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CORNELL
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

   

 

 

BEQUEST

OF

STEWART HENRY BURNHAM
1943

 
Cornell University Library

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THE OUT OF DOOR
LIBRARY.
 

THROUGH THE MIST
 

 

THE OUT OF DOOR
LIBRARY # & & #&

HUNTING

BY

ARCHIBALD ROGERS BIRGE HARRISON
W. S. RAINSFORD HARRY C. HALE
FREDERIC IRLAND FRANK RUSSELL

GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
1896
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UNIVE KOETY
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CopyRIGHT, 1896, BY

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS.

TYPOGRAPHY BY C. J. PETERS & SON.

 

PRINTED BY BRAUNWORTH, MUNN & BARBER.
NOTE.

The chapters in this volume have
appeared at different times in Scrib-
ner’s Magazine, and having been re-
vised by their authors, are published
now for the first time in book form.
CONTENTS

I

Hunting American Big Game
By ARCHIBALD ROGERS.

I

Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone
By W. S. RAINSFORD.

I1l
Climbing for White Goats

By GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL.

IV
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness
By FREDERIC IRLAND.

A Kangaroo Hunt .

By BIRGE HARRISON.

VI
The Last of the Buffalo .

By GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL

PAGE

49

- IItl

131

» 201
Contents

we PAGE
At St. Mary’s . . 1... Hey wh ote cay REZOS
By HARRY C. HALE.
VIII
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs . . . . 301

By FRANK RUSSELL.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

Hunting American Big Game —

Through the Mist . ‘ : % ‘ : . Frontispiece
Two Fine Rams. j . Page 3
f Sneaking after the Rens, the a aut on after Me. 11
Tearing Open a Fallen Tree 13
The Two Rascals in the Snowdrift 2
Not to Shoot but to Photograph them 31
A nasty time getting down the Mountain 38
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone —
The Outfit 49
His First Grizely <7
Head of a Grizzly 61
A Camping Outfit for Eight 65
A Dead Grizzly 73
Caught in the Act 81
The Slaughter of Buffalo Bion Side alits 89
Black-tail Deer 97
Climbing for White Goats —
The White Goat’s Home WII
The White Goat’s Pasture 117
Head of Male White Goat 125
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness —
Headpiece 131
Writing Home 134
’ An Old Camp 137
A Salmon Jumping 139
The Boy and the Moose-Head 141
Lively Running 143
List of Illustrations

Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness —

Contiuued.
Calling Moose 4 : ‘ : ‘ ; . Page 145
Modern Acadian T; dialteee, 147
A Load of Antlers 150
On a Raft in, Louis Lake 153
Fishing for Grouse a 155
On the Little Southwest Miramichi River 157
Caribou Lying Down 160
eA Kangaroo Hunt —
Stalking a Kangaroo < 167
n“ Old Man” under a Fir-tree . x72
At Close Quarters . 177
The Plains in 1840 185
A Kangaroo “Dip” 189
Skinning 193
The Last of the Buffalo —
Buffalo's Head 201
At Mid-day 209
Indian Maul . 219
A Blackfoot Piskiin 229
Going to Water 249
At St. Mary’s —
In this Beautiful Valley we went into Camp . 265
A Temporary Camp 273
A Sheep “ Lick” 285
Hunting Musk-Ox with the “Dog Ribs —
Head of Musk-Ox 301
Map of the Country traversed, Witee the Basho’ Rae
from Fort Rae . ‘ 305
Ready to Start 308
A Giddie 313
On the March 315
The Author 319
A Running Shot 324
HUNTING

AMERICAN BIG GAME

By Archibald Rogers
 

 

Two fine Rams.

ME eight or ten years ago *
it was by no means difficult
for one who knew where to
go and how to hunt to get
excellent shooting in North-

western Wyoming. Large
game was there moderately abundant, with
the exception of buffalo. The latter had
just been exterminated ; but, bleaching in

  

* This article was prepared in the latter part of 1891.

3
Hunting American Big Game

the sun, the ghastly evidences of man’s
sordid and selfish policy lay exposed at
every step.

Indian troubles of a very formidable
character did a great deal toward keeping
the game intact in this portion of the
country, by keeping the white man out;
and while other parts of Wyoming grew,
and towns sprang up with rapid growth,
to become in an incredibly short time
cities, involving in destruction, as the past
sad history shows, the wild animals in
their vicinity, this Northwestern portion
remained unsettled, and acted as an asy-
lum to receive within its rocky mountain
ranges and vast sheltering forests the scat-
tering bands of elk and deer fleeing from
annihilation and the encroaching haunts
of men. As soon as it was safe, then, and
in some instances unquestionably before,
cattlemen, not inaptly styled pioneers of
civilization, began to drift down along the
valley of the Big Horn; and, like the pa-
triarchs of old, “‘ brought their flocks with
them,” settling here and there, wherever
they could find advantageous sites for their
ranches.

And now, as I propose to give some
hunting experiences of those days, if you
will accompany me to Billings, on the.

4
Hunting American Big Game

Northern Pacific Railway, the nearest town
to my ranch, and the Mecca to which the
devout cattleman drives his wagon for sup-
plies, I will introduce you to the foot-hills
and mountains, and some of the adven-
tures therein.

After four days on a sleeping-car, it is
a delightful release to tumble out on
a frosty September morning, and being
guided to where the ranch wagon and
crew are bivouacked just outside the lim-
its of the rapidly growing town, to get
one’s breakfast on terra-firma. No time
is now to be wasted. ‘The mules are
hitched up; the little band of horses are
rounded together; and when we have
jumped into our saddles, the cook, who
always handles the reins, gives a crack of
his whip, and we take our departure from
civilization. A couple of miles take us
to a primitive wire-rope ferry, where we
cross the Yellowstone River, which at this
season of the year is low and clear; in a
few minutes we are over, and, ascending
the bluffs on the other side, take our last
look at the beautiful valley we are leaving
behind.

By night we reach Pryor Creek, where
picking out as good a camping-place as
possible, the mules are soon unhitched,

5
Hunting American Big Game

and, with the horses, turned loose to graze.
While the cook is preparing the evening
meal I bag a few prairie chickens, to give
variety to the fare. Breakfasting at day-
light the next morning, we are soon under
way again, with Pryor Mountains in the
distance as our goal for this day’s journey.
Toward evening the white tepees of an
Indian camp are visible, clustered in a pic-
turesque group close to Pryor Mountains.
Passing them, not without paying a slight
tribute in the way of tobacco and such
other gifts as our copper-colored friends
generally demand, we fairly enter Pryor
Gap ; and there, ina delightful amphithe-
atre, we again make camp. This evening
we must have trout for supper; so all hands
go to work, and we are soon rewarded with
a fine mess of trout from the head waters
of Pryor Creek.

The next day, as we reach the summit
of the Gap, one of the most beautiful views
in the country opens out. The great main
range of the Rocky Mountains stretches
before us, its rugged snow-capped peaks
glistening in the morning sun, and we long
to be there ; but many a long mile still in-
tervenes, and forty-four miles of desert have
to be crossed to-day. This is always an
arduous undertaking. It is monotonous

6
Hunting American Big Game

in the extreme, and men and animals are
sure to suffer for want of good water; for
after leaving Sage Creek on the other side
of the Gap, there is no water to be had
until Stinking Water River * is reached.
But all things must have an end; and at
last, late in the evening, we find ourselves
encamped on the banks of that stream,
beautiful despite its unfortunate name.
Fording the river the next morning, not
a very terrifying operation in its present
low stage, we climb the steep bank, and
soon begin our long ascent of the divide
that separates us from our ranch and Grey-
bull River. Accompanied by an immense
amount of expletives and very bad lan-
guage, the mules are finally induced to
gain the summit. Here even the most
casual observer could not fail to be im-
pressed with the magnificent and appar-
ently indefinite expanse of mountain sce-
nery that, turn which way he will, meets
his view. However, we have no time to
linger; and picking our way among the
countless buffalo wallows which indent the
level surface of the summit, the wagon,

* Bancroft, in his account of the early explorations of Wyoming,
refers to this river as follows: ‘‘It is a slander to use this non-
descriptive name for an inoffensive stream. The early trappers
took it from the Indians, who, in their peculiar fashion, called it
‘the river that ran by the stinking water,’ referring to bad-smelling
hot springs on its banks.’’

7
Hunting American Big Game

with its wheels double-locked, is soon
groaning and creaking down the descent
which leads to the merrily rushing Mee-
teetse, following down which to its junc-
tion with Greybull, we are soon inside our
own fence, and are joyously welcomed by
the dogs. Here, too, I find my trusty °
friend and companion of all my hunting
trips, Tazwell Woody, a grizzled veteran
of the mountains, who once long ago
claimed Missouri as his home. From the
ranch to the mountains is a comparatively
short trip, for one day’s travel to the west-
ward would place you well up on their
slopes.

Let me say of this portion of the range,
that it is the most rugged, broken, and pre-
cipitous of its whole extent; and the charm
of overcoming its apparent inaccessibility
can only be appreciated by one who has
toiled and sweated in surmounting the dif-
ficulties of mountain travel from a pure love
of nature in its wildest and grandest form.

Experience having taught me long ago
that it was well-nigh impossible to get
good specimens of all the different varieties
of big game on any one trip, I made up
my mind to devote a certain amount of
time each year to one variety. By this

8
Hunting American Big Ganze

means their habits could be studied more
closely, and the main point never lost sight
of. Ina short paper like this I may best
take up the chief of these varieties, one by
one, and, without regard to the time of
their occurrence, tell something of my ex-
periences with each. And first, as to per-

haps the shyest, the Rocky Mountain sheep.

In the pursuit of Rocky Mountain sheep,
the hunter, to be successful, must have a
fondness for the mountains, a sure foot,
good wind, and a head which no height
will turn. These requisites, with patience
and perseverance, will, sooner or later, as
the hunter gains experience, reward him
with ample returns. Sometimes, however,
the unexpected will happen, and the fol-
lowing tale will serve as anexample. We
were camping well up in the mountains,
and almost any hour of the day sheep could
be seen with the glasses. I was after
sheep; it was my intent, business, and pur-
pose to get some if possible, and all my
energies were concentrated in that direc-
tion.

There were two fine rams in particular
that we could see about a mile and a half
from camp, occupying the slope of a rocky
point or promontory that jutted out from

9
Hunting American Big Game

a spur of the range. These two had a
commanding position; for while it seemed
impossible to get to them from above, they
could see every movement from below or
on each side of them. However, after
studying the country for two days, I found
that by ascending the mountain behind
them, and coming down again, I could still
keep above them, though there was a very
narrow ledge of rocks, rather a hazardous
place, that had to be crossed to get to the
point they were on. This narrow ledge
they had to come back on to get to the
main part of the mountain ; so, stationing
my companion there, and taking off my
shoes, and putting on an extra pair of heavy
stockings, I proceeded to crawl toward the
sheep.

With due care, and not making a sound,
I made a most successful stalk. Peerin
over the ledge, I just raised my head enough
to be sure my game was still there. They
were there, sure enough, within seventy-
five yards of me, totally unconscious of dan-
ger, when all of a.sudden they sprang to
their feet, and dashed away from below me
as though possessed of a devil. I fired
hastily, but of course missed, and, turning,
tried to run back to head them off, wonder-
ing what had started them, as I knew I

10
Hunting American Big Game

 

I sneaking after the rams, the panther sneaking after me.

had made no noise. But running over
broken rock in one’s stocking feet is a very
different thing from the slow, deliberate
movements that brought me there; and
besides, in a few seconds I had the morti-
fication of seeing my would-be victims
bounding across the narrow ledge that sep-
arated them fromthe mountain. However,
I thought with satisfaction that at least one
would meet its death from my companion
in hiding; but, alas! although the rams

II
Hunting American Big Game

almost knocked him down, his cartridge
missed fire.

Regaining my shoes, which was a great
relief, I soon joined my companion, and
then discovered the curious adventure I had
been made the subject of. It seems that
when I had reached a point well down on
the promontory I must have disturbed a
cougar, which was evidently there for the
same purpose I was, and which had stealth-
ily followed me as I proceeded toward the
sheep. Old Woody described it as highly
amusing —I sneaking down after the rams,
and the panther sneaking down upon me.
As soon as the beast got an opportunity it
turned off, and, making the descent,
alarmed the rams, and thus spoiled my
hunt.

For several days I watched this point,
but those rams never came back to it again.
However, not long after this I was amply
rewarded, and secured a fine specimen.
From one of the high ledges I was look-
ing down into a sort of amphitheatre shut
in by massive rocky heights. In this se-
cluded retreat a little band of ewes, with
one grand old patriarch as their master,
could be seen every day disporting them-
selves with many a curious gambol. After
many unsuccessful attempts I was enabled

12
Hunting American Big Game

Ws
yy

Tearing open a fallen tree.

 
Hunting American Big Game

to get a shot ; and great was my delight to
deprive this little band of their supercilious
protector. Upon another occasion I was
camping away back up in the mountains,
where there were about eighteen inches of
snow on the ground. The weather had
been villanous; there was no meat in the
camp, and I determined to see if I could
not getadeer. The prospect was not very
cheering; for shortly after starting a heavy
fog shut down, hiding all objects from
view. I had not proceeded far, however,
when I struck the fresh track of a ram;
and, following it cautiously for about a
mile through the open, it led into a dense
patch of pine on the side of the mountain.
Proceeding very carefully now, I soon
made out the outline of a fine old ram
that had wandered off here in the timber
to be by himself. Giving him no time to.
run, for I was close upon him, certainly
not farther than twenty-five yards, I planted
a shot just back of the shoulder; but he
did not seem to mind it. I gave him an-
other when he started to walk slowly off.
One more shot in the same place, and down
he came. Even then he died hard. Such
is the vitality of an old ram ; for upon ex-
amining him I found his heart all torn to

pieces. This was a good head of nearly
15
Hunting American Big Game

sixteen inches circumference of horns, and
the girth of chest was forty-six inches. In
returning to camp for horses to pack him
on, I jumped five more sheep ; but having
done well enough, they were allowed to
disappear in safety.

Sheep have a wonderfully keen vision,
and it is absolutely useless to try to get
to them if they once see you, unless you
happen to be above them, and on their
favorite runway; then they huddle to-
gether, and try to break back past you.
The only safe rule is to travel high, and
keep working up above their feeding-
grounds. In the spring of the year they
are much easier to kill than in the fall;
for then the heavy winter snows have
driven them out of the mountains, and
they come low down after the fresh green
grass. ‘The rams are then in bands, hav-
ing laid aside the hostility that later in
the year seems to possess each and every
one of them.

I was much interested once in watch-
ing a band of eight rams, all of them old
fellows. They would feed early in the
- morning, and then betake themselves to
a large rock which stood on a grassy
slope, where they would play for hours.
One of them would jump on the rock,

16
Hunting American Big Game

and challenge the others to butt him off.
Two or three would then jump up, and
their horns would come together with a
clash that I could hear from my position,
which was fully a quarter of a mile away.
On one occasion I saw them suddenly
stop their play, and each ram became
fixed; there the little band stood as
though carved out of stone. They re-
mained that way for quite half an hour
without a movement. I could not detect
with the glasses the slightest motion,
when, presently, three strange rams made
their appearance. Here was the expla-
nation that I was looking for. They had
seen them long before I had. The three
visitors were not very well received, but
were compelled to beat an ignominious
and hasty retreat.

As summer draws near, and the winter
snow begins to disappear, bands of elk
may be seen migrating toward their fa-
vorite ranges. The bulls are now to-
gether in bands of greater or less extent.
Their horns are well grown out, but are
soft, and in the velvet. ‘The cows and
calves stick closely to the thick timber.
As the season advances, and the flies be-
come troublesome, the bulls will get up

17
Hunting American Big Game

as high as they can climb, and seem to
delight in standing on the brink of some
mountain precipice. I have often won-
dered, in seeing them standing thus,
whether they were insensible to the mag-
nificent scenery that surrounded them.

Reader, what would you have given
to see, as I have, a band of two hun-
dred and fifty bull-elk all collected to-
gether on a beautiful piece of green grassy
turf at an elevation of nine thousand feet?
Here was a sight to make a man’s nerves
tingle! This was the largest band of
bulls, by actual count, that I have ever
seen; though my cousin and partner once
saw in the fall of the year, including
bulls, cows, and calves, fifteen hundred.
This was on the memorable occasion
when the only elk ever killed by any of
my men gave up his life: and we have
all concluded that this particular elk was
frightened to death; for though three men
shot at him, and each was confident he
hit him, they always asserted afterward
that no bullet-mark could be found on
him.

Generally, in August, in each band of
bulls there will be found one or two bar-
ren cows ; about the end of August, after

the bulls have rubbed the velvet off their

18
flunting American Big Game

antlers, they will come back to the vicin-
ity of the bands of cows. I have seen
bulls as late as Sept. 4 peaceably feeding
or resting among the bands of cows. Usu-
ally, in a band of fifty cows there would
be three or four males, including, possibly,
one or two spike-bulls.* I have seen
these spike-bulls in the velvet as late as
Sept. 4, though by that time the older
bulls had mostly rubbed the velvet off. A
little later, about Sept. 7, the bulls begin
to challenge each other, — in hunting par-
lance, whistling. This, on a clear, frosty
night, is sometimes extremely melodious,
and it is one of the most impossible sounds
to imitate. Hunting elk, if I may be par-
doned for saying it, I do not consider very
exciting sport to a man thoroughly versed
in the woods. They are far too noble an
animal to kill unnecessarily; and if one
hunts them in September, when they are
whistling, it is a very easy matter, guided
by the sound, to stalk them successfully.
Elk, like the rest of the deer family, are
excessively fond of saline matter. Their
trails may be seen leading from every di-
rection to the great alkaline licks that
abound in certain parts of their mountain
* A spike-bull is a young elk carrying his first or dag antlers.
These are single-tined, though in rare instances they are bifurcated.

19
Hunting American Big Game

ranges. Among other favorite resorts are
springs, which make on steep wooded
slopes a delightful boggy wallowing-place.
The bulls revel in these from August to
the middle of September. It is not an
uncommon thing to kill them just as they
emerge from their viscous bath coated
with mud. The elk has a great deal of
natural curiosity, and I have seen instances
of it to an extraordinary degree where they
have been but little hunted or alarmed.
My friend Phillips of Washington, who
was with me, will vouch for the veracity
of this story, which I give as an example.
We were wandering along the top of the
mountain, some nine thousand feet up,
trying to stalk some elk, not to shoot them,
but to photograph them. We jumped a
small band of bulls numbering about six-
teen. They trotted slowly off, stopping to
look back frequently, until all but two
large bulls had disappeared. These walked
slowly back to within fifty yards of where
we were standing, and stopped, facing us.
It was truly one of the most charmin
sights one could have wished for, to have
those graceful, sleek creatures almost close
enough to caress. Presently, with a defi-
ant snort, and with a succession of short
barks, they would move away and come

20
Hunting American Big Game

 

 

 

The two Rascals on the Snowdrift
Hunting American Big Gane

back again, repeating these manceuvres
over and over again, until we got tired of
trying to look like a brace of marble posts,
and sat down. We thought this would
frighten them, but it did not; and once I
thought they were going to proceed from
curiosity to more offensive operations, so
close did they come to us. Even my
caterwauling, as my friend unfeelingly
characterized my attempt to imitate their
challenges, did not seem to alarm them ;
and not until a full half-hour had elapsed
did this pair of worthies jog off.

