

 expected. 



Three hounds lay around the stove. All 

 were reliable dogs, and the great white 

 hound " Spot" had never failed me; but I 

 could not help registering a wish for the 

 swift Russian wolfhounds and slower stag- 

 hounds which I had left in the kennel at the 

 post. However, there was now no time to 

 get them down to reinforce the pack. 



The short winter afternoon of the North- 



west was already waning, and to be over- 

 taken away from shelter by darkness and a 

 probable blizzard was not pleasant to con- 

 template. Even well protected by furs, the 

 trip was by no means devoid of danger from 

 severe frostbite — but then those antelope 

 were only a short distance away, and it was 

 the opportunity of a lifetime! 



That thought settled the question. Pru- 

 dence was thrown aside, and, hastily button- 

 ing up my overcoat, I routed out the 

 hounds, swung into the saddle and started. 



In spite of the cold, which cruelly nipped 

 the short coated dogs as well as myself, it 

 would not do to hurry. The pack must 

 be kept fresh for the coming contest of 

 speed and endurance ; so, following the back 

 track of the ranchman's sleigh, we slowly 

 plodded through the snow, the dogs trail- 

 ing along in single file and carefully step- 

 ping in the horse's footprints. For about a 

 mile no sign of life was visible except the 

 thin streaks of pale blue smoke, standing 

 perpendicularly in the motionless air, which 

 marked the distant post. Suddenly a turn 

 of the trail cut a wavy line, made up of little 

 sharp-pointed dotted depressions in the 

 snow with here and there a larger spot, 

 where an animal had lain down or pawed 

 the snow away as the bunch worked toward 

 the creek — a line extending up out of a long 

 coulee, and apparently losing itself at the 

 crest of the gentle slope to the Westward. 



There was no mistaking the trail of the 

 antelope and, turning at right angles, we 

 followed it up briskly; the eager hounds, al- 

 most frantic over the hot scent, running 

 ahead to investigate particular odors in 

 spite of all effort to control them. The trail 

 led for some distance toward Big Sandy 

 creek, rounded a slight elevation, and then 

 did not climb the farther slope. The game 

 was undoubtedly only a short distance 

 ahead, and I well knew the lay of the land 

 in their probable locality. The flat prairie 

 dropped away rather suddenly into a shal- 

 low basin or dry lake bed, some 10 feet deep 

 and only 200 yards in width. 



We had come up on the leeward of the 

 herd, and the winds had undoubtedly drifted 

 the opposite slope. Should the antelop^ 

 run directly away they would be greatly 

 hindered by the deep snow — should they go 

 in any other direction they would be obliged 

 to make the arc of a circle while the hounds 

 were running on the chord. The prospect 

 was certainly favorable. Locating their ex- 

 act situation the hounds were carefully 

 worked about 200 yards nearer, and then, 



545 



