Prong Horn

We camped in a grove of cedar trees near a dry lake bed. It turned cold just after sundown so we are lucky there is plenty of wood handy for the campfire. After supper was eaten we threw on wood to make a big blaze. One side freezes while the other is scorched. The day had been a nice cool fall day and I'm surprised at how cold the temperature has turned. Must be a bad winter fixing to move in. We're aiming to get some winter meat and a couple of big mule deer would sure help out.

The sand country, as the local ranchers call it, is good winter range for them big fellers who made it through the hunt on the slopes of Cedar Mountain. My brother, Keith, had gathered cattle out of this rough brushy country and in my mid teens I had spent a busy but lonesome 3 months one summer chasing after a herd of Dries, (mostly 2 year old sheep) so we knew the country and the nature of buck deer to drift into the area come fall time. When I crawl into bed it's cold as ice and I don't sleep very warm even though there's an extra wool blanket.

Before daylight Keith gets up and has a fire blazing brightly so I hurry on with my britches and boots. Brrrrr it's cold. The nose bags I hang on our horses then into a cloth sack goes some meat and bread, maybe an onion. We eat eggs and meat and some hot Brigham tea. We toast one side while the other freezes. When the horses get through eating grain we mount up and are on our way.

Keith takes the lead and heads up a big sand ridge that is east of our camp. The upper end of which lays against the base of a white ledge 500 feet or more in height. Big ponderosa pine trees are scattered along the ridge with deer trails winding upward toward a break in the ledge. Rolling hill country make up the top of the mesa and combines with other sections to make what is called Harris Mountain. Not really a mountain with peaks or such but just a mesa bordered on the west and south by white sand ledges. Big canyons run into the mountain (mesa) in several places, making a rough land to get over.

My toes warm up, my nose quits dripping and there is some feeling in my hands. Seems a lot warmer here. Maybe those sun rays I can see across the canyon there are warming up the entire area. We get out on top and Keith climbs up on higher country while I start to "dogging" through the brush. He's watching my progress with the hopes that I'll spook out a big one. After "beating the brush" for half an hour or so (riding through the brush making noise) I hear a shot from a high powered rifle and head in that direction. Keith's got one down in a cove cleaning it out. It's a nice one, the antlers stand up big and tall but only two prongs on each side. The body is big, probably 5 or 6 points in size. We hang him up on the north side of a big pinion pine tree, thinking maybe he'll stay in the shade all day. The temperature in the sun is about 60 degrees I'd guess.

We hunt eastward along the mesa top as it merges with the main body of Harris Mountain. There are lots of sign but no good shots. We stop at a water seep and get a drink for ourselves. Then let the saddle horses tank up. They graze on what they can find while we eat the lunch I'd fixed. We cover some more country hoping to get a shot. Seems like to me a feller has to put in or travel a good many hard miles of hunting for each good shot that he happens onto. Just one of Murphy's Law of chance. We were determined to get another one but when the sun went down over that western rim it come to us that we hadn't put in the required miles. By the time we reached the finger part of the mesa that led us toward camp the moon came up big and bright. The trail leads mostly westward through tall ponderosa pine, patches of scrub oak and sage brush. What an enchanted night. I think I will not soon forget the beauty of this night. Keith is out front setting the pace. That horse of his knows he is going to camp with rest and eating time so he moves right along.

The moonlight is near bright as day and Keith has no trouble finding the big pronghorn. We load him on his saddle horse and he takes up the bridle reins to lead him to camp. It ain't long till we slide down through the break in the ledge onto that pine clad sand ridge. The night gets colder so I untie my coat from the saddle and put it on. Sure glad I have one to put one. Up on top of the mesa the temperature hadn't been too bad, but I guess as the night goes on it would naturally cool off. At the base of the ridge we run into some of that frigid cold we had suffered through the night before. I mention how cold it is to Keith and he says the cold air sure must of settled on that old lake bed cause it's a lot colder down here than it was on top of the mesa. The campfire will sure feel good even though we'll toast and chatter at the same time.