Elk are vigorous fighters; and while it
seems but seldom that their combats ter-
minate fatally, the broken points of their
antlers, and their scarred and bruised bod-
ies, bear testimony to the severity of their
encounters. A full-grown elk stands about
sixteen hands high, is about eight feet two
inches long from nose to tip of tail, and
with a girth around the chest of about six
feet.

It was on the head of Wind River that
I secured my largest head. The regular-
ity of the points was somewhat marred, as
the bull had evidently been fighting only
a short time before I killed him. These
horns were not very massive; but the
length, measured along the outside curve,

23
Hunting American Big Game

is sixty-three and seven-eighths inches.
The circumference between bay and tray
is from seven and one-half to eight inches,
and the greatest spread between antlers is
forty-nine inches.

Probably more horrible lies have been
told by bear-hunters than by any other class
of men, except, perhaps, fishermen, who
are renowned for their yarns. However,
I trust that in the case of the few instances
I have to give of my experience I can
keep fairly within the bounds of truth.

Bear-hunting, as a general rule, I do not
think would appeal to most sportsmen.
It is rather slow work, and one is often
very inadequately rewarded for the amount
of time and trouble spent in hunting up
bruin. There is hardly a portion of the
mountains where there are not evidences
of bears, but I do not believe that in any
locality they are especially abundant. They
have been hunted and trapped so long that
those who survive are extremely cautious.
In my experience there is no animal gifted
with a greater amount of intelligence ; and
in this region the hunter’s chief virtue,
patience to wait and stay in one spot, is
sure to be rewarded sooner or later with a

good shot.

24
Hunting American Big Game

Let me say now that the danger and
ferocity of the bear are, I think, very much
overstated ; yet there is just enough element
of danger to make the pursuit of this ani-
mal exciting. Naturalists do not now ap-
parently recognize more than two varieties
of bear in the Rocky Mountains. That
is, they class the cinnamon, silver-tip, and
grizzly as grizzly bears. The other vari-
ety, of course, isthe black bear. I am by
no means sure that the grizzly bear will
not be further subdivided after careful com-
parisons of collections of skulls.

Much has been said and written about
the size and weight of the grizzly bear,
and in most instances this has been mere
guesswork. Lewis and Clark made fre-
quent mention of this animal, and yet their
estimate of the weight falls far below that
of other writers. Only a few instances
have come to my knowledge where the
weight has been ascertained absolutely. A
good-sized grizzly killed in Yellowstone
Park last summer by Wilson, the govern-
ment scout, weighed six hundred pounds.
Colonel Pickett, who has a neighboring
ranch to mine, and who has killed more
bears than any man I know of, weighed
his largest, which, if I remember rightly,
weighed eight hundred pounds. One will,

25
Hunting American Big Game

of course, occasionally see a very large
skin ; and from its size it would seem im-
possible that the animal that once filled
it out, if in good condition, could have
weighed less than twelve hundred pounds.
But I think it may be safely set down that
the average weight of most specimens
that one will get in the mountains will
be under, rather than over, five hundred
pounds.

To me, bear-hunting possesses a great
fascination, and for years I have hunted
nothing else. Personally I prefer to go
after them in the spring. Their skins are
then in their prime, the hair long and soft,
and their claws (if valued as they should
be) are long and sharp from disuse. Bears
seek their winter quarters in Bad Lands
and in the mountains. Those that adopt
the former come out much earlier ; con-
sequently, if the hunter is on the ground
soon enough, he may, by beginning in the
lower lands first, and working toward the
mountains, be reasonably sure of securing
good skins as late as June. In the spring,
too, bears are much more in the open, and
travel incessantly in search of food.

It is highly interesting to watch them,
when one has the chance, turning over
stones, tearing open fallen trees, or rooting

26
Hunting American Big Game

like a pig in some favorite spot. Acres
upon acres even of hard, stony ground they
will turn up, and in other places it would
be difficult to find a stone or rock they
had not displaced. They will undermine
and dig out great stumps. Ant-hills you
will find levelled; and the thrifty squirrels,
who have labored all the previous fall to
make a cache of pine-nuts, are robbed on

sight.

One spring, the work on the ranch
being done, Woody and I took our pack-
horses and proceeded to the mountains after
_ bears. I had no sooner picked out a good
camping-ground than it began to snow,
and for four days we could not stir from
camp. However, it finally cleared off,
the sun came out bright and warm, and
the little stream that we were on began
boiling, tearing, and rushing along, full to
the banks, causing us to move our camp
back to higher ground. After breakfast,
as we proposed to take a long day’s trip,
we took our horses with us. Riding up to
the head of the stream we were on, looking
for bears, no signs were to be seen, though
plenty of sheep were in sight all the time.
Riding on away above the cafion some
six or eight miles, we could see some

27
Hunting American Big Game

elk. We closely scanned the neighboring
heights, but still no sign of bears. Finally
we turned off, and worked our way clear
up on top of the mountain, determined
to see the country anyway. Slowly we
climbed upward, skyward, dragging our
weary horses after us, until at noon we
were nearly up, and concluded to lunch at
the little rill of melted snow that came
from a big drift on the mountain side.

To get to it, though, made necessary
crossing the drift, and Woody led the way,
with his favorite horse, old Rock, in tow;
and here was where my laugh came in, to
see those two floundering through that
drift. At times all I could see of Rock
were the tips of his ears. The crust was
just strong enough to hold Woody up if he
went “easy; but he could not go easy
with the horse plunging on top of him,
and they would both break through.
However, they had to go ahead in spite of
themselves; and they were finally landed,
half drowned and smothered, on dry
ground. Of course, profiting by this ex-
perience, I circumnavigated this drift ; and
we sat down to our dry bread and bacon,
washed down by a long pull from the handy
snow-water. Ten minutes and a pipe
were all that we allowed ourselves before

28
Hunting American Big Game

resuming our toil (for that is really the
way to designate the ascent of these moun-
tains).

We saw six fine rams (of course, now
that we did not want any); they did not
seem to regard us with any uneasiness, per-
mitting us to get within murderous dis-
tance, and I looked at their leader with
some longing. He had such a noble head
of curling, graceful, well-rounded horns.
He must have been a powerful adversary
when it came to butting. Stifling the in-
tent, I passed by without disturbing them,
and at last reached the top of the divide,
and was repaid by a glorious view.

At that time Nature was not in her
most smiling garb. It had been steadily
growing colder; ominous clouds were gath-
ering in the west, and an ugly rolling of
thunder warned us that no genial spring-
day, with shirt-sleeve accompaniment, was
to gladden and cheer us. Still we must
look for bears; so buttoning up our coats,
and turning up our collars, we surveyed
the country. At the same time it was
impossible to forego a study of the gran-
deur of the view displayed before us.

Those who have seen the mountains
and foot-hills only in the fall of the year,
when every blade of grass is parched and

29
Hunting American Big Game

brown and dry, can form no adequate
idea of the change that presents itself in
the spring. Especially is one surprised
when, standing on the top of some moun-
tain height surrounded by everlasting snow,
he looks down over the valleys, and sees the
richness and vividness of the green-grow-
ing grasses which seem to roll up almost
to his feet. As we stood there, we had a
glorious panorama. ‘The vast gathering
storm was at our backs; and the sun,
though not shining for us, was lighting up
the broad valley below. Greybull River
stretched away until it joined the Big
Horn beyond. The whole range of the
Big Horn Mountains was visible, their
snow-tops glistening like a bank of silver
clouds; and the main range we were stand-
ing on was brought out in all its dazzling
grandeur. Snowdrift upon snowdrift,
with gracefully curling crests, stretched
away as far as the eye could reach, for miles
and miles. Still we saw no bear; and
while we were enjoying all this wonder-
ful scenery we neglected the storm, and
were soon enveloped in a raging tempest
of wind and snow, with a demoniacal ac-
companiment of lightning and crashing
thunder.

We hunched up our backs, and stumbled

30
Hunting American Big Game

 

Not to shoot, but to photograph them
Hunting American Big Game

along the ridge before the blast, and were
soon brought up by a drift. However,
here is luck for once! We saw the print
of two fresh bear-tracks crossing the drift.
All thoughts of the storm were lost in our
delight at the vicinity of bears, for the sign
was very fresh. Alas, though! we lost
them after crossing the drift, and it was
impossible to find them again upon the
rugged soil of these ridges where the wind
had blown the snow off. We circled
round and round, studying every patch of
snow ; and my companion, Woody, looked
and spoke doubtfully. At last I caught
the trail again. Only a half-dozen tracks,
but enough to show the right direction ;
and as we ascended the ridge the tracks
were on, I saw the two rascals across the
gulch on an enormous snowdrift, tear-
ing and chewing at something, I couldn’t
make out what.

It was still snowing hard, but it was
only a squall, and nearly over. The wind
was wrong; it unfortunately blew toward
the bears, and the only direction in which
we could stalk them. Still an attempt
had to be made. We took the bridles
from our horses, and let down our hacka-
mores, to let them feed comfortably and
out of sight, while we crawled up the

33
Hunting American Big Game

ridge to where it joined the one the bears
were on. We had to creep up a beastly
snowdrift, which was soft, and no telling
how deep.

It was deep enough, for we went
through sometimes to our armpits. But
what mattered it when we were at concert
pitch, and bear for the tune? We were
now on the same ridge as the bears. Cau-
tiously, with the wind just a little aslant,
we crawled down toward our prey, cross-
ing another miserable snowdrift, into
which we went up to our necks, where we
brought up, our feet having touched bot-
tom. We floundered out behind a small
rock, and then looked up over at the bears.
Too far to shoot with any certainty ; and
I said to Woody, “I must get closer.”
And so back we crawled.

Making a little détour, we bobbed up
again, not serenely, for the wind was
blowing on the backs of our necks straight
as an arrow to where the bears were. But
we were a little higher up on the ridge
than they, and our taint must have gone
over them; for when I looked up again
one of the bears was chewing a savory
morsel, and the other was on his hind legs,
blinking at the sun, which was just break-
ing through the clouds. Wiping the

34
Hunting American Big Game

snow and drops of water and slush from
our rifles and sights, and with a whispered
advice from Woody not to be in a hurry
if they came toward us, but to reserve fire
in order to make sure work, — for no shel-
tering tree awaited us as a safe retreat,
nothing but snowy ridges for miles, —I
opened the ball with the young lady who
was sitting down.

She dropped her bone, clapped one of
her paws to her ribs, and to my happiness
waltzed down the snowbank. As she now
seemed to be out of the dance, I turned to
her brother, — for such I judged him to be
afterward, — who, with great affection, had
gone down with her until she stuck her
head in the snow. Not understanding this,
he smelled around his fallen relative, when
a hollow three-hundred-and-thirty-grain
chunk of lead nearly severed one hip and
smashed the other. He did not stop to
reason, but promptly jumped on his rela-
tive, and then there occurred a lively bit of
a scrimmage. Over and over they rolled,
slapping, biting, and making the best fight
of it they could, considering the plight
they were in. Each probably accused the
other of the mishap.

The snow was dyed a crimson hue. It
was like the scene of a bloody battleground.

35
Hunting American Big Game

At last the aggrieved lady gave up, and
plunged her head back into the snow, while
her brother, not having any one to fight
with, went off a short distance and lay
down. We cautiously approached, bear-
ing in mind that a snowdrift is a hard thing
for pedestrians in a hurry to travel on ; and
when we got about ten feet from the first
bear, I told my companion to snowball her,
and see what effect that would have, for
she looked too innocent to be dead and
finished for.

But instead of doing so, he discarded
his rifle, and reached for her tail. Ah, I
thought so! for, as he gave a yank, up
came her head, her jaws flew open like
clockwork, and a snort came forth. But
right between the eyes went the deadly
messenger, smashing her skull, and ending
any prolonged suffering for any of us. Her
end accomplished, we turned to the other
partner. He had been taking it all in, and
was ready for a fight. He seemed pretty
fit too. Fortunately he could not come
up to us; the snowdrift was too steep,
and he had only two serviceable legs to
travel with. Still he had true grit, and
faced us; but it was an unequal battle.

Again the bullet reached its victim, and
brother ba’r lay quietly on his back, with

36
Hunting American Big Game

his legs in the air. No need to trifle with
this bear’s tail, as any fool could see that
he was dead. However, we pelted him
with a lot of snowballs; and then Woody
went around to his stump of a tail, and
pulled it, while I stood guard at his head.
We took off our coats, and soon had the
skins off the pair of them. These skins
proved to be in the finest condition, though
the bears themselves were poor. I should
Judge one was a three-year-old and the
other a two-year-old. Still, they were
good-sized grizzlies.

Those skins seemed to grow in size and
weight as each of us lugged one up the
side of the mountain, over shelving rock,
snow, and loose gravel, to where we left
our horses. Of course they were not there,
and we had to go on carrying the skins,
which were growing heavier and heavier
every minute, until we tracked our horses
to where they were feeding; and, in West-
ern vernacular, ‘we had a circus” packing
those skins on my horse. It was done at
last, though, and to stay, by means of blind-
folding him with a coat; and after a little
while he settled down to work as though
he had carried bears all his many years of
service. I had a very nasty time in getting
down the mountain after my horse slipped

37
Hunting American Big Game

 

 

 

 

A nasty time getting down the mountain.

and fell down a gap in the crown rock.
We could not get the other down, so I took
charge of my horse and skins, and made the
rest of the descent in safety, though it
looked squally for a bit when the old ras-
cal’s feet slid out from under him, knock-
ing me down in the snow, and he on top;
and I could feel that even with the fleecy
covering the rocks were still very hard.
38
Hunting American Big Game

However, it was deep enough for me
to crawl out, more scared than hurt; and
soon we had sage-brush and grass under
our feet, with an easy trail to camp,
where a square meal inside of a stomach
that sorely needed it soon made amends
for all hardships. Wondering what those
bear had been at work at, I went back
the next day, and found that they had
been tearing up a sheep that had died of
scab, a disease that wild sheep are subject
to.

To a thorough sportsman, killing bears
after a successful stalk is by long odds the
best and most exciting method, but the
country must be such as permits of this ;
as, for instance, when there are long
stretches of high mountains, plateaus, or
ridges above or devoid of timber, where
the bears resort to root, and where the
hunter can from some elevated post look
over a large area with the aid of glasses.
The general procedure, though, is to put
out bait; that is, to have the carcass of
some animal to attract the bear; and
many a noble elk or timorous deer has
been thus sacrificed. To avoid this need-
less destruction, the writer has invariably
taken along on his hunting-trips aged and
worn-out horses, which answer admirably

39
Hunting American Big Game

when it comes to drawing bears to a car-
cass. Of course, this is not always a sure
way; for the bear, if alarmed or disturbed,
will only visit the carcass at night, and
then, if the hunter is persistent and de-
termined to get a shot, he may expect
many weary hours of watching from a
friendly pine.

I think I hear the reader say, What’s
the fun in shooting a bear from a tree?
there is no risk in that. ‘True, there is
not; but it is when you come down from
your perch that you may not feel quite so
safe, as with limbs benumbed from cold
and lack of circulation you climb down,
knowing perhaps that several watchful
pairs of eyes or cunning nostrils are study-
ing your movements. Involuntarily your
thoughts travel in the vein of your gloomy
surroundings as you go stumbling on your
way to camp: What if the bear should
prefer live goose-flesh to dead horse?

One spring morning I was knocking
around under the base of the mountains,
and found myself, about dinner-time, so
close to Colonel Pickett’s cosey log cabin,
that I determined to pay him a long- post-
poned visit. After an ample repast, in-
cluding some delicious home-made butter,
which I had not tasted for a month,

40
Hunting American Big Game

Woody and I, with our little pack-train,
regretfully filed off, and, fording the river,
took up our wanderings, not expecting to
see our cheery host again for a year.

We had not proceeded far, though,
when we met an excited “ cow-puncher,”
who evidently had news to tell. He had
been up on the side of the mountain, which
was here a long grassy slope as smooth
as any of our well-tended lawns, extending
upward to where it joined the dense pine
forest which covered the upper portion of
the mountain. Our friend was the horse-
wrangler for a neighboring ranch, and was
out looking for horses. Did any one ever
see a horse-wrangler who was not looking
for missing stock ?

. When skirting the timber, he surprised,
or was surprised by, a good-sized grizzly,
which promptly chased him downward
and homeward, and evidently for a short
distance was well up in the race. Gather-
ing from his description that the bear had
been at work on the carcass of a steer that
had died from eating poison-weed, I de-
termined to go back and camp, and see if
another skin could not be added to the
score. It did not take long to pick out
an ideal camping-spot, well sheltered, with
plenty of dry wood, and trout from the

41
Hunting American Big Game

little stream almost jumping into the fry-
ing-pan.

Our horses had been having pretty rough
times lately, and they lost no time in stor-
ing away as much of the rich grass as they
could hold. ‘They had plenty of society
too; for the slope was dotted here and
there with bunches of range cattle and
bands of horses, not to mention the recent
additions to the families of each in the
shape of frolicsome calves and frisky foals,
all busily at work. Bruin seemed rather
out of place in such a pastoral scene;
and yet, as one looked higher, beyond the
sombre heights of the forest, toward the
frowning crown rock, that resembled
some mighty fortress forbidding farther
progress, or the everlasting snow-peaks
above, one could well fancy that wild ani-
mals must be up there somewhere, either in
the dense woods, or in the still higher and
safer retreats.

We at once examined the ground, and
found the carcasses of two steers, one
of which was untouched, but the other
was very nearly devoured. All the signs
pointed to more than one bear, and the
ground was fairly padded down round the
carcass they were using. Unfortunately,
though, there seemed to be no place to

42
Hunting American Big Game

watch from, not a bush or rock to screen
one while awaiting a shot. To cut a long
story short, I watched that bait every af-
ternoon and evening for a week; and
though it was visited every night, I never
got a sight of the prowlers. Bears will
very often, when going to a carcass, take
the same trail, but when leaving wander
off in almost any direction. Taking ad-
vantage of this, and being satisfied that
they were up in the timber through the
day, we hunted for their trail, and found it
on an old wood-road that led through the
timber. To make sure, we placed the hind
quarters of one of the steers just on the
edge of the forest, and awaited develop-
ments. ‘That night the bear found it, and,
dragging it off, carefully cached it; so we
determined to watch here.

