anything, in reason, for I feared that Uncle Kit and Mr. Hughes would laugh at me.
At last, however, the sights of my gun steadied long enough for me to pull the trigger, and to my great delight—and I may as well admit, surprise—Mr. Gobbler tumbled over dead when I fired, and he was so heavy as to be a good load for me to carry to camp.
Now I was filled with confidence in myself, and became eager for a shot at bigger game; antelope, deer or buffalo.
In a few days we passed Ft. Scott and then we were entirely beyond the bounds of civilization.
From that on, until we reached our destination, the only living things we saw were jack-rabbits, prairie-dogs, antelope, deer, buffalo, sage-hens and Indians, barring, of course, insects, reptiles and the like, and the little owls that live with the prairie-dogs and sit upon the mounds of the dog villages, eyeing affairs with seeming dignity and wisdom.
The owls seem to turn their heads while watching you, their bodies remaining stationary, until, it has been said, you may wring their heads off by walking around them a few times. I would not have my young friends believe, however, that this is true. It is only a very old joke of the plains.
The first herd of buffalo we saw was along a stream known as Cow Creek and which is a tributary to the Arkansas river. We could see the herd feeding along the hills in the distance.
Here was good camping ground and it was time to halt for the night. So as soon as we had decided on the
