Have you ever seen the plains in the
morning--a June morning, when the
spurred lark soars and sings--when the plover
calls, and the curlew pipes his shriller notes
to the rising sun? Then is there music, in-
deed, for no bird outsings the spurred lark;
and thanks to OLD-man he is not wanting in
numbers, either. The plains are wonderful
then--more wonderful than they are at this
season of the year; but at all times they beckon
and hold one as in a spell, especially when
they are backed or bordered by a snow-capped
mountain range. Looking toward the east
they are boundless, but on their western edge
superb mountains rear themselves.

All over this vast country the Indians
roamed, following the great buffalo herds as
did the wolves, and making their living with
the bow and lance, since the horse came to
them. In the very old days the "piskun"
was used, and buffalo were enticed to follow
a fantastically dressed man toward a cliff, far
enough to get the herd moving in that direc-
tion, when the "buffalo-man" gained cover,
and hidden Indians raised from their hiding
places behind the animals, and drove them
over the cliff, where they were killed in large
numbers.