I was much disappointed, however, as
the daylight faded, to confess that if I was
to get a shot it would have to be in the
dark ; so as soon as I found I could not
see to shoot with any degree of safety, I
got up in a pine-tree that commanded the
road and was just over the bait. It was
weary work watching; and, to make it still
more uncomfortable, a heavy thunder-storm
swept by, first pelting one with hail, then
a deluge of rain and snow.

43
Hunting American Big Game

It was pitch dark, except when the
black recesses of the forest seemed to be
rent asunder during the vivid lightning.
The whole effect was weird and uncanny,
and I wished myself back under my soft,
warm blankets. I could not well repress
thinking of the early admonition of “ never
go under a tree during a thunder-storm.”
But what’s that? One swift surge of blood
‘to the heart, an involuntary tightening of
the muscles that strongly gripped the rifle.
I seemed to feel, rather than see, the pres-
ence of three strange objects that appeared
to have sprung from the ground under me.

I had not heard a sound; not a twig
had snapped; and yet, as I strained my eyes
to penetrate the gloom, there, right at my
feet, almost touching them, in fact, I made
out the indistinct forms of three bears, all
standing on their hind legs. Oh, what a
chance it was if it had not been so dark!
I could not even see the end of my rifle,
but I knew I could hit them, they were
so close. But to hit fatally? Well, there
is no use thinking about it now the bears
are here. ‘Trust to luck, and shoot!

Hardly daring to breathe, I fired. The
scuffing on the ground, and the short, sharp
snorting, told me I had not missed ; but I
could see nothing, and could only hear the

44
Hunting American Big Game

bear rolling over and over, and growling
angrily. Presently there was quiet, and
then with angry, furious champing of jaws,
the wounded animal charged back directly
under me; but I could not see to shoot
again, worse luck! From sundry sounds,
I gathered the bear was not far off, but
had lain down in a thicket which was
about one hundred yards from my tree.
I could hear an occasional growl, and the
snap of dead branches, broken as she turned
uneasily. I did not know exactly what to
do. ‘To descend was awkward ; and to stay
where I was, wet and chilled to the bone,
seemed impossible. It was most unlikely
the other bears would come back; however,
thinking it would be prudent to stay aloft
a little while longer, I made up my mind
to stick it out another half-hour. During
this wait I fancied I could see shadowy
forms moving about, and I could surely
hear a cub squalling.

The light was now a little better, and,
though still very dark, was not so intense.
Just as I had screwed up courage to de-
scend, another bear came up under the tree,
and reared up. This time I made no mis-
take, and almost simultaneously with the
rifle’s report a hoarse bawl proved to me
that I had conquered. Glad at almost any

45
Hunting American Big Game

cost to get out of my cramped position, I
sung out to Woody to lend a hand, as I
proposed descending ; and as he came up
I came down, and then we discussed the
situation. The proximity of the wounded
bear was not pleasant, but then the dead
one must be opened in order to save the
skin. But what if the latter were not
dead? Hang this night work! Why can’t
the bear stick to daylight? But to work!
There was the motionless form to be oper-
ated on. Inch by inch we crept up, with
our rifles at full cock stuck out ahead of
us, until they gently touched the inanimate
mass. It was all right, for the bear was
stone dead. Hastily feeling in the dark,
as neatly as possible the necessary opera-
tions were nearly concluded, when simul-
taneously we both dropped our knives and
made for the open. ... It makes me
perspire even now when I think of that
midnight stampede from an enraged and
wounded grizzly.
46
CAMPING AND HUNTING

IN THE SHOSHONE

By W. S. Rainsford
 

The Outfit.

 
 
  
  
   

LAH EN only eighteen I killed,
yx or helped to kill, my first
NG buffalo; and having tried
‘@>)) in vain, like many another
4 greenhorn, to cut out his
tongue (by forcing the clinched jaws
apart, and coming to the Irishman’s con-
clusion that he died of the locked-jaw),
was fain to content me with cutting off
his tail. At that time (1868) I spent part
of the spring, and all of the summer, fall,
and early winter, on the plains and among
the mountains of British North America.
Ever since I was able to read, it had been
my dream that some day I should see the
countless herds of buffalo wandering in
their dark, dusty, string-like bands on the
boundless plains; and I shall ever be glad
that I lived to see my dream fulfilled.
Then there were plenty of Indians, and

     

a

49
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

buffalo too, especially in the northern part
of the continent. On the great plains:
of the Saskatchewan both were abundant.
The buffalo were not the poor, skin-and-
bone, mangy remnant of a noble race that
survived even till 1884, hoof-worn with
perpetual and rapid journeying, ceaselessly
seeking a rest they could nowhere attain.
Then the great herds moved leisurely, and
leisurely the plain-Indian moved in their
wake. Millions of buffalo there were
that had never heard the deadly crack of
the skin-hunter’s rifle; and there at least
remained in those northern lands some
thousands of Indians who had never tasted
the deadlier whiskey of the free-traders,
as the men were called who pushed their
way into the great territories where none
but the Hudson Bay Company had hith-
erto come. (Let me say, for the honor
of the Hudson Bay Company, in those
years at least, that they never, on any
condition whatever, supplied liquor to the
Indians.) I have said I shall always be
thankful I saw the buffalo in their glory,
and saw the Indian, too, as he was — not
the ideal Indian, I need scarcely say, but
yet certainly not the debased hanger-on of
a frontier civilization that he is to-day.
To enjoy an old-fashioned buffalo-run

50
Camping and Hunting tn the Shoshone

— to start with a hundred and fifty almost
naked men and boys, in a helter-skelter
race of miles, over ground full of holes,
and covered with thundering herds, while
hunted and hunters were rolled in clouds
of dust — is to have enjoyed something
that can never be enjoyed again. Who
that once joined in such a chase could
ever forget it? The strange, motley com-
pany, — the old chief, armed and mounted
as well as any man in the tribe, but tak-
ing small part in the charge or slaughter ;

the young warrior, stripped almost naked,
meaning business, and looking, every joeh
of him, what he meant, too poor to use
the costly ammunition ‘that the Hudson
Bay Company could alone supply him
with, on buffalo, and so relying on his
short bow; the boy of fourteen, just old
enough to bestride ‘‘a runner,” and bend a
bow ; and last, but not least, the motley
band of squaws, some still carrying their
babies, —though for them this was no
mere holiday pastime, — leading and riding
ponies behind which the long tepee-poles,
fastened securely at the sides, trailed for
fifteen feet along the grass; then the cau-
tious approach, the old man leading and
signalling each movement of all our band.
My heart almost thumps against my ribs

51
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

again at the very remembrance of how it
thumped that morning when slowly our
long crescent of riders rose above the last
swell of the plain that hid us from the
outlying bulls, scarcely four hundred yards
away.

One yell and we were off, each man
for himself and the devil take the hinder-
most —a thing he was apt to do; for in
the shape of badger-holes he lay in wait
for those unlucky ones who, choked with
dust that hid both herd and ground, floun-
dered in the rear. ‘The safest as well as
the pleasantest place was in front.

But I do not desire to write an account
either of the sport or scenery I enjoyed in
1868 ; suffice it to say, I there and then
fell in love with the Rocky Mountains,
as almost all who: have hunted, camped,
or been hunted among them have fallen
in love. I would rather give some results
of the five trips I have made during the
summer and fall since then to those moun-
tainous regions, lying within the bounds
of the United States, that may be readily
reached by the Northern Pacific Railroad ;
for here await those who will take the
trouble to seek them magnificent scenery,
and, as yet, fair sport. Why do so few
of our young men go West for recrea-

52
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

tion? There is no land where nature
recreates a man as she does there. You
literally renew your youth. The climate
is invigorating beyond words. For ner-
vously exhausted men, for weary brains,
there is simply nothing to touch it. I
have gone to the mountains thoroughly
fagged out, unable to sleep well or eat
well — life a burden, and work an im-
pending horror. In a fortnight I have
been eating as many meals a day as I could
prevail on my men to cook, and have
been glad to fill up chance spaces in my
internal economy with raw bacon. Yes,
many a time, after a monumental dinner,
when we have gone into camp at five in
the afternoon, have I eaten with relish
that most lasting of all provisions, a piece
of raw bacon, before turning in. It is
true, some at first find the rarefied atmos-
phere of the mountains trying to chest
or heart, and many also complain of loss
of appetite and loss of sleep; but if the
man is sound in limb and lung, and if he
does not overdo it or overexert himself at
the very beginning, but does take regular
exercise, in ten days or so all life seems to
awaken within him; he may not sleep so
long or so heavily, for he has probably
camped at an altitude of eight or nine

53
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

thousand feet (excellent camping-places
are sometimes found at a height of ten
thousand feet or over), and he does not
need as much sleep as though he were at
sea-level. He may puff and blow like a
grampus as he faces a moderate hill; for
he has scarcely realized yet that the atmos-
phere is so rare that he must boil his po-
tatoes (if he is lucky enough to have any)
for at least two hours, and he will do bet-
ter if he boil them all the morning, and
that he cannot, by twenty-four hours’ boil-
ing, make beans soft enough to feed to
his horse. But he is growing younger,
not older. The world of cark and care
seems very far away, walled out by the
heavy mists that roll up from the plains.
What a fool he was to bother his soul, as
he did, with a thousand useless things!
Now, having a good warm flannel shirt,
plenty of blankets, good meat, good bread,
and coffee to make glad the heart of man,
thoroughly congenial companions, glori-
ous days and nights — what more can he
want? Now he needs no longer to cry,

“QO that a man would arise in me,
That the man I am might cease to be!”

for he does not want the man he feels he
is to cease to be. The man he now is he

54
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

could afford to go on with forever ; for he
is a good-natured chap, who never did, or
never will do, an unkinder thing to any-
one than to laugh at him when he gets
into a scrape. Every day be can walk
farther and eat more. His shoulder does
not ache as it did to the steady pressure
of his rifle. Somehow the ground up in
the mountains does not seem as hard as it
used to be those first few nights on the
plains, after he left the railroad, and when,
hunt as he would, he could not find a
square inch of anything softer than a flint
on which to repose his weary hips. And
now that he is in permanent camp, and
the boys have time to chop up and lay
under his waterproof great armfuls of
the sweet-smelling mountain pine-tops,
no spring-mattress ever afforded delights
comparable to those his couch yields to
him.

From six weeks of such living one re-
turns to his work a new man, — his mus-
cles set, his eye clear, and his hand as
steady as his appetite, — thankful for the
good time he has had, and thankful, dou-
bly thankful, for the home and friends, or
perhaps wife and children, that make the
thought of return again so sweet.

As to scenery, there is a grandness, a

55
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

loneliness, a majesty, about the views in
the Rocky Mountains that cannot be sur-
passed. Here you have not snow to the
same extent as in Switzerland; though I
have seen a snow-field fully fifteen miles
long and ten broad, and no one can guess
how many hundred or thousand feet deep,
in the almost unexplored granite range
that lies between Clarke’s Fork Mines and
the Northern Pacific Railroad. But the
rocky scenery is wonderful, — wonderful
in form, wonderful in color, and wonder-
ful in size. The very solid earth seems
sometimes to gape asunder; as you enter
some cafion you can scarcely persuade your-
self you are ascending, since the mighty
walls of rock on either hand so lean over
to each other that it seems as though the
path led downward, and not, as it does,
upward. One of the finest bits of rocky
scenery I remember to have seen anywhere
is within three days’ easy ride of the North-
ern Pacific Railroad, and on the road to
Cooke City Mines. A long valley of some
twenty-four miles leads easily up to the
divide, from the East Fork of the Yellow-
stone, narrowing as it rises. Some seven
or eight miles from Cooke, on the left as
you ascend, a vast wall of basalt rises
almost sheer from the bed of the stream.
56
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

 

His first Grizzly.

It cannot be less than three thousand five
hundred feet in height, and, I should fancy,
is over a mile along its base. When I
first looked up at it, its great dark breast
was braided all over with a hundred milky,
wavy, flashing waterfalls. For a week we
had almost continuous rain; and these
warm showers, for it was July, had has-
tened the destruction of the snow-beds on
its crown, and down to the valley fell or

57
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

trickled, literally, hundreds of streams,
separating, spreading, uniting, and spread-
ing again, as they crept or thundered down-
ward. No words can convey any idea of
the mingled beauty and grandeur of falling
water and immovable basalt when smitten
by the glory of the setting sun. One au-
tumn evening, two years after, we camped
at the same spot. We were smoking the
last pipe of peace before turning in, when
one of our party noticed a clear light
falling on the summit above us. As we
watched, the light crept slowly downward;
at first we scarcely realized that it was the
moon. We were down, remember, in a
veritable chasm, one side of which—the
side before us — was about three thousand
feet higher than the other; and thus the
moonbeams lit up its edge long before they
touched the little prairie at its feet, where
our camp lay. A great belt of clouds lay on
the rocky ridge at our back; and athwart
these the moonlight passed, casting their
moving shadows on the great gray mirror
we were looking up at. What grotesque
shapes they took, as they wound and un-
wound their long folds! There we sat and
watched them, until at last such moon-
light as you can only see when you are al-
most seven thousand feet above the damper,
58
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

denser air in which ordinary life is to be
sustained, fell full into the gorge.

I recall, too, another bit of rocky sce-
nery as unlike this one I have tried to sketch
as I can well fancy is possible ; and I single
it out of a possible score of such places
because it, like the first, is accessible to or-
dinary travellers, — the mouth of Clarke’s
Fork Cafion. Clarke’s Fork River rushes
to the plains through one of the grandest
cafions in the Rocky Mountains. For fif-
teen miles an old and difficult hunter’s
trail leads down its precipitous sides; but
this is not much used at present, such
travel as does find its way to Cooke City
Mines from the eastward going over the
long, but comparatively easy, ascent of
Dead Indian Mountain. At a first glance,
the river-gorge is absolutely impassable ;
a sentinel-cliff seems to guard its moun-
tain solitudes, and bar all human progress
upward. I have heard my hunter say
that, when trout-fishing in one of the
deepest spots in that cafion, he saw clearly
the stars at mid-day ; and I believe it, for
even where the steep trail passes — and it
passes at a considerable height above the
torrent, and so avoids the deepest gloom —
it is murky enough.

But the view of the rocky gateway to

59
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

this chasm is alone worth a journey, and
of it I wish to speak. Sheer from the
water, without one break on its face, a
silvery cliff, looking almost south, rises
five thousand feet into the sky. I do not
know, I am ashamed to say, the nature
of the formation; but in the sunlight its
sheen is most silvery. Opposite it stands
a mountain so rocky and precipitous that
no man or beast can ascend it; here and
there belted with pine, and as dark as its
brother-sentinel is fair. I saw these one
early morning in September, when we had
turned unwillingly homeward, resisting the
strong temptation of a first tracking snow;
saw them all crusted and crowned with
their first winter icing. As we rode, we
were not a mile from their bases, yet these
were absolutely invisible, shut out by a solid
wall of dense white cloud ; but their heads,
for the topmost thousand feet or so, were
as clear as sunlight could make them.

An ordinary hill of less than two thou-
sand feet looks Alpine when you are near
its base, if that base be hidden in fog and
the crown be clear. Many who read this
can doubtless recall experiences on misty
mornings, when on the canoe, or lake-
shore or river-bank, they looked up at
cloud-girdled mountains that, when thus

60
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

 

 

 

 

 

Head of a Grizzly.

seen, seemed so vast in their proportions
they could scarcely believe them to be the
old companions of the night before. But
these rocky solitudes seen as we saw them
that morning, — well, I can liken them
to nothing I know of. We were not an
especially emotional party ; but they did
seem to us that morning, as they towered
aloft into the limitless ether, to belong to
another “land that is very far off.”
Where can a more lovely series of
mountain-lakes be found than those that
lie hidden in the great forests that stretch
for a distance of, say, one hundred and
61
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

fifty miles by one hundred over that cen-
tral plateau where rise the Yellowstone
and Snake Rivers? ‘Till within a few
years the region was almost unknown.
In 1868 I met a hunter who claimed to
have seen a great lake, more than twenty-
five miles long, and almost as broad, in
the heart of the mountains, on whose
margin great fountains of boiling water
spouted, and where no Indian dared to go.
Of course he yarned considerably about
cafions where lay the bones of herds of
petrified bison, and gaping cracks whence
steam and boiling mud rushed forth. Al-
lowing, as you must allow out West, for
the play of a hunter’s imagination, there
was a considerable substratum of truth in
what he said; but none of us, and, so far
as we could learn, no one that ever met
him, believed a word of it. Of course
the existence of the extraordinary region
of the Upper Yellowstone was known to
a few, but there was very little accurate
or certain knowledge of it. Indeed, the
policy that the Government still pursues
in regard to this great Alpine region seems
curiously stupid. At various points, com-
manding natural western highways, are
stationed small military posts; but the ofh-
cers and men condemned to live in them,
62
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

from year’s end to year’s end, are not only
not encouraged to make themselves ac-
qainted with the intricacies of the vast
mountain regions lying near them, but are
so hampered by a cheese-paring policy
that even a hunting-trip of a few weeks is
almost an impossibility.

Now, an Indian outbreak may not be
likely to occur in the future, but it is still
far from impossible that it should occur.
Were the Crows (who still have the best
horses in the West, and claim perhaps
three thousand warriors) to go on the war-
path, there is no military force in that
region that could prevent them reaching
the mountains. Once there, for some
months at least, they could subsist on scat-
tered bands of cattle and game. Such an
outbreak would be followed by terrible
loss of life; for all the country is now
studded with isolated ranches and small
settlements, and to dislodge them from
perhaps the most difficult natural fortress
imaginable, with United States infantry,
only accustomed to barrack-square tactics,
and such cavalry as might be attainable,
would be a costly task.

No smarter officers, no keener sports-
men, are to be found anywhere than can
be found at our frontier posts, but, look

63
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

longingly as they may toward the blue line
on the horizon, transport is denied them ;
they are not, as a rule, men of large pri-
vate means, and cannot afford to invest in
transport for themselves, and so, if I may
be pardoned the hackneyed quotation —
metaphorically

“Their limbs are bow’d, though not with toil,
But rusted with a vile repose.”

It is well known out West, that nothing
but a lucky hit of one of its best guides
saved from complete annihilation, during
the Custer campaign, a very important
command that had ventured after the In-
dians into the Big Horn Mountains. The
Sioux corralled the soldiers, who were in
great danger, and only escaped at last by
night, on foot, leaving their fires burning
and their horses tied in the timber.
Thoroughly organized pack-trains used to
be part of the establishment of all military
posts near the mountains. Now almost
all these have been broken up, the packers
attached to them dismissed, and the very
complicated gear that is absolutely neces-
sary to carrying supplies on mule or on
horseback is in such a state that it is, to
all intents and purposes, useless for emer-
gency service. Neither mules nor packers
64
Hz of ring Juduvy y

 

 

auoysous yz ut Surunzy puv Surguny
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

can possibly be secured in a hurry for such
a work as a mountain campaign implies ;
and to send troops, no matter how skilful
or how ably handled, into the field without
them, would be to send them to defeat.
In a formation such as that of the Rocky
Mountains, the unexpected is the common.
A “divide” looks as though you could
march a regiment along it; you get up
there, and lo! it ends in a knife-edge; a
great river swirls deeply and quietly at
your feet ; its pathway downward surely
can afford you a trail upward. You come
to a dead standstill in a mile or two; and
the reverse of this is true. From Sunlight
(a pretty name, I think, for a pretty place
and a most forlorn little log shanty, of
which I am in part the proud posses-
sor) a long valley leads up to one of the
grandest groups of peaks I know anywhere.
This Sunlight is quite well known in the
Clarke’s Fork region. The old trail from
Billings, on the Northern Pacific Railroad,
to Cooke runs through it ; and to go from
the park to the Stinking Water country
and Gray Bull, where there is now a
considerable cattle industry, you must pass
by Sunlight. Prospectors, the best of all
mountaineers and explorers, are supposed
to have gone over every foot of that valley
67
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

and its bold sides. It used, too, to be a
favorite resort of meat-hunters, when the
first rush to the mines carried hundreds on
to the head-waters of Clarke’s Fork; and
yet, for all this, no one ever believed that
a pack-horse could be led up the moun-
tain at its head and over into the park.
Prospectors and hunters were fain to go
back to Sunlight, and thence by Lodge
Pole Creek round to Cooke Mines, and
down by Soda Butte to the Yellowstone, a
circuit of not less than seventy-five miles.
Two years ago we went up that valley
after a band of elk, and, having killed
some, set traps for bear and hunted sheep
there for a week or more. One day Frank
Chatfield, my hunter, and I discovered
what seemed an easy pass up to the divide;
and, taking all the outfit along, soon after
we easily made the ascent, without one
mishap in a day’s march. I mention this
as an instance of the unexpected; for,
standing ten miles farther down the valley,
its head seemed one grand mass of precip-
itous rocks and snow-fields. We after-
ward came down from a camp, three miles
on the other side of the divide, to Sun-
light, making one of the longest mountain
marches I can remember having made in
one day. It must have been thirty miles,
68
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

if not more. I doubt if anyone since then
has taken our trail. I know, at the time,
none of the old-stagers thereabout would
believe we crossed where we said we did.
The old-time Tory is found out West
among hunters and prospectors, as he still
survives in the more civilized East.

For several years Government surveys
have been gradually mapping the Yellow-
stone Park; but the park itself (though
here and there intersected or encroached
on by mountains) is a great hollow, sur-
rounded on all sides — more especially on
the west and southwest — by a wilderness
of the wildest mountains within our bor-
ders, almost unexplored, so far as the Goy-
ernment is concerned. Here only, in the
park, so far as I know, has any thorough
work been attempted. There are, of
course, maps issued by the Office of the
Chief Engineer at Washington (the last
of these bears date 1881); but to take a
hunting outfit through the mountains by
its help alone necessitates going slowly and
feeling your way. It would not be a safe
guide by which to ‘march a column of
troops. ‘The inaccuracies of these maps I
know from actually having proved them.

Before I turn away from the region of
Clarke’s Fork, let me say, for the benefit

69
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

of anyone who wishes to hunt sheep, that
there are few places where he may hope
for so good success. He is not obliged to
invest in a large outfit, or undertake a long
trip, since it is near the railroad. Five or
six days from either Stillwater or Cinna-
bar would bring him well up Crandle
Creek, or the north fork of Clarke’s Fork ;
and on the heads of these streams, and a
stream running almost parallel to them,
called Dead Indian, there are to-day, and
will probably be for years, a large number
of sheep. During a trip of six weeks in
that region my hunter and I counted over
six hundred. Let him not, however, at-
tempt this sort of hunting unless he is in
pretty good trim and has his bellows in
order; for, to hunt sheep with either suc-
cess or safety, he must be able to carry
both himself and his rifle up and down
steeps as sheer as man can climb, for from
eight to twelve or even more hours at a
stretch, at a mean height of about nine
thousand feet ; not every man who comes
West can do this. I have seen one who
could hold his own with any in the Adiron-
dacks play out utterly ; and on these steeps,
often slippery and very dangerous, over-
fatigue adds an element of danger most
undesirable, and spoils entirely the pleas-

70
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

ure of the other members of the party.
For this reason I never, when I can help
it (z.e., when I can get meat any other
way), begin the trip by attempting hard
sheep-hunting ; better wait till regular and
more moderate exercises have braced the
nerves and muscles; better, too, wait till
each knows pretty well what he can and
cannot do. If you have patience, sooner
or later you may get a ram in an easy
place, and so secure your “ head;” but
remember that following this shyest and
noblest of all Rocky Mountain game
animals makes larger demands on your
skill and patience, as well as on your
steadiness of head and hand, than any
other sport.

Three more pieces of advice let me
briefly give: First, never go up or down
any specially steep or dangerous piece of
rock when you don’t feel you can return
the way you came. AQ fall on the rocks
(like Mercutio’s rapier-wound, that was
not ‘deep as a well, but yet was enough ”’)
may not be from a height that you can
call a precipice, yet may be quite sufficient
to spoil the trip, not for yourself only, but
for your companions as well. Second, be
careful when you are on “ conglomerate,”
a very common formation in mountains.

71
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

No rock is so treacherous; its less com-
pact formation admits of the loosening
caused both by heat and ice. On lime-
stone or on granite, or even on basalt, you
can safely trust your weight to a very nar-
row foothold; not so with conglomerate.
Any tyro in mountain-climbing knows
enough to make perfectly sure of his
handgrip before seeking a new rest for
his foot ; and then, again, make sure of the
footing before reaching up or out with a
disengaged hand. On the rocky forma-
tions I have mentioned, there can be little
danger if caution is not neglected; but on
conglomerate, extra care is necessary ; hand
and foot will sometimes give way suddenly
and simultaneously. I had a fall in this
way, two years ago, that came very near
being serious; providentially, a heavy snow-
field lay directly below me, and I plumped
safely into its most charitable bosom.
Charity was cold on that occasion, but
more than comforting. It was entirely
my own fault; I had broken the first rule
of prudence, and had gone up a “ chim-
ney ” where I could not possibly go down,
and so was obliged to make a descent over
a very dangerous and icy piece of con-
glomerate. I trust and believe I learned
a lesson.

72
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

 

A Dead Grizzly.

The third piece of advice is worth both
the others: Go slow. Go slow when you
are going up; all good walkers start slow.
Once get thoroughly leg-weary, and all
enjoyment for the day is over. I first
learned the need of going slow in 1868;
we were after goats, our first goats too;
there they were, not fifteen hundred feet
above us, and an easy stalk. Between our
camp and the mountain-foot a soft, boggy,
mossy swamp, full of dead timber, stretched
for above half a mile. We had Indians
(never take Indians; they are not worth

their, keep as hunters). We had done

73
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

nothing but ride for months; all our
hunting had been on horseback, a poor
preparation for work after goats. To
make a long story short, those Indians
started off on the dead-run. We had no
fresh meat, I must say in extenuation of
this proceeding. I fancied I could run if
they could; and, too proud to confess my
forebodings, I started off in their wake.
Anyone who has tried running in a
swampy Selkirk valley will sympathize
with the experience I went through for
the next fifteen minutes, and none who
have not can. Suffice it to say, I got to
the foot of the steep a badly pumped lad.
There a youthful, fourteen-year-old ur-
chin, weighing about ninety pounds I
should say, and looking as fresh as paint,
offered to carry my thirteen-pound double-
barrelled Rigby. I blessed him, and up
we went, still at the run. What devilish
power got into those Indians’ legs I can-
not to this day say; I only know that I
went till first I could not speak, and then
I could not breathe, and then I could not
see; and when vision returned I was
alone, without even the poor satisfaction
of possessing a useless rifle. Of course, I
never saw the goats again till they carried
them into camp. But I learned two les-

74
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

sons, — one, never to start off at a run, or
even a very rapid walk; the other, never
to let a hunter I paid go ahead of me
when near game. A slow, steady pace is
the pace to tell. Don’t stop to get your
wind; second wind will come in time.
Let not scenery or any other device of
the evil one tempt you to sit down, or
look around, or chat, etc. When you are
after game that is in sight, first make your
stalk, go to the highest point; the scenery
is sure to look, if possible, better still when
you have your game at your knees, and
frequent pauses, when you are doing the
hardest part of the work, do not really
rest you, and do waste a great deal of
time.

Perhaps there is nothing so intoxicating
as a snow-slide; to shoot down, down,
over the cool, smooth surface for a thou-
sand, yes, sometimes two thousand feet at
a time, and just enough of risk to make it
interesting ; but here, again, a new hand
must go slow. My hunter, Frank Chat-
field, than whom there is not a better shot,
a better mountaineer, a better tracker, or
a better man in the mountains, is a terrible
fellow down-hill. How he keeps his bal-
ance on a snow-field, turning one foot into
a toboggan, the other cocked up in front,

75
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

while he steers with his rifle-butt, is to-day
a mystery to me. I rashly once, and only
once, tried to keep up with him on a
snow-slide, and only succeeded in making
myself feel, from my head to my heels,
like a very-much-grated nutmeg. I almost
broke my rifle, did tear my hand, and so
hopelessly damaged my single remaining
hunting-suit that when, clad in what was
left of it, a fortnight after, I humbly sought
to claim a place in the Northern Pacific
Railroad dining-car, the conductor was for
summarily ejecting me, and said frankly
that such as I had no right to come in
there.

Lay the lesson to heart, therefore, and
if you want to keep your clothes, or get
your dinner, go slow on snow; keep both
feet down, put on plenty of brake, and
you will have a delicious slide on your way
to the valley. In this way, snow-slopes
that seem absolutely precipitous from be-
low, and even from above look too steep
for safety, may be descended at a consid-
erable pace and without risk. They are,
however, I must confess, a little scaring at
first; and I don’t think a team of mules
could have dragged me down the first I
tried, had there been a possibility of get-
ting home any other way. They are very

76
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

unlike the snow-fields in the Alps, where
the snow is much softer, and where I have
seen them not nearly so steep.

Before referring more specially to camp-
ing and hunting in this life-giving region,
let me add one word about the lake-sys-
tem of the Upper Yellowstone. Where
can such lakes be found as these? ‘The
great Yellowstone, Lewis, Shoshone, Jack-
son, and Heart Lakes, all lying within an
area of sixty miles square, clear as only
Rocky Mountain lakes can be, full of
trout, still reflecting the stately antlers of
the elk, and now and then the uncouth
form of the moose, and still affording a
safe home to the much-persecuted beaver.
Fortunately these lakes, excepting Jackson,
are within the boundaries of the park. If
the suggestions of the gentlemen who have
done such valuable work in surveying that
region are adopted by the Government, the
park will be doubled in size, and thus a safe
retreat, and, what is of more importance
still, a safe summer breeding-place will
be preserved as an inviolate sanctuary for
our noble American game. None of these
lakes is so little known, or more worth the
knowing, than Heart Lake. It is not easy
of access, as it lies in a dense forest ten
miles due south of the Thumb of the great

77
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

Yellowstone Lake, hidden by a short but
steep range of hills that rise over two thou-
sand five hundred feet above the unbroken
woodland.

We were bound to get to Heart Lake ;
none of our men had ever been there.
For days and days we had been in the
timber, — timber that stood as thick as
Yellowstone pine can stand, — and often
were without a sign of a trail. We were
having terrible bother with our packs, and
the men wanted to get out of the timber
at any cost; nothing would do them but a
direct ascent of the mountain-ridge which
I have just mentioned.*

Up we got at last; and at our very feet
lay the lovely lake, blue as cloudless sky
and clear, unrufHed waters ever looked.
We had, as was not to be wondered at,
a very bad time getting down; and then
at the foot lay a “ formation ’’ — as hot-
springs and geysers are called out there —
full of treacherous spots. Into these, of
course, two of the most troublesome pack-
horses floundered. It was late in the day ;
the march had been long and very weary-
ing, with constant shifting of packs in the

* If you want to get on with your men, tell them where you
want to go, where you will go at any cost, and then don’t bother

them about the road. Most greenhorns drive their men wild with
perpetual questioning.

78
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

timber and on the hill; and if there was a
little more sulphur in the air, just for fif-
teen minutes or so, than the neighboring
springs accounted for, Western men, at
least, will make some allowances.

At last we were in camp, and such a
camp! Circled by a belt of old pines,
gnarled and twisted by the winter winds
that had swept across the lake till their
limbs were more like the limbs of oak than
those of conifere. On one side a narrow
strip of snowy sand ; on the other a green
meadow, down which flowed a clear
stream, heated to about 70° by many hot-
springs that flowed in farther up. The
sandy shore ended in a little spit running
out some four hundred yards into the water ;
and there, in perfect content, and moved
by a slowly awakening curiosity, sat a se-
date family of geese, — father and mother
and some ten inexperienced but well-de-
veloped youngsters. South of us lay the
water ; east of us spread the unbroken for-
est, rising higher and higher till all vege-
tation fell away from the scarped and
turreted summits of the main range’ of
the Shoshone; while on our right, to the
west, sheer out of the lake rose Mount
Sheridan almost ten thousand five hundred
feet, its broad forehead still capped with

79°
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

snow, while a little farther on another
summit rose, fiery red where the setting
sun smote on its great cliffs, once clay, but
now turned to red concrete by subterranean
fire.

Our dinner of elk-steak, seasoned by
one or two of the very last remaining on-
ions, delicious bread (two parts flour and
one part Indian corn), and, oh! such cof-
fee, is a memory with me still. Then
pipes were lit, and we laid us down “upon
the yellow sand.”” And over the crest of
the mountain peeped the horn of the new
moon; not a sound broke the stillness,
save when, at regular intervals of fifteen
minutes, a geyser, hidden in the pines
about a half-mile away, burst into its brief
tumult. Many lovely camps we remem-
ber; but, among them all, none were more
beautiful than that by Heart Lake.

My first ambition was naturally, as I
have said, to killa buffalo; that task once
accomplished, and repeated to the point
of satiety, the aim and object of my life,
during my two months’ summer rest, was
to slay a grizzly. My first hunting expedi-
tion included a trip from Saint Paul (then
almost the eastern terminus of the railroad)
to Vancouver Island, and during that long
journey I never saw a grizzly. One day,

80
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

 

Caught in the Act.

coming on the very fresh trail of an im-
mense fellow, the Indians promptly refused
to take any part whatever in investigating
the neighborhood; and as I was a most
untrustworthy shot, and had only a double-
barrelled muzzle-loading rifle, all things
considered, perhaps this action of theirs
81
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

was an evidence of their proverbial saga-
city.

My next essay was undertaken thirteen
years after, in 1881. We had, my friend
and I, a magnificent trip; rode all over
the Big Horn Mountains, and killed plenty
of game — indeed, we could not help it.
In those days the mountains were full of
deer, elk, and bear too; but somehow
none of us ever saw a grizzly. I cannot
to this day understand our want of success.
Four trips I have made since then; but I
never saw half the amount of fresh signs
which we saw on the western slope of
those mountains, on a stream named, in
the maps, Shell Creek. Had I known as
much as I know now, I could have made
a much larger bag than the one I made
on my last trip, when I had extraordinary
luck, and killed eight grizzlies in three
weeks, our party accounting altogether for
twelve bears, two only of the twelve being
trapped. I think this is the largest au-
thentic score I have heard of, as made in
late years, in so short a time.

I understand that the Big Horn region
is still a black-tail country; but elk are
rare, buffalo extinct, and cattle have driven
out bear. As a rule, you will only find
grizzlies where elk are, or have recently

82
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

been. The truth must be told: The first
real grizzly we did see (we once shot a
mule in mistake for one) was in a trap.
In the Eastern woods bears are commonly
trapped by baiting a pen, built of logs,
with fish or offal, and setting before it a
twenty-five pound spring-trap. I need not
now speak of traps built of logs only,
where a dead-fall is used; none of these
are sufficiently strong to hold or to kill a
moderate-sized grizzly. To these traps,
as they are set in the East, a short chain
is attached, and this ends ina ring; through
the ring a strong stake is driven securely
into the ground, and by this means the
captive is held until his hour arrives. Out
West the same trap is used ; but instead of
pinning it to the ground, a long chain is
attached, and the end of this chain is made
fast around a log, with a “cold-shut”’ or
split-ring, such as you put your pocket-
keys on, and which can be fastened by
hammering. As soon as the bear springs
the trap, with either fore or hind feet,
and so is fast, he begins to make things
lively all around, slashing at the trees, bit-
ing at the trap, and dragging the log.
This, of course, is an awkward customer
to pull along, especially if it is made of
part of a young, tough pine-tree, with the
83
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

branches left on. It leaves a trail that is
easily followed. Sometimes the bear will
take in the situation very soon, and set
himself to demolish, not the trap, but the
thing that makes the trap unendurable. I
have myself seen a pine-tree some fourteen
feet long and eight or nine inches in diam-
eter, perfectly tough and green, so chewed
up that there was not a piece of it left
whole that would weigh five pounds. In
this case we were able to trail the bear by
the trap-chain, and killed him farther on.
The best way to fix a trap is the simplest:
Scoop a hollow by the carcass of a dead
elk, and, drawing up a pine, fix the end
of it firmly to the trap. ‘The branches of
the tree half cover the dead game, and can
be easily so arranged that, naturally, the
bear will have, for his convenience, to ap-
proach on the side where the trap is set.
Some old grizzlies, however, are extraor-
dinarily cunning; and though they cannot
have had any extensive experience of traps,
—for none have been taken into the West
till the last five years or so, —seem to di-
vine just where those dangerous hidden
jaws lie, beneath the innocent brown pine-
needles and bunch-grass. ‘They will spring
it again and again, and then feast to their
hearts’ content. One great fellow did this
84
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

three times at the same carcass; and as we
could not induce him to come during day-
light, we had reluctantly to give him up.
After carefully examining the jaws of the
trap, which each time held a few gray,
coarse hairs, and such small traces of skin
as you see on a horse’s curry-comb, we
came to the conclusion, and I think the
correct one, that the old fellow deliber-
ately sat down on the whole concern.

My first grizzly was trapped on the
head-waters of the East Fork of the
Yellowstone, within some few miles of
a mountain called the Hoodoo. That
country is now too well known and too
much hunted to afford good sport; a
blazed trail leads up to it from the park.
Travellers who want to see an elk are
almost invariably advised to go up there.
It is a sort of jumping-off place. None
of the park guides, I think I am correct
in saying, know how to get out of it un-
less by returning as they came; at least
they did not two or three years ago. In
1883 there was considerably more game
in that region than can be found there
now. Our party, the morning after get-
ting into camp, separated; I went for
sheep on the high ground, for there was
plenty of sign, and my friend, taking an

85
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

Adirondack guide we had with us, hunted
the lower woody slopes. ‘Toward evening
I got back to camp, pretty well tired, hav-
ing killed a ewe, for we wanted meat ; and
presently the rest of the party came in, al-
most too breathless to speak. They had
seen a drove of bears, so they said; five of
them, “and,” added the Adirondack guide,
“two were big as buffaloes.” He had
never seen a buffalo, and drew on his im-
agination for their size. This was excit-
ing with a vengeance. They reported any
amount of bear-sign on the slopes leading
to the river. It was just before dark that
they had seen this aforesaid family, which,
unfortunately, at once winded them, and
so quickly tumbled down the ravine, as
only bears can tumble, and were lost in
the cafion. We were poorly off for bait,
but killed some porcupine and half roasted
them (under these circumstances, I would
have my readers remember that porcupine
emit a powerful odor); and to these de-
lectable morsels we added parts of sheep.
Still it was a very poor bait. Bear will
not, as a usual thing, come to a small
carcass. We waited and waited, day after
day; all the sheep cleared out of the
neighborhood ; and we, not having at that
time one good hunter in the party, could
86
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

not trail up any of the small, scattered
bands of elk that kept, as they generally
keep during the end of August, to the
thick timber. Our grub gave out; our
last morning came; and, save for that
one brief moment, none of the party had
ever seen a grizzly. All our impediments
were stowed away, and nothing remained
to pack but the forty-two pound traps.
While the final tightening of the mules’
aparejos was being done (we had a Gov-
ernment outfit on that trip), our guide
rode off to see if the luck had turned.
He was to fire one shot if the trap had
been carried away. Fancy our feelings
when, thirty minutes later, a single shot
rang out on the early morning air. We
made time to the ridge where the boys
had seen the bear, and where the traps
had been set fruitlessly for a week; and
there, sure enough, he was—a fine fellow
too. He could not have been fast more
than half an hour, for he had not gone
far, but was “making tracks,” dragging
a great log after him, when the hunter
saw him; and in an hour or two, at that
pace, would have been well on his way
down the cafion. Soon as mankind came
in sight he took in the situation, and be-
gan to roar and growl. A  grizzly’s roar
87
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

can be heard a long way in still weather.
I must, in all truthfulness, say that that
bear seemed to be thinking chiefly of his
family. He made no charge; he wanted
very badly to go home; and I ended his
career with an express-bullet.

Not much sport in that, so it seems to
me now. And yet, after longing and
longing even to see a big bear, and never
seeing him; after finding, sometimes, the
ground near our camp all torn up over-
night, as we used in 1868; after having
had three bears cross the river I was fish-
ing in, on Sunday morning (oh! charitable
reader, a quiet little stroll by a silver,
purling, singing mountain stream, such as
was Shell Creek, could not offend even
the shade of Izaak Walton, though it were
taken on Sunday) — yes, I went down
that stream not more than three miles,
and in the two or three hours I spent
in filling my pockets with the trout, no
less than three bears, good-sized bears,
too, by their tracks, crossed that stream
behind me and between me and camp —
after such a long time of probation, it
was more than exciting to see, here then,
at last, the real thing, an unmistakable
grizzly. There actually was such a thing
as a grizzly in the flesh! We had begun

88
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

 

 

 

 

The Slaughter of Buffalo. (From Photograph.)

to doubt it; not so big as a buffalo, truly,
now I came to see him in daylight, but
weighing, I should say, fully six hundred
pounds.

As to bears’ weights, I confess myself
sceptical about the existence of a bear in
the Rocky Mountains, this side of Califor-
nia (I cannot say anything about Califor-
nia grizzlies), weighing over one thousand
pounds. Colonel Pigot, the most noted

89
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

bear-hunter in the West, who has claimed
royalty, I understand, on seventy grizzlies,
thinks he never killed any over that weight.
I understand, from one of the men who
accompanied Colonel Pigot, that he car-
ries a steelyard that weighs up to three
hundred and fifty pounds, and by this
means has obtained an idea, and a fairly
accurate one, of the weight of some of his
largest trophies. My prize animal, killed
last year, measured nine feet three inches
from his nose to his heels, and certainly,
though in good condition, did not go over
nine hundred pounds. My hunter thinks
he has never seen one weighing more than
a thousand; and he has killed as many bears
as most men — outside of story-books.
The largest bear any of us ever saw was
a cinnamon that came within an inch of
killing one of my men, a good hunter and
first-class guide — Charles Huff. (I may
refer to the big cinnamon, too, as an in-
stance of the danger that sometimes attends
trapping the bear.) He had set his traps
near Sunlight, in the spring, and was un-
able to visit them for a week. When he
got to the bait, trap and log were gone.
After taking up the trail, he soon found
the remnants of his log chewed to match-
wood ; the bear, evidently a large one, had

90
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

gone off with the trap. He followed his
trail as long as he had light, but found
nothing, and had to return to camp. Next
day, very foolishly, he took the trail again
alone, beginning where he had left off.
After a long march he came to the steep
side of a hill; the bear had evidently gone
up there; on the soft, snow-sodden ground
the trail was plain. Just as he was begin-
ning to ascend, there was a rush and a
roar, and the bear was on him. He had
no time to put his repeater to his shoulder,
but letting it fall between his hands, pulled
the trigger. The bear was within a few
feet of him, and by a great chance the un-
aimed bullet took him between the eyes.
He had evidently tried the hillside, and,
worried by the heavy trap, had come back
on his trail and lain behind a great heap
of dirt, into which he had partly burrowed,
waiting for hisenemy. Among the débris
of spring-tide — fallen stones and uprooted
trees—a bear could easily lie hidden, if
he was mad, and wanted to conceal himself
till the enemy was within a few feet. It
was a terribly close shave.

All animals are at times strangely hard
to kill; this, I fancy, is especially true of
the grizzly. Again and again he will drop
to a well-planted shot, as will any animal ;

gr
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

nothing that runs can stand up long after
it has received a quartering shot —ze.,
when the bullet is planted rather well back
in the ribs, about half way up, and ranges
forward to the opposite shoulder. Such a
shot, especially if the bullet is a fifty- cali-
bre, will drop anything ; but the point of
the heart may be pierced, of even the
lungs cut, and bears will often fight.

We stalked two grizzlies in the “‘ open”
one evening. ‘They were busy turning
over stones, in order to get the grubs and
worms underneath, and when we managed
to get, unseen, within forty yards, at first
fire each received a bullet broadside behind
the shoulder; but, seemingly none the
worse, they both turned down-hill, as bears
will when wounded, nine times out of ten,
and made for the ravine, whence they had
evidently come. This gave me a nice
open shot as they passed, and No. 1 rolled
over dead; not so No. 2. Before he got
a hundred yards away I hit him three
times. My rifle was a fifty-calibre Bullard
repeater, the one I have used for years —
one hundred grains of powder and a solid
ball. At the fourth shot he fell all of a
heap, seemingly dead. To save trouble
we laid hold of the first one, which lay

about seventy yards above the second, and
g2
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

dragged him down the steep incline to
where this second lay, for convenience in
skinning. We got within a few feet of
the bear, when up he jumped, and, on one
hind leg and one fore, went for Frank.
The attack was tremendously unexpected
and sudden. At a glance you could see
that the poor, plucky brute was past hurt-
ing anyone; for one arm was smashed, and
his lower jaw was shot almost completely
away. Yet I tell the simple truth when I
say that for a few strides he actually caught
up to Frank, who made most admirable
time ; then he suddenly fell dead. We
examined that bear carefully; he was a
small one, not weighing more than two
hundred pounds, and was shot all to pieces.
Each of the five bullets I had fired had
struck him; one hip and one forearm
were broken, the lower jaw shot away;
there was one shot in the neck, and one,
through and through, behind the shoulder.
It is never safe to fool with a grizzly; he
may run away as fast as an elk, or he may
not. He may drop to the first well-
planted bullet, or he may stand up till
blown almost to pieces.

I have used almost all sorts of rifles,
and have satisfied myself that a good re-
peater is he arm,— more accurate than

93
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

an express, hitting hard enough to kill
anything, and having nine shots instead of
two. Very little observation or reading
will satisfy any one that the habits of game
change considerably in a comparatively
brief space of time. This is true of the
grizzlies. Allowing for old hunters’ exag-
geration, and again allowing for the natural
growth of the mythical, even in so far as
it relates to Ursus horribilis, yet I think
the modern grizzly is a more timid animal
than his grandfather could have been. I
have said it is not safe to depend on: one
of these animals retreating; but unless
wounded, if a path of retreat is left him,
he will almost invariably take it. In the
evening, on a trail, old hunters say that he
often shows fight sooner than get out of
the way. I have only once met a large
bear alone in the evening; and on that
occasion I did not wait to watch his move-
ments, but fortunately rolled him over,
hitting him in the heart with a snap shot.

The common idea still is that, in the
fall, bears go down the mountains after
berries. Some, I suppose, do; whether
it is owing to the occupation of the river
and creek beds (the usual place where
choke-cherries and plums grow thickest)
by cattle or not, I cannot say, but certainly

94
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

the biggest do not seem to go down at all.
They live on grubs, and more especially
on pine-nuts, breaking up the stores which
that pretty and provident little fellow, the
mountain squirrel, has laid by; and on his
labor they grow very fat.

There is something to me beyond meas-
ure fascinating in hunting the grizzly, the
hardest of all animals to approach, except-
ing perhaps the sheep; and the extreme
difficulty of seeing him or finding him in
the daylight, and the lonely haunts he has
now retired to, make him more difficult to
bring to bag than even the sheep. None
seems in better keeping with his surround-
ings than he. It must be a poor, shallow
nature that cannot enjoy the absolute still-
ness and perfect beauty of such evenings
as the hunter must sometimes pass alone,
when watching near a bait for bear.

One such experience I have especially
in mind. What an evening it was, both
for its beauty and its good-fortune! I
think of it still as a red-letter day, and
speak of it as

“One from many singled out,
One of those heavenly days that cannot die.”

More than two thousand feet below, the
head-waters of the Snake gather them-

95
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

selves, and in its infancy the great river
sends up its baby murmur. Behind me,
the giant heads of the Teton cut the rosy
evening sky, sharp and clear, as does the
last thousand feet of the Matterhorn. I
was comfortably ensconced in the warm,
brown pine-needles that smothered up the
great knees of a gnarled nut-pine, whose
roots offered me an arm-chair, and round
me, for the space of two or three acres,
the short, crisp greensward, that is only
found where snow has lain for months
previously, was spangled and starred all
over with such blue and white and red
mountain flowers as are nowhere else seen
in this land.

I wish I had time and skill to write of
those sweet mountain flowers; there is
nothing quite so beautiful in any other
Alpine land I know of, our mountains
altogether outstripping the Swiss or Aus-
trian Alps in the wealth, variety, and sweet-
ness of their flora. I don’t know anything
of botany, I am ashamed to say; but we
have counted wellnigh a hundred different
flowers in bloom during one afternoon’s
tramp. Amid the lush green of the rich
valleys great masses of harebell and borage
and gentian carpet the ground. Here and
there, beautifully contrasting with their

96
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

 

Black-tail Deer.

fresh, vivid blue, wide plots of yellow,
purple-centred sunflowers stoutly hold up
their heads; while on the border-land of
these flower-beds of nature, where the
grass shortens in blade, and deepens to an
intense shade of green, the delicate moun-
tain lily, with its three pure-white petals,
fading to the tenderest green at the centre,
reaches its graceful height of some nine
inches. All this one has abundant leisure
to observe, as he sits well to windward, by

97
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

the way, of the bait, —in this case a dead
elk.

On this occasion I occupied an unusually
good point of vantage. My armchair not
only commanded a little sloping prairie,
but the heads of two deep ravines leading
to it, and the crest of the ridge, some three
hundred feet above me, to my left. Hour
after hour passed peacefully by. I tried
to read Tennyson (I had a pocket volume
with me), with but poor success, and so
gave myself up to the beauty of the scene.
I realized, without effort, what a blissful
thing it might be — nay, sometimes is —
simply to exist. Such hours do not come
to any of us often; but when they do,
with them surely may come an overmas-
tering sense of that great truth Elizabeth
Barrett Browning so tersely puts —

« Earth’s crammed with heaven,
«And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees takes off his shoes.”

Without cant, I trust, that evening I
took off mine, as the old prayer came to
mind: “ We thank Thee for our creation,
preservation, and all the blessings of this
bic.’ ;

I was in a state of stable equilibrium,
bodily and mentally (if it ever is given to

98
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

a rector of a New York church so to be),
when a mighty rumpus arose from the
edge of the dark woods where our horses
were lariatted, two or three hundred yards
below. On his way upward, a big grizzly
had been joined by a relative or acquaint-
ance (history will never say which) ; and,
as ill-luck would have it, they both came
suddenly on the horses, hidden and se-
curely tied ina little hollow. From where
I sat I could see nothing; but running down
a few yards I came in sight of two sturdy
fellows surveying our plunging nags, as
for one moment they evidently held a hur-
ried consultation. ‘The conclusion they
arrived at was that they were out for veni-
son, not for horse-flesh, especially when
there was more than a suspicion of a dan-
gerous smell around ; in brief, they struck
our trail, and scented the saddle, and so in
an instant were off. Of course, we had
settled on a spot toward which the wind
blew from the ravine (Frank was a quarter
of a mile away on the other side of the
prairie) ; for bears almost always come up
at evening from the deepest hiding- places ;
and these bears ran off, quartering up-
wind, giving me a long, running shot, as
they made great time among the tall, rank
grass and flowers.

99
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

Sit down when you shoot, if it is possi-
ble. There is no better position than an
elbow on either knee; you can shoot fast
and straight, and the position is high
enough to carry your head and rifle above
small inequalities of the ground. I let
drive and missed; shot too far ahead, I
fancy. Always shoot too far ahead rather
than too far behind. Nine times out of
ten a bullet plumped in front of running
game will halt it for a moment; and so
now it turned out. The leader reared up
for an instant, and the instant’s pause was
fatal. The next bullet took him fair in
the centre of the chest. He had just time
to give his solicitous companion a wipe
with his paw, that would have come near
wiping out a strong man, when he rolled
over.

Bear No. 2 concluded he had an engage-
ment somewhere else, and was settling
down to a business-like gait when he, too,
came to grief. There they lay, not fifty
yards apart, — two in one evening, not so
bad, — though in honesty it must be con-
fessed that such shots were more than or-
dinarily lucky. Skinning a tough hide
is a very trying bit of work, but how wil-
lingly was it undertaken! What time we
made down the mountain, tying first our

100
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

trophies — heads left on — securely on the
cow-saddles!_ What cannot a good bron-
cho do when he wants to get back to the
herd! For a couple of thousand feet
we led the horses, and then fairly raced.
What fun is a good scamper home when
you have a stanch pony between your legs!
The sure-footedness and hardiness of a well-
trained pony are simply marvellous; give
him his head, and if there is a ghost of a
trail he will take it. Many an evening did
we race home against time, determined
to get over the three miles of twisted
and fallen timber before the last glow van-
ished. Once out of the timber we could
sober down, for all was plain sailing.
Three or four miles more, —among old
beaver-meadows, where every now and
then we heard, loud almost as a pistol-
shot, the beaver smite the water with his
broad tail, as he went down into his own
quiet, clear pool, — and the welcome blaze
of the camp-fire promised rest, after re-
freshing and sufficient toil, as well as good
companionship.

There is among Western men much con-
troversy as to the various kinds of bears
inhabiting our Western Alps; but the
number of those who, from personal obser-
vation, are capable of forming an opinion,

IOL
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

is very small. In the first place, for all
the sanguinary talk around the stove, there
are not a great many men who have made
a practice of hunting bears at all. One
such incident as that which occurred two
years ago in the Big Horn scares a good
many. <A poor fellow there came on a
bear, a small cinnamon, feeding on an elk
he had killed. He fired and wounded it;
the bear retreated, and he followed. Com-
ing up with it, again he fired, when the
bear charged him. ‘Trying to re-load (he
used, I heard, a single-shot Sharp rifle),
the extractor came off the empty shell,
and, of course, he was defenceless. He
evidently drew his knife, and used it des-
perately ; for when they found him the
bear lay near him, dead, with many knife-
wounds in it, but it had killed him first.
In short, both on account of the danger,
and by reason of the great difficulty of
seeing them, it scarcely pays to hunt bears
alone.

There are comparatively few men, I
say, whose opinion is worth much; and
some of these seem to have an ides that,
for the credit of the mountain land they
love so well, they are bound to people it
with as many different species of bears as
they can. Now, as a matter of fact, I be-

102
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

lieve that almost all the bears ranging in the
Rocky Mountains occasionally breed to-
gether; certainly brown and black some-
times do. Our party once shot a black
bear with a large brown cross extending
from the tail to the back of the head and
down each shoulder. Just as certainly
the brown and grizzly on occasions inter-
marry. My hunter assures me he has shot
gray cubs with a brown sow. I may be
wrong; but I cannot myself see any differ-
ence sufficiently marked to warrant the
idea that the cinnamon bear of the Rockies
is not the coarser, larger brown bear, the
result of some crossing between the grizzly
and the brown.

Then, some men insist that among the
gray bears there are no less than three dis-
tinct varieties, — silvertip, roachback, and
grizzly. As I have said before, I cannot
say anything about the California grizzly,
though I do not think, from skins I have
examined, he differs materially from his
neighbor of the mountains ; but as to these
differences of color indicating a distinct
variety, I cannot believe it. We shot
three bears, feeding on one carcass, last
fall, all three years old, and evidently of
the same litter, and you could scarcely find
greater varieties of color than those they

103
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

represented. One was almost yellow, one
a dark silvertip, and one almost brown.
There is, among bears, a considerable vari-
ety in shape and outline sometimes; and
back of the tusk, in the lower and upper
jaws, some few grizzlies seem to have a
lesser and second tusk instead of the usual
molar; but this is a rarity, I fancy. I
only found it twice, and our men could
not remember having seen it before.

I will end this rambling paper as I began
it. Why does this splendid Alpine region
of ours, so rich in beauty and in all va-
rieties of interest, attract so few? For
a party of two or three, a trip of seven or
eight weeks amid its solitudes need not
cost each one more than many spend dur-
ing a couple of months at some fashion-
able seaside resort.

To get competent guides is the chief
difficulty. The men who can or will take
an outfit through a mountainous country,
where they have never been before, are few
and far between; and the so-called certifi-
cated guides, numerous enough in the park,
know little or nothing of the country be-
yond it. The charges, too, in the park
for transport are excessive. Cooke City,
Gallatin County, Montana, the mining-
camp I have referred to, is the best place

104
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

I know for securing men. A railway will
soon connect it with the Northern Pacific;
and meanwhile, from June till December,
a stage runs three times a week to the
Mammoth Hot Springs. But some good
hunters are still to be found at Billings and
Bozeman on the Northern Pacific Rail-
road. On one of the most successful trips
I ever made we had no guides at all. I
steered the party by such aid as the map
afforded. So long as we went slowly,
sending one of the party forward, day by
day, to hunt a trail, we did very well.
We only got into one scrape that might
have ended seriously, and that came from
foolishly venturing down a cafion none of
us had ever explored. Go slow; and go
nowhere unless you are sure you can, at
the worst, retrace your steps, and you will
enjoy your trip.

Though a guide is not a necessity, a
couple of first-class packers are. Any man,
with some little experience of roughing
it, can guide a party fairly well; but no
mortal man, not to the manner born, can
pack. No baby is more dependent on its
mother than is the tenderfoot upon his
packer. Day after day he stands, in won-
dering admiration, and sees this individual
“throw” the marvellous diamond _ hitch-

105
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

knot that fastens, as nothing else can fasten,
the strange assortment of everything, from
a Dutch oven to a stag’s head, that may
chance to form the pack; and when he
has mastered the secret of the diamond
hitch, he is still years from being a thor-
ough packer. To see all the zmpedimenta
of a hunting-camp for a party of four
travellers and their men quickly done up
into the neatest and tightest packages im-
aginable, and then bound, as none but a
Westerner can bind them, on the back
of an ill-conditioned Indian pony, to stay
there, as I have seen packs stay, all day
long, with just one tightening up, as up
and down we go over rocks and against
trees, is a wonderful instance of skill and
careful planning.

Some days, of course, the packs won’t
“ride;”? sometimes the devil has com-
pletely mastered the natures of horse and
mule, as long ago he did the pigs. We
once started from Big Timber Station
across a level and stony plain, at five
o’clock sharp, on a sweltering August
morning. By four that evening we had
made precisely two and a half miles. I
think the outfit’s survival as an outfit on
that occasion is due to the fact that the
clear stream of the Bowlder (full of trout,

106
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

by the way) did not flow another quarter
of a mile farther off from our starting-
point than it did. I never had better
packers or better animals than those we
had for that trip; but we put too much
onthe mules. ‘They werea splendid band,
but had not been packed for two years,
and so were soft and resented packing ;
and there just happened to be an evidence
of advancing civilization, in the shape of
half a mile of the newest and most barby
barbed-wire fencing, midway between the
railroad and the woody bend of the stream
that was the goal of all our hopes. Against
that half-mile of wire every one of those
mules in turn lay down, stringing them-
selves well out, so that they would not
be inconveniently close together, this ma-
neeuvre, of course, resulting in the rend-
ing and cutting of all that was cuttable
about them, including their hides; and,
in all honesty——for one must try to be
honest even to a pack-mule—I must say,
they rather seemed to like to have their
hides cut, if they were only sure of cutting
every flour, sugar, oatmeal, and coffee sack,
to say nothing of letting daylight into
waterproof, tarpaulin, clothes, etc.

It is something to have had an exhaus-
tive experience of any sort; and after

107
Camping and Hunting in the Shoshone

going through those eleven hours of un-
ceasing toil, during which I had ample
opportunity to see what a mule could do,
and to hear how thoroughly trained mule-
packers could express their sentiments re-
garding everything and every person in
general, and those immediate mules and
circumstances in particular, I have no hes-
itation in affirming that in both these
directions my experience zs exhaustive.
Dead-beat and almost dumb, one of the
men, sitting on a newly prostrate mule’s
head, summed up the situation concisely
as he said, glancing at me reproachfully,
“It’s enough to make a minister of the
gospel swear ;”’ and had I gone through
half the poor fellow had endured, I have
no doubt I should have agreed with him.

 

108
CLIMBING

FOR WHITE GOATS

By George Bird Grinnell
 

  

timber line, among the rocks,
along the narrow ledges, and
in the fissures of towering
precipices, by snow fields and
glaciers. Really it is not a goat at all,
but an antelope, — the analogue and not
distant relative of the European chamois.
It has horns and a beard; and for no bet-
ter reason than this, the western Ameri-

Ill
Climbing for White Goats

can, with his faculty for seizing on any
salient characteristic, has called it goat.
So in the vernacular these animals, young
and old, are billies, nannies, and kids, and
will be so always.

This Alpine antelope is about the size
of a sheep, and is remarkable in being
white. Now, nothing is more conspicu-
ous against the summer landscape than
a patch of white. On the other hand,
many birds and mammals inhabiting
snow-clad regions have white plumage
or fur, and are thus invisible at a little
distance. The goat is one of the mam-
mals thus protected. Its life is passed
high up on lofty mountains, often among
fields of ice and snow, or at least where
snow remains in patches and drifts almost
throughout the year. Amid such sur-
roundings it is mere accident if a white
animal is seen by the hunter.

The short, sharp, backward-directed
horns, the stout hoofs, and the margins
of the eyes and lips, are black. Young
individuals have the long hair on the
ridge of the back gray, which, perhaps,
points back to ancestors which were not
white, but were gray in color like a Japa-
nese relative of this species.

The goat is an animal of the north;

112
Climbing for White Goats

yet since altitude often answers for lati-
tude, so we sometimes find it far to the
south of its usual range; for example,
on Mount Whitney, in California, where
goats are abundant, though none of their
kind can be found for hundreds of miles
to the north. Like certain Alpine but-
terflies, which occur each summer on
Mount Washington, in New Hampshire,
and are not found elsewhere south of
Labrador, so on some isolated mountain-
tops the goat has been cut off from the
rest of his race, and still persists in little
colonies living alone.

The goat likes regions of great precipi-
tation, and is most abundant in the high
mountains where much snow or rain falls.
This explains its absence from the south-
ern portion of the continental backbone.
Wyoming, Colorado, and New Mexico
have many peaks high enough to give it
the temperature which it requires; but it
is not found in those regions because of
their aridity. The goat occurs abundantly
in northwestern Montana, Idaho, Oregon,
and Washington, and all through the
mountain ranges of the British posses-
sions and Alaska, north toward the Arctic
Ocean, where the mountains become
lower and sink down to meet the sea-

113
Climbing for White Goats

shore. Besides this territory over which
the species is generally distributed, there
are a number of out-lying localities, like
Mount Whitney, a peak or two in Colo-
rado, and a few other points where white
goats have been found.

For most of the year the animal wears
a shaggy coat of long, coarse hair, beneath
which lies a heavy under-fleece of white
cotton-like wool of very fine texture.
The long, coarse top-coat sheds the rain
or the snow like a thatched roof, while
the under coat is thus protected from the
wet, and keeps the heat in and the cold
out. Although the goat is generally a
shaggy, rough-looking creature, yet in
summer it sheds its coat, and for a time
is almost as naked as a newly-shorn sheep.
If it could be obtained in commercial
quantities, the wool of the white goat
would be valuable. Specimens which I
furnished some years ago to Dr. Thomas
Taylor, Microscopist of the Agricultural
Department at Washington, were called
by some wool experts fine Cashmere
wool; by others, Australian fine; and by
still others, fine wool from various foreign
ports. Dr. Taylor pronounced the wool
finer than Cashmere wool. In the moun-
tains of British Columbia, excellent blan-

114
Climbing for White Goats

kets are woven from this wool by the
Indians. The fleece is shaved from the
hide with a sharp knife, and the yarn
twisted by the women, who roll the wool
under the hand on the bare knee. A
simple loom is used for weaving ; and the
blankets made are not only thick, warm,
and serviceable, but also sometimes very
beautiful.

The white goat is occasionally captured
alive. Full grown ones will not live in
captivity, nor will captives survive when
removed from their native mountains.
Those taken as kids, however, become
perfectly tame, wandering away to feed
during the day, and at night returning
to the house.

Although the goat is nearly related to
the chamois, it has little of the activity
of that nimble species. ‘The bighorn is
the runner and jumper of the Western
mountains, while the goat is the plodder.
He gets over the ground and climbs the
loftiest peaks “by main strength and
awkwardness.” The bighorn rushes away
along the mountain-side at a headlong
pace, the alarmed goat starts straight for
the mountain-top at a rate which seems
slow, often no more than a walk, but
which is so steady and continuous that it

115
Climbing for White Goats

soon carries the animal out of the way of
danger. The goat does not very often
run, nor does it often raise its head to
look about it like a deer or a wild sheep.
Usually, even after being shot at, it holds
its head low, and seems to regard one
from beneath its eyebrows. When at last
convinced that there is danger, it moves
off, either slowly pulling itself up over the
rocks, or if the way is level, going with
a swinging, sidelong gait, which reminds
one of a pacing dog.

But the goat does not always run away.
Sometimes, in its simplicity, it turns to
fight. An acquaintance of mine who
discovered one lying under a shelf of rock
took his hunting companion above it and
up to within fifteen or twenty yards of it,
and then, by throwing stones at it, at-
tempted to drive the game out to where
the hunter could see it. To his astonish-
ment, the animal bristled up in fury and
was advancing as if to attack him, when
the hunter shot it. The male goats are
quite pugnacious among themselves, and
often those killed bear evidence of severe
battles which they have had with others
of their kind.

The goat is marvellously sure-footed,
and from the day of its birth, is practised

116
Climbing for White Goats

 

 

 

 

The White Goat's Pasture.

 
Climbing for White Goats

in climbing over the rocks; but it must
not be imagined that it never falls from
the insecure perches which it frequents.
Such falls are not uncommon, but seem
rarely to result in serious injury. Kids
which have been captured when very
young and kept in captivity have been
observed to play at rolling down steep
banks, repeating the tumble over and over
again, as if practising for the falls which
they might be obliged to take later in
life.

The spurious hoofs, or dew-claws, of
the goat, while not strictly functional,
are yet of great assistance to it in climb-
ing about among the rocks, and especially
in going down hill. These hooflets are
large, and catch on the ground without
yielding, acting as brakes, relieving the
direct strain on the middle toes of the
foot. The dew-claws almost always show
considerable wear against the rocks.

Hunting the goat is man’s work, and
to follow the game to its home among
the rocks calls for the best qualities of
the mountaineer. Muscle, nerve, and ex-
perience in mountain climbing are needed
by the goat hunter; for the labor of reach-
ing the animal’s home is extremely ardu-
ous. In some sections it is possible to

119
Climbing for White Goats

ride a horse up to the game’s feeding-
ground, but usually much hard foot-work
must be done before the hunting-ground
can be reached. When the goats have
once been found, however, it is usually
easy to secure them, for they are gentle
and unsuspicious.

A year or two since, I was hunting in
the Rocky Mountains with a friend who
had never shot a goat, and I was ex-
tremely anxious that he should secure
one. Besides that, there was no fresh
meat in camp, so we had a double motive
for hard work. Starting from the lodge
one morning with the rising sun, we
crossed the stream, and set our faces
against the great mountain that stood
before us.

First above the valley’s level we were
confronted by the talus, above that by a
thousand feet of cliff, and then by other
slide-rock and more cliffs, in all nearly
five thousand feet, if we could climb so
far. The slope at the foot of the cliff
was perhaps fifteen hundred feet high;
a mass of small rock fragments, rather
firmly compacted with earth and vegeta-
tion, that lay at an angle of nearly forty-
five degrees, so that the climbing was
extremely steep and slow. After working

120
Climbing for White Goats

our way nearly to the top of this talus,
we found running along it, under the cliff,
a game trail; and we followed this, know-
ing that it would take us to some point
where the precipice which overhung us
could be climbed. The trail worked
higher up on the talus, and led us to a
break in the cliff, where there were some
fissured ledges, which promised an ascent
for a few hundred feet at least. Every-
where the path showed signs of abun-
dant use; the angles of the rock were
worn and rounded by the passing of many
hoofs, and no plants grew in the scanty
soil in the crevices. The climbing soon
became hand-over-hand work; one man
standing on a ledge and holding the rifles,
while the other went up six or eight feet
and then took the guns from his com-
panion, who now in his turn drew himself
up over the ledges. As we proceeded,
the climbing grew more difficult; and it
was hard to understand how any animal,
unprovided with hands or wings, could
have ascended. Often the ledges on
which our feet rested were only two or
three inches wide; and sometimes there
were no ledges, and we worked ourselves
up the ‘face of the wall, clinging with
tenacious grip to projections hardly large

121
Climbing for White Goats

enough to support the finger-tips, our feet
resting on little roughnesses in the rock
which barely supported the toe. Some
of the work was trying to the nerves; but
at length we had passed the worst places,
and reached a narrow fissure where the
ascent was easier.

After a brief pause for a restful pipe,
we resumed our climb, and before very
long came out on the crest of the great
shoulder we had been ascending. From
this we looked out over a narrow alpine
valley, beyond which, steep rock-slides
and frowning walls rose to a great height;
and just across the valley, and half way up
the slide, was seen a white patch, which
could only be a goat. The stream-bed
was a little below us; and the trees which
grew in the valley furnished good cover
for stalking the game, which, however,
was as yet too far from the timber for a
certain shot. The wind favored us, for it
blew up the valley. We waited a little
to see what the animal would do; and
soon it began to walk slowly up the slide,
stopping now and then to feed, and then
moving on again. In a few moments it
had passed behind some tree-tops, and we
hurried down into the edge of the tim-
ber. The valley was only about half a

122
Climbing for White Goats

mile long, and ended in a high cliff, over
which the stream poured. If hunted and
hunters kept along on their respective
sides, they would come together at its
head. Hidden by the trees, we went on,
timing our advance by the goat’s progress ;
and at length, when we reached the end
of the valley, the animal was on the slide-
rock above us, and only eighty yards
distant.

Soon the shot rang out. The goat gave
a bound, and began to scramble along
the slide-rock toward the cliff. Another
shot sounded, and then another, the ani-
mal climbing all the time; but at the foot
of a high ledge it stopped, too weak to
surmount it. It turned, and for a few
seconds stood with lowered head looking
at us; then it reeled, its legs seemed to
give way, and it fell, slipping, sliding, and
bounding down the cliff’s face and on to
the rocks below, and there turning over
and over, it rolled down to us. The
work of preparing our loads of meat for
transportation to camp occupied some
time, so that before we were ready to go
the sun had long been hidden behind the
high peaks that flanked the narrow valley.

Trying to make a short cut by follow-
ing down the stream, instead of returning

123
Climbing for White Goats

as we had come, we soon found ourselves
among ledges that could not be descended ;
and it took five hours of hard climbing
and walking — much of it in the dark —
down ledges, among fallen timber, and
through swamps, betore we saw the light
of the fire flickering through the lodge
covering.

A week later, we climbed through the
snow to the crest of another mountain to
make some notes on the geography of the
region. After we had taken our observa-
tions, one of the party called attention to
a little spot of white in the shadow of a
great rock below us; and looking at it
through the field-glasses, it was seen to be
a goat.

We approached very cautiously from
above, keeping the rock between it and
ourselves, and tiptoeing along as quietly as
possible over the clinking shale. When
we were within perhaps ten yards of the
rock, the goat walked from under it on
my friend’s side. He fired once, again,
and again. ‘The goat was mortally hurt,
but at first it kept its feet and ran. The
mountain side was steep, and just below it
was a gulf two thousand feet deep. It
fell, rolled over, came to its feet again,
and tried to stop. In vain; with staring

124
Climbing for White Goats

 

Head of Male White Goat.

eyes it looked toward the brink before it,
holding back with all its might, bracing
itself with stiffened outstretched legs,
while still it slipped and slid onward
toward the verge of the cliff, and we
watched it with hearts full of pity now,
although — so full is man of contradic-

125
Climbing for White Goats

tions — we had felt no pity when the
bullets struck it. A moment more, and
it had reached the brink and disappeared,
and still I waited and watched, listening
and looking for I knew not what, half
fascinated by the pitifulness of the sight ;
and then, half a mile down the valley, I
saw floating along on the wings of the
gale a tuft of white hair as large as my
hand, torn from its hide by some crag
against which it struck as it whirled
down into the abyss.

But the killing of the game is a mere
incident of this climbing for goats. The
perfect freedom of the mountain life is
one of its greatest charms, but far beyond
that is the joy which comes of the sur-
roundings. ‘The lofty mountains uplift
the soul, and one lives in a mental atmos-
phere above that of his every-day life. By
night he sleeps beneath the wind-swept
pines which sigh his lullaby; by day he
pushes his way far above timber line over
the naked rocks and among the crags.
His companions are the changeless peaks,
the far-reaching snow-fields, and the blue
ice rivers. ‘The voices that speak to him
are the hoarse brawling of the mountain
torrents, the shrill scream of the winds
throwing themselves against the peaks,

126
Climbing for White Goats

the thundering report of the moving gla-
ciers, or the long-drawn roar of the snow
slides. From lofty pinnacles he looks
down on mountains and valleys and lakes
far below him, and is thrilled by feelings
which he cannot put in words. The very
air he breathes is instinct with the solemn
spirit of the mountains, and he is awed by
its inscrutable mysteries.

Moved by emotions which he but half
comprehends, he rejoices in each varying
aspect of the scene, whether the change
be a smile or a frown. After the dark
shadow of a moving cloud has passed, the
sun shines more brightly ; the bitter wind
that half freezes him does not seem un-
kind; he welcomes the blinding snow-
storm, or the cold mist that sweeps along
the mountain side, shrouding peak after
peak, blotting out point after point, till
at last it has hidden all the view, and has
wrapped him in its chilling embrace. On
these heights he exults alike in sunshine
and in storm; for here he has found na-
ture, pure and untouched, and for the time
has become a part of it.

127
SPORT IN AN UNTOUCHED

AMERICAN WILDERNESS

By Frederick Irland
 

      

ce

PA GEN OST of the great solitude
Re which two Panic years
WS as ago constituted the penin-
(g sula of Acadia is as undis-
WE turbed by civilized men as
it was when British ships carried the
French settlers away from its border.
The interior has never been definitely
surveyed or adequately mapped.

In the United States we have seen the
forests melt away like snow in an April
wind, and have come to look upon them
as merely transitory; so that it is difficult
for Americans to realize the extent to
which, in the region of earliest European
occupation of Canada, primeval conditions
131

   
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

endure. In the immediate presence of a
civilization more than two hundred years
old, the wilderness of the Maritime Prov-
inces preserves its perpetual youth, shel-
tering, in undiminished numbers, its royal
inhabitants, —the moose, the caribou, the
black bear, the partridge, the salmon, and
the trout. Nowhere on this continent can
be found a more striking example of for-
est persistence than in the region east of
the State of Maine, between the Atlantic
Ocean on the south and the Gulf of St.
Lawrence on the north. The interior of
this peninsula is almost entirely undisturbed.
The few who have penetrated its depths
have found it a veritable land of enchant-
ment.

On an afternoon early in September I
was sitting in the writing-room at Young’s
Hotel, in Boston, awaiting the arrival by
express of an extra heavy rifle which had
been made to order. At six o’clock that
evening I took the cars for Fredericton,
the capital of New Brunswick, which has
been well described as “the quietest city
of its size north of the Potomac ;” and at
noon the next day entered the woods,
which extend, with scarcely a break, hun-
dreds of miles up to the Arctic limit of
timber.

132
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

For, though the New Brunswick capi-
tal has for many years been a centre of
education and refinement, you could to-
day fire a long-range rifle-bullet from the
dome of the parliament building into the
edge of the forest which stretches away to
the north, broken only by the St. Law-
rence. The deer wander within an hour’s
walk of the ancient city; and on the
smooth road that makes off to the upper
St. John River settlements you may see
the partridges run into the brush, within
a mile of town. The birds are more in-
necent than those we know. Ten miles
from Fredericton, if you meet a Canada
grouse, it will fly unconcernedly up to the
nearest branch, from which perch of fan-
cied security it will gaze curiously down
upon you, while you cut a slender sapling,
attach a looped string to the small end,
slowly move it right up to the bird’s beak,
drop the noose over its neck, and with a
slight jerk pull the trusting creature down,
fluttering but unhurt. A barnyard hen
would be far more sophisticated.

There is a little railroad which runs
from Fredericton to Chatham, along the
valley of the Southwest Miramichi River.
It possesses two locomotives, each making
a daily run of one hundred and ten miles

133
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

and return.
One sum-
mer a Circus
wandered
up into that
country, ex-
hibiting at
St. John,
Chatham,
and Freder-
icton. It
took one of
the locomo-
tives to haul
the circus
train, and so
for two days the regular business of the
road was abandoned.

At one of the intermediate stations you
may leave the train, cross the river, pass
two or three farms, and then plunge into
a stunted forest broken only by barrens,
beaver meadows, broad lakes, and lofty
mountains. A few miles back the last
vestige of a road disappears ; and if you are
fortunate enough to have the services of a
guide who knows the woods, he can con-
duct you, by much walking, into a land of
surprises. Very few, indeed, are the men
who have ever seen the tranquil beauty of

134

 

Writing Home.
Sport in an Untouched American IV ilderness

those lovely solitudes. There isa mellow-
ness about the mountain scenery which
makes the purple granite peaks seem in
the distance like immense heaps of the
ripe blueberries with which they are cov-
ered, and the autumnal foliage is une-
qualled in brilliancy.
The larger and less known portion of
this wilderness lies between the Resti-
gouche River on the north, the Intercolo-
nial Railway, paralleling the seacoast on
the east; the Southwest Miramichi River
on the south, and the St. John River on
the west, within the extensive counties of
Northumberland, York, Carleton, Victoria,
Madawaska, and Restigouche. The least
accessible portion is about the headwaters
of the streams which ultimately form the
Miramichi, Nepisiguit, and Tobique Riv-
ers. These streams rise in an unmapped
mountainous tract, which, though as beau-
tiful as the Adirondack region, is not pen-
etrated by half a dozen tourists in a season.
The reason for this delightful neglect is a
commercial one. There is practically no
ine timber. Plenty of trees grow; but
they are birches, firs, small spruces, and
others not attractive to the Jumberman.
The land, if cleared, would not be good
for farming purposes. This is why the
135
Sport in an Untouched American Wildervess

game-trails around the lakes, across the
barrens, and through the thickets, grow
deeper year by year, trodden as they have
been by countless generations of animals.
On the day when the Hebrew psalmist
was singing, ‘‘ Every beast of the forest is
mine,” that very day the moose and cari-
bou at sunset came down to the shores of
the lonely lakes behind those mountains,
just as other moose and caribou will come
to-night.

I have spent two seasons in the very
centre of this wilderness. From Freder-
icton, by the railroad of two locomotives,
ambitiously called the Canada Eastern, it
is three hours’ ride — the distance is forty
miles— to Boiestown. There, thanks to
arrangements made by a friend in Freder-
icton, my companion and myself were met
by Henry Braithwaite, of Stanley, one of
the very few guides who know how to
reach the heart of the interior. A wagon
carried our tent and outfit five miles.
Then we were at the very last house, and
there everything was loaded upon a sled
with wide wooden runners. ‘Two horses
struggled with this load, urged on by a
teamster whose profanity was a household
werd in the settled portion of that valley.
For twenty-five miles, over roots, fallen

136
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

 

 

An Old Camp

trees, and bare ground, this summer sled
proceeded; and then, where the decayed
lumber road ended, and the country be-
came very rough, we said good-by to the
old teamster, and for fifty-seven days we
did not see a human face, nor the smoke of
another fire; nor did we hear the sound
of a rifle-shot, except our own. The rest
of the journey to Little Southwest Lake,
sixty miles away, was made on foot —as
indeed the whole journey from Boiestown
had been, after the first five miles. There
was no road. The experienced Braith-
137
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

waite led us onand on, across boggy barrens,
through thick swamps, where occasional
axe-marks on the trees were the only
street signs he needed, up steep mountain-
sides, and along the shores of unnamed
lakes. We went in expecting to remain
three weeks. When we had been gone
about nine weeks, and two feet of snow
had fallen, our friends in the United States
began telegraphing to the Boiestown sta-
tion agent to hunt us up regardless of ex-
pense. He could not find a man in all
the settlement who knew the way beyond
the Dungarvon River, where the team had
turned back. This detail is mentioned for
the purpose of demonstrating that the large
game with which that wilderness abounds
is practically unhunted.

During the nine weeks of our absence,
were we lost and starving? No! We
were having the pleasantest time of all our
lives, and we fared sumptuously every day.
It was an experience to make one feel that
civilization does not matter much, and
that our savage ancestors had rather the
best of it. When heavy snow came un-
expectedly early in November, the guide
and cook built a thirty-foot dugout in a
week, hewing it out of a big hermit pine,
dragged the craft a mile over the snow to

138
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

 

A Salmon Jumping.

a stream; and after a five days’ run, over
rapids and around cataracts, we came out
on the other side of the Province. The
first man we met on the lower river sang
out, “Hello, Braithwaite! is that you?
They’re offering fifty dollars to the man
who will go into Little Southwest country
to hunt you up, and nobody will take it.”
News of the delayed travellers had spread
all over the country.

This article is not intended as a chroni-
cle of game slaughter. No idea of that
region is complete, however, which does
not impress the constant presence of the

139
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

moose-track. The borders of the lakes,
the mossy barrens, the deep woods, all the
places where hoof-prints can be made, are
full of impressions of the tireless feet of
moose and caribou. The New Brunswick
law allows a man to kill only two moose
and three caribou in a season, and only
one moose for each member of a party of
three or more. If one is any kind of a
shot he can be pretty sure of at least one
chance at a moose, especially if his guide
is a good “caller.” It is in this respect
that Mr. Braithwaite is above every other
New Brunswick guide. He is, in his way,
the musical peer of Ysaye or Paderewski ;
and his solo instrument is the birch-bark
horn.

The future of the moose, oldest and
noblest of the game animals on this conti-
nent, isa matter that has interested a good
many people. Mr. Braithwaite, who has
lived among these animals all his life, says
there is no danger of their diminution in
New Brunswick. They shed their antlers
before the snow becomes deep in winter,
and the sportsman who endeavors to carry
away a hornless moose is always roughly
dealt with by the magistrates down in the
settlements. The only relentless enemy of
the moose is the lumberman, who in the

140
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

depth of winter can make good use of
the meat. But in the region which is
the subject of this article, there is little
lumber, and so there are few lumbermen.
The degenerate Indians of the villages sel-
dom trouble themselves to hunt, and the
few moose killed by hunters are as nothing
compared with the young ones destroyed
by the bears. Bruin gets trapped, because
his coat will average twenty dollars to his

   
   

“egy ie Hi
2 a

ap

The Boy and the Moose-Head.

captor. There are no wolves in this wil-

derness ; so the prospects for the moose are

getting better instead of worse. And if
141
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

there are thousands of moose, there are
tens of thousands of caribou.

The males of both species, about the
time of the first full moon in October,
will come to the deceitful music of the
hunter’s birch-bark horn. But the imita-
tion of the cow’s call must be very clever,
or it will not succeed; and so very few
moose are shot in this way. The distance
at which the real moose-call can be heard
is something wonderful. I have heard it
echoing over a lake at least five miles
across. But the hunter who, on a per-
fectly still evening, can provoke a response
from the hills a mile away, is an artist;
and probably there are not three men in
all New Brunswick who can do it well.

The horn with which the calling is
done is very simple in its construction.
The guide can in five minutes at any
time find a suitable birch-tree, from
which he cuts a sheet of bark about fif-
teen inches square. This he rolls up in
the form of a cornucopia, making the ap-
erture at the small end about three-quar-
ters of an inch in diameter, and at the
larger end about four inches. A tough
spruce root, which can be pulled from
the ground almost anywhere, furnishes a
string with which to tie the horn so that

142
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

 

Lively Running.*

it will retain its shape. When the larger
end is trimmed, the horn is ready for
business.

So charming a place did I find the
modern Acadia in 1894, that again in
1895, with the same guide, a cook, and
a single companion, I spent the greater
part of the summer and fall among the
mountains and lakes, fishing a little, shoot-
ing a little, and resting a great deal. If
life on earth had no more for me, I should

* There are fifty miles like this on the Little Southwest Mira-
michi.
143
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

feel that the recollections of those two
seasons in the New Brunswick woods had
made it worth living.

For the sake of communication with
the outside world, we employed a special
mail-carrier, who made the round trip to
the railroad station and return about once
in ten days. We would tell him each
time about where our camp should be;
and when he struck the stream on which
we were temporarily located, he would
travel up or down along the banks until
he found us. There were no other people
within many miles of us; and if he saw
human footprints on a sandbar, or axe-
marks on a tree, he knew that we had
made them, and were in the immediate
vicinity. The ease with which he found
us on every occasion, travelling through
the woods as he did where there were no
roads, was one of the most clever feats of
woodcraft that I have ever seen.

The wealth of animal life in those
woods was constantly forced upon our at-
tention. Impudent moose-birds would
alight on our improvised dinner-table, and
the red squirrels and white-bellied mice
quarrelled for the fallen crumbs, while
after nightfall the chattering martens
would shriek out their cat-like disputes

144
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

over the fish-heads in the rear of the
camp. Often we heard the short, cough-
ing bark of the fox in the still hours of
the night. In the farther depths of the
wilderness we saw the beaver’s logging
Operations and river improvements still
carried on. At one
place we found a bea-
ver-house so big and
strong that a bull-moose
had walked up on it,
and from the top pawed
defiance, yet his great
weight had not broken
the structure down.

A most impressive
exhibit of the terrific
energy of the angered
moose was written on
a bushy mountain-side.
Two bulls had met and
fought. The record of
the conflict was plain to all comers. A
reat swath had been torn down the moun-
tain for half a mile, the uprooted bushes
bearing scattered tufts of hair. In some
places both moose had slid for several
yards. Then there was the evidence of
a complete somersault, and finally it was
plain that both had run against a dead

145

 

 

Calling Moose.
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

pine-stub, and knocked it down. One of
the moose had dragged the end of it on
his back for twenty feet; for the broken
lower end, next the stump, had been car-
ried up hill. The fight had ended right
there. Two moose-tracks, in opposite
directions, told of the retreat of the rival
woodland monarchs.

Never can a man forget his first sight of
a bull-moose in the woods. Mine came
in this way: Mr. Braithwaite and I had
tramped the country for a week; but
while there were tracks everywhere, and
we had heard several moose calling, we
had only caught a momentary glimpse of
one bull. In the presence of so many
superior attractions, Braithwaite’s musical
performances had been scorned by the
gentlemen moose. One evening the baf-
fled guide, in talking the matier over be-
fore the camp-fire, said: “There is a lake
about three miles back here in the moun-
tains that I have had in my mind for ten
years as a likely place to call a moose.
To-morrow we will try it.”

It should be explained that the bull-
moose comes much more readily to the
call after dark. All the Indians who at-
tempt calling do so at night. The diffi-
culty about this method is, that while the

146
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

 

 

 

Modern Acadian Travelling.

moose may come very near the sportsman,
the latter cannot see his intended victim ;
and the result is, that four moose are
wounded and lost for every one that is
killed on the spot after dark. Braithwaite
never calls at night, but trusts to his ability
to outwit the moose in broad daylight.
When the guide uttered the remark
above quoted we were camped on Little
Southwest Lake, a body of water about four
miles long. Getting into the canoe the
next morning, we paddled up to the head
147
Sport in an Untouched Ameriwan Wilderness

of the lake. On the way up we saw, half
a mile away on the shore, the huge, un-
gainly shape of a cow-moose, swinging
clumsily along close to the water’s edge.
She remained in sight for fully ten min-
utes, and then leisurely disappeared in the
thicket.

Arrived at the head of the large lake,
it was a good three hours’ task to climb
the mountain, and penetrate the dense
thickets of spruce and cedar which barred
the approach to the small lake of which
we were in search. At last we saw the
welcome gleam of water through the trees,
and pushed on to the brink. A great
flock of black ducks rose quacking from
the surface, and in three minutes had
crossed over to the larger body of water
which it had taken us so many toilsome
hours to leave behind. We sat for a few
minutes in the bright October sunshine,
with our legs dangling over the steep
bank, carefully scanning every bush and
rock and stub around the shore. There
was no ripple on the water. Around us
rose the mountain-sides, resplendent in
their autumnal attire. The repose of
the wilderness was over everything. One
would have thought there was not a living
creature within hearing.

148
Sort in an Untouched American Wilderness

Placing the birch-bark horn to his lips,
the guide gave the long, wailing bellow
of the cow-moose, not loud, but in the
same coaxing tone which characterized
the genuine article, as we had heard it
vibrating in the evening air two or three
days before. The echoes had not died
away when, across the narrow water, from
a thickct nearly opposite us, came the
never-to-be-forgotten hoarse grunt of a
bull, repeated every few seconds as the
animal rushed toward the water’s edge.
In less than a minute we caught sight of
his broad antlers, glistening in the sun, as
he pushed impatiently through the thick
branches. Then he broke through the
bushes; and as he stood by the water’s
edge, intently looking and listening, his
head thrown high in the air, it seemed to
me that he appeared ten feet tall.

It was as easy a shot as one could ask
for. Any kind of a marksman could hit
a man’s hat at that distance, and the ani-
mal’s black bulk stood out against the rifle
sight as big as the front door of a house.
One glance was enough ; and at the report
of the heavy rifle the moose wheeled sud-
denly about, and plunged along the shore
of the lake for fully fifty yards. While
he was covering that distance I fired four

149
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

 

Ea =

 

 

 

A Load of Antlers.

times more, emptying the magazine of
the rifle. Then the moose rushed up the
bank, and disappeared in the forest.

Five minutes later two panting and
wild-eyed men, splashed with mud and wa-
ter, had run clear around the head of the
little lake, and reached the point where
the moose first appeared.

«Do you think I hit him?” I anxiously
inquired.

«Yes, I think you broke his leg,” re-
sponded the guide ; “ but it may be an all-
day chase to catch up with him.”

Full of anxiety over the uncertainty of
the result, I climbed directly up the bank,
while Braithwaite followed the more cir-
cuitous trail through the bushes. I had

150
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

not gone fifty feet when, in a little open-
ing in the balsams and spruces, I suddenly
came upon the moose, standing rigid
among the bushes, within fifteen feet of
me. The bristles stood a foot high on his
shoulders; his threatening antlers could
easily accommodate two men about the
size of those in his immediate vicinity, and
he was not a pleasant sight to see. But
he was in more danger than I was; for the
instant I saw him the rifle again spoke,
and the poor brute fell crashing to the
ground. Four of the bullets had struck
him, all in the vicinity of the breast and
shoulder, and two had gone clean through
him.

The following year, under somewhat
similar circumstances, a single bullet killed
another moose in his tracks.

Our second hunting-trip, in the fall of
1895, was in the Bald Mountains, consid-
erably farther north. In this region there
are fewer moose, but more caribou. It is
considerably easier of access than the Little
Southwest Lake country. One can either
go up the Nepisiguit River from Bath-
urst, or up the Northwest Miramichi from
Newcastle. If he goes up the latter stream
he cannot use a birch-bark canoe, on ac-

count of the extreme roughness of the
151
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

upper waters. In order to reach the limit
of navigation, the canoemen will be com-
pelled to drag the boat over many miles
of shallow bars, wading in the cold water.
This they cheerfully do, however, for a
dollar and a quarter per day.

For us, the passengers, there was noth-
ing but comfort. My companion on this
trip was a slender boy of fourteen, who
had never before been outside of the brick
walls of a city, and who had never seen
anything wilder than an English sparrow,
except in the cages of the zodlogical gar-
den. Some of his friends who did not
know about such things thought it a fool-
hardy thing to let him go into the wil-
derness, a hundred miles from anywhere.
They did not know what a luxurious place
itis. On the way into the hunting-ground
all he had to do was to sit in the centre
of the big canoe, and watch the ever-
changing panorama of the stream. He
took to sleeping in an open tent, before a
big fire, as naturally as though it had been
his habit throughout life. I had a little
22-calibre rifle for the benefit of the par-
tridges; and in a week this boy, who had
never before fired a gun, could shoot al-
most as well as I could. The only trouble
was, he was not strong enough to hold a

152
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

big ten-pound 45-calibre rifle steady. He
had trout and partridges whenever he
wanted them to eat, and plenty of civil-
ized food besides, for we had an excellent
cook.

The second day after we got up into the

   

 

 

LE
On a Raft in Louis Lake.

mountains Braithwaite and I started on

a long tramp, while the boy, who was not

equal to so severe a journey, remained at

the camp to re-enforce the cook as home-

guard. The guide and myself early in

the day saw a large bunch of caribou on
153
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

the farther side of a wide valley; and after
climbing around the rocks for two or
three miles, to avoid their winding us, we
lost sight of them entirely. Disgusted at
our ill-fortune, we started back for the
stream to “boil the kettle’ for a midday
lunch, and, on our way there, walked right
in amongst the caribou, which were lying
down. It was a surprise on both sides;
and the caribou, of which we counted six-
teen, fairly climbed over each other in
their efforts to escape. After three or
four wild shots I had the good luck to
stop the big bull of the herd.

The next day Duncan, the cook, and
Herbert, the boy, took the canoe, and
went after the caribou’s head and hide;
and, much to our surprise, came back with
two pairs of antlers instead of one.

They reported that they had seen twen-
ty-six caribou, too far away to follow, high
up on the mountain-side; but when they
reached the place by the side of the stream
where we told them we had left the cari-
bou we had shot the day before, they
found a lonesome bull standing within one
hundred feet of his dead companion; and
Herbert, who had begged the privilege of
taking the big rifle along in the canoe,
had shot the animal as neatly as though it

154
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

 

Fishing for Grouse.

had been a bull-partridge instead of a bull-
caribou, though the recoil of the rifle
nearly knocked the breath out of him.

The number of unmapped lakes in New
Brunswick is very great. The guides are
constantly discovering new ones. Many
of them are mere ponds, but some of them
are beautiful sheets of water two or three
miles across.

These undisturbed waters are a summer
paradise for the loons, whose discordant
voices can be heard on any quiet day. I
asked an Indian once how many lakes he

155
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

thought there were within a day’s travel
of the place where we were camped. His
reply was: “Oh, don’t know ; supposem
five hundred.”

The guides, by the way, believe that the
loon cannot be shot, except by building
a fire on the shore, and shooting through
the smoke, as they think the loon dives at
the flash of the rifle.

One day we began wantonly firing at
a loon with the 22-calibre. Every time
one of us would shoot, the bird would
dive, and remain down a long time. Fi-
nally we took a raft which we had made
for fishing purposes, and pushed out to
the centre of the little lake. By watch-
ing carefully we could shoot quickly
enough to keep the loon under water, and
soon it began to show signs of being short
of breath. But we marvelled at the great
distance that it could swim. Sometimes it
would come up a hundred and fifty yards
on one side of the raft, and the next time
two hundred yards on the other side. Fi-
nally it came up close to the raft, and my
companion killed it. As we were push-
ing out to pick it up, we suddenly saw
another loon come up on the other side.
Without knowing it, we had been keep-
ing two loons under water, supposing all

156
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

the time there was only one. In order to
make a complete job of it, we continued
the same tactics as to the remaining one,
and soon it too was so short of breath that
it had to rise at very frequent intervals.

In two or three minutes it was a shot
bird. We hung these two relentless ene-
mies of the trout at the front of the tent ;
and when the men came back at night
they were greatly surprised at the shatter-
ing of their traditions.

Another time we saw an old loon, with
a young one sitting on her back. When
we paddled toward her she dived, leaving

 

   

On the Little Southwest Miramichi River.
157
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

the fluffy little fellow on the surface. He
could not go under. It was an easy thing
to pick him up. After being in the canoe
a minute or two, on replacing him in the
water, he swam ‘fearlessly back toward us,
and we could not drive him away. The
mother bird, from a safe distance, was set-
ting up the most heart-breaking lament,
so we went away and left the gosling. In
a few minutes his mother found him, and
expressed her joy as plainly as though she
had been human.

The famous interior fishing-grounds of
the United States are pretty nearly done
for. In fact, nothing is so fatal to the
fish as notoriety. But the resources of
the remote waters of old Acadia are un-
impaired. The mountain lakes contain
trout in surprising numbers. The ocean-
going streams of this peninsula are the
finest salmon waters on the Atlantic coast.
On all the accessible lower reaches of the
streams, down near the coast, fishing-clubs
control the privileges. But back in the
distant hills, where travel is difficult, there
are pools unwhipped by the angler’s fly,
where the summer assemblage of aristo-
cratic fishes is a marvellous thing to see.
The danger to the salmon, of course, lies
in the fact that, like the wild-duck, he is

158
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

a migratory being. If he would stay up
in his summer home all the year, then
nothing would disturb him. But every
season he must run the gantlet of the
tide-water nets, of which there are a great
number. The fish-laws of the Dominion
allow each riparian owner on tide-water
to put out a pound-net not exceeding in
length one-third the width of the channel.
For thirty or more miles the tide rushes
up from the sea, and some of these streams
are very wide as far up as tidal action ex-
tends. To the canoeist on these lower
reaches it seems incredible that a single
fish could escape the manifold dangers of
travel through the maze of nets. But a
great number do. The summer of 1895,
owing to the lowness of the water, was a
very bad salmon year. Yet an overland
journey to the head of one of the remote
tributaries of the Miramichi water system,
in July, enabled us to see, in the rocky
basins of the river, conventions of salmon
which must have numbered thousands of
individuals. Camped by the side of one
of these big pools, the constant splashing
made by the jumping fish was disastrous
to sound sleep. The heavy, sloppy blow
struck by a: fifteen-pound salmon, as he
tumbles back against the surface of the
159
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

 

 

 

 

 

 

Caribou lying down.

pool, after leaping three feet out, is an im-
pressive sound. When it is repeated, on
an average, once a minute all night long,
it is calculated to make an angler feel that
he is in the immediate presence of his
friends.

One’s first salmon is an event. I got
mine all alone. It was on the Dungarvon,
on my way into the more remote interior.
In a clear pool we could see the green
backs of the fish, big and little; but they
were not after our flies. The others went
up the stream a considerable distance, and

160
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

I remained by the pool. It needs two
men to land a salmon. Presently I began
idly casting, just to try my new eighteen-
foot rod; and the first thing I knew a fish
was hooked. He galloped around that
pool, jumping out, darting back and forth,
and I waded right in. After a while J
got him pretty tired. I had no landing-
net or gaff, but there was a smooth gravel
bar forty rods below. After a while I
towed the unfortunate fish down there,
got him headed for shore, and ran straight
back on the bar. Out he came, flopping
somersaults on the gravel. The gut leader
broke; but I threw myself on top of that
salmon, and clasped my arms around him.
He was slippery and strong, and I could
not hold him. Finally I got my fingers
in his gills, reached for a stone, and gave
him three or four merciless whacks over
the head. Then I had him. I was a
sight to behold, wet and bespattered with
mud and slime; but I was too proud, as
well as too nearly out of breath, for
words.

Most of these streams are not readily
navigable for birch-bark canoes. Horses
cannot be used for the transportation of
camp luggage, because there is scant feed

for them. The sportsman who would pen-
161
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

etrate to the heart of the old Acadian wil-
derness must nearly always do at least fifty
miles of honest walking over blazed trails,
through trackless swamps, across bushy
mountains covered with fallen timber.
He must ford-unbridged streams, and his
guides must carry the entire camp outfit
on their backs.

There are, in the unsubdued fastnesses
of the Cow Mountains and other far-away
portions of New Brunswick, such dense
tangles that the most determined traveller
cannot possibly make more than five miles’
progress in a day, over the fallen trunks,
and through the thick growths. If one
could travel as the bear does, on all-fours,
he would do better.

Last fall, having come down an unfre-
quented river in a dugout constructed in
the interior, Mr. Braithwaite and myself
made an evening camp just at the edge of
the sparse settlements which extend for
some miles up the stream. The next
morning a native, looking for his stray cat-
tle, came upon us, and asked: “ Didn’t
you come down here eight years ago?”

Mr. Braithwaite said this was the fact.
The farmer then remarked: “My boy
saw your canoe in the river last night, and

we remembered that you came down in
162
Sport in an Untouched American Wilderness

one like it eight years ago.” He said
further, that, so far as he knew, no strange
canoe had come down from the unex-
plored headwaters of the stream in the
meantime. This incident illustrates the
infrequency of travel on those boisterous
mountain rivers, and is also a fine example

 

of the bushman’s accuracy of observation
and inference.

Undoubtedly some of this unoccupied
domain, in common with other portions of
the great Canadian wilderness, will some

day be filled with human habitations ; but

163
Sfort in an Untouched American Wilderness

the interesting fact remains that a vast
region of surpassing beauty will probably
forever continue unmarred by settlement,
an impregnable game preserve. Myriads
of cataracts and cascades will roar unheard.
Thousands of lonely lakes will smile in
the summer sun, or sleep quietly under
winter’s covering, unvisited, except at long
intervals, by man. And as the Acadian
forests have survived the possession of the
savage, the Gaul, and the Briton, so they
will remain unharmed long after the next
obvious change in the map of North
America; and forest, lake, mountain, and
stream will continue a perpetual joy to
the hardy sportsman and the gentle lover
of Nature for Nature’s sake.

164
A KANGAROO HUNT

By Birge Harrison
  

Ee

¥)N the log-book of
Captain Cook’s
first voyage
around the world
we find it re-
corded, under date of July
14, 1770, that “Mr. Gore, who went out
this day with his gun, had the good for-
tune to kill one of the animals which had
been so much the subject of our specu-
lation, . . . and which is called by the
natives kanguroo.”’ ‘This specimen (so
fortunately killed by Mr. Gore) was in
all probability the first kangaroo ever
brought down by the gun of the white
man; but, apart from the question of
its priority, the feat could scarcely have
been otherwise remarkable, for at that
time Australia swarmed from end to end
with countless millions of these curious
creatures. Not one of its desolate plains
167

    
     

\ in

i \
= al of
Sw iH vA Hid y
CRN WRI AE TAL

Stalking a Kangaroo.

 
A Kangaroo Hunt

or ghostly eucalyptus glades but was dot-
ted more or less thickly with some of the
many species of Macropide ; and it is safe
to say that never, in any other country in
the world, has any animal been so widely
disseminated or so numerous as was the
kangaroo in primeval Australia.

But a hundred years of civilization have
wrought a change. The great marsupial
has entirely disappeared from the most
settled portions of the country, and in
many of the wilder parts has become as
rare an apparition to-day as is the Ameri-
can bison upon the plains of Montana.
Indeed, one humorous gentleman whom I
met in Melbourne professed to regard the
kangaroo as an entirely mythical animal,
deserving only to be classed with the sea-
serpent, the dragon, and the “ bunyip ” of
the black fellow, whose awful voice is
heard in the dead silence of the midnight
forest, but whose form has never yet been
seen of man. Without taking this wag-
gish proposition too seriously, one would
not go far wrong in accepting its general
tenor as indicating fairly well the true
state of the case; for it is quite certain
that the kangaroo has so nearly disappeared
from most of its old haunts as to have al-
ready taken on some of that legendary

168
A Kangaroo Hunt

interest which belongs to things of other
days. They are still to be found in the
remote parts of Gippsland, in Queensland,
and notably in the unsettled portions of
western Australia; but to be tound at all
in the year of grace 1890, they must be
sought for diligently, and the sportsman
who comes to Australia to-day with the
expectation of finding kangaroos behind
every bush, will stand a very fair chance
of disappointment.

For this state of affairs the kangaroo has
only to thank his own abnormal appetite.
In the early days he was not only tolerated
by the colonists, but was even regarded
with a certain degree of favor, as a harm-
less creature who could be counted upon
to furnish them with a never-failing sup-
ply of fresh meat; but when a little closer
acquaintance discovered the fact that he
was a most voracious feeder, — that one
kangaroo, in fact, devoured as much grass as
four or five sheep, — the squatters declared
war upon the whole stupid, mild-eyed
tribe, and inaugurated a system of exter-
mination whose relentless prosecution has
finally resulted in the nearly total extermi-
of the species—in Victoria, at least. Re-
garded from the sportsman’s point of view,
their disappearance is certainly to be re-

169
A Kangaroo Hunt

gretted; for their keen scent, their fine
sense of hearing, and their extreme fleet-
ness, were all qualities which rendered
them a most attractive kind of game,
whether for stalking or for running with
the hounds. But it must be admitted
that, when viewed from the squatter’s
stand-point, they were little better than
a noxious pest, and their extermination
was a consummation much to be desired.
In some parts of Victoria they formerly
outnumbered the sheep as two to one; and
old shepherds have told me that it was
not an uncommon thing to see the sheep
and the kangaroos feeding together upon
the plains, as many as two or three thou-
sand kangaroos frequently accompanying
a flock of a thousand sheep. Thus it will
be seen that a “station”? which, in 1850,
could barely graze five thousand sheep, can
now be made to carry forty thousand with-
out any danger of overstocking. Hence
the very natural desire of the squatters to
rid the country of so formidable a com-
petitor.

The work of extermination was at first
prosecuted by means of great stockaded
kangaroo pens or yards, which were built
with a wide, funnel-shaped entrance, the
flanges of which extended out a mile or

170
A Kangaroo Hunt

two into the adjacent country. These
were erected at intervals over the country,
wherever the kangaroos were most numer-
ous: and once a month, or so, all the neigh-
boring squatters would join in a grand
kangaroo “drive.” Fifteen or twenty
square miles of country would be sur-
rounded, and all the animals within this
radius urged gently into the wide mouth
of the enclosure, and then forced into the
pen at its farther extremity. From three
to five thousand kangaroos were frequently
secured at a single drive—not to mention
the hundreds of wallaby bandicoots, native
cats, and other small creatures which were
inevitably caught in the general round-up.
The sheep, of course, had the previous day
been chased out of the region of the pro-
posed battue.

When the animals were all within the
pen the gates were closed, and the danger-
ous “ old men” shot down with the rifle.
The rest were then slaughtered with wad-
dies and short iron bars, powder and ball
being held far too precious for such work.
When the kangaroos became so scarce that
these drives could no longer be continued
with advantage, the scattered survivors
were hunted down with dogs and horses.
This was a dangerous but very fascinating

171
A Kangaroo Hunt

 

 

An “ Old Man” under a Fir-tree.

species of sport, requiring trained horses
and the most expert horsemanship ; for
the kangaroo, when disturbed, always
makes for the thickest scrub in the region,
and if the rider who follows is inexpert in
the ways of bush horsemanship, he stands
an excellent chance of having his brains

172
A Kangaroo Hunt

dashed out against an overhanging limb,
or his legs crushed against the trunk of a
tree. Sometimes, too, the mild and gen-
tle kangaroo himself becomes a serious
source of danger ; for an “ old man,” when
winded and brought to bay, frequently
proves himself a most redoubtable enemy.
When thus cornered, he will generally turn
fiercely upon his pursuers; and as the dogs
attack him, he will lift them one by one in
his arms, and disembowel them with a sin-
gle downward stroke of his sharp and pow-
erful hind hoof. When his only aggressor
happens to be a man, he has been known
to leap upon the horse’s haunches, seize
the rider about the neck from bebind, and
drag him from his seat; and then woe
betide the unfortunate rete: for his
chances are small indeed. In certain parts
of Queensland and northern Australia this
wild style of kangaroo: hunting is still in-
dulged in by the rough-riders of the « back
blocks;’’ but the day is past in Victoria
when ‘hat or any other systematic method
of extermination is necessary ; and the day
has not yet come for that leisured class of
ardent sportsmen who will one day pre-
serve the kangaroo for hunting purposes,
as the deer and the wild boar are to-day
preserved in the state forests of France and

173
A Kangaroo Hunt

Germany. In the meantime it is to be
regretted that someone well acquainted
with the subject has not been inspired to
give us the result of his knowledge and
experience; and it is with the feeling that
this hiatus ought to be at least partially
filled up, that I have been induced to add
my own mite to the intimate history of an
interesting animal which is fast disappear-
ing, and will before long exist no more in
a state of nature.

For some time after arriving in Austra-
lia, I was almost in despair of being able
to gratify my ardent desires in the way of
kangaroo hunting. Indeed, the difficulty
and uncertainty of the quest seemed so
great that I had nearly relinquished all
hope of adding the great marsupial to my
sportsman’s tally, and had regretfully con-
cluded to content: myself with wallaby,
parrots, ducks, and the ubiquitous bunny,
when, by the merest chance, I stumbled
upon an exciting and quite successful kan-
garoo hunt. Before describing this little
experience, however, it will be necessary
to explain briefly a few of the peculiarities
of the queer quadruped in question; for
the ways of the kangaroo are as the ways
of no other animal upon the face of the

174
A Kangaroo Hunt

globe, and all systems of hunting which
are employed elsewhere have had to be
modified to meet some of the strange in-
stincts and habits of this most original of
beasts.

To begin with, the kangaroo is a mar-
supial, or pouch-bearer, the females of the
species being provided with a_ peculiar
furry sack under the belly, in which they
dispose their young in case of sudden attack
or need of hasty flight. But as nearly all
the other native animals of Australia are
also marsupial, even down to the modest
little field-mouse, the naturalists have been
sorely puzzled to place each specimen in
its own proper niche; and it would be a
brave man of science who would to-day
assert positively that some specious stranger
had not been allowed to slip unawares into
the family group, and some true, though
distant, relative had not been unduly ex-
cluded therefrom. However, the natural-
ists have agreed that there are about thirty
distinct varieties of the kangaroo proper,
ranging in size from the giant red kanga-
roo of Queensland, which averages eight
feet in height, down to the funny little
kangaroo rat of Victoria, which averages
little more than eight inches. But leaving
to one side the Queensland monster and

175
A Kangaroo Hunt

the various species of wallaby, wallaroo,
etc., it may be stated in general terms that
the true kangaroo, the fellow to whom
the term belongs par excellence, is the one
known to naturalists as the Macropus gigan-
teus. This is a smooth-haired, mouse-col-
ored animal, which usually stands about six
feet high, and only very occasionally attains
to the proportions of its Queensland cousin.
The word “stand,’’ employed in the pre-
ceding sentence, is used advisedly, and is
intended to carry the fullest and most ex-
act meaning of the term; for another
singular characteristic of the kangaroo is
this biped habit. Save when feeding or
lying down, it always maintains an upright
position, and the small fore-paws, which
closely resemble a pair of diminutive
hands, are never used as a means of pro-
gression. ‘This peculiarity of the kangaroo
(added to another of which I shall have
to speak farther on) renders it one of the
most difficult animals in the world to stalk
successfully ; for in every feeding herd ,
there is sure to be at least one vigilant
“old man” always standing upon guard,
and his upright position, of course, enables
him to survey the whole horizon round
about him, and to note any unusual object
long before it could approach within decent
176
al Kangaroo Hunt

 

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At Close Quarters
A Kangaroo Hunt

range. When feeding quietly they some-
times drag themselves along on all fours;
but their usual gait is a series of quick
hops upon the two hind feet, the rest of the
body remaining bunched together in a lit-
tle, round, rigid ball, which never alters in
shape so long as the animal is in motion.
It is scarcely necessary to say that the im-
pression produced upon an unaccustomed
spectator by a fleeing kangaroo is most
curious and original. ‘To convey some idea
of this comical performance, I can find no
better simile than that of a rather dumpy
sweet-potato which has been rounded off
at the lower extremity, and is propelled
by a pair of automatically moving match-
sticks. Suppose another slightly curved
match to be inserted for a tail, and you
have a very fair presentment of the kanga-
roo in motion. In the illustration upon
page 177, I have attempted to render
something of this peculiar movement ; but
I am aware that I have been only partially
successful, for, of course, it was impossi-
ble to portray upon a fixed surface the
series of great undulating bounds which
are its distinguishing characteristic. At
first sight the motion appears rather slow
and lazy; but this is an optical delusion,
which gradually wears away as the vision

179
A Kangaroo Hunt

becomes accustomed to the surroundings,
and is able to make comparisons. In point
of fact, every one of those great hops
covers twenty or thirty feet of ground;
and, when the occasion demands it, a full-
grown animal can speed across country at
a pace which will try the mettle of the
very fleetest horse. To the above particu-
lars I have only to add that the kangaroo
is entirely herbivorous in his dietetic hab-
its, and that the home of his choice is
the sparse woodland bordering upon great
plains, where he is assured at once of
abundant pasture and of a ready shelter
from his enemies.

And now for my own little adventure.
It was, after all, only a wee, small adven-
ture, and is therefore presented with be-
coming diffiience; but as it was also a
genuine adventure so far as it went, it is
put forth with the feeling that it may
perhaps have a certain historic value. I
give what I have to give, wishing it were
more.

It came about in this wise. I was visit-
ing at a certain sheep-station on the Fiery
Creek plains in western Victoria, when
my friend R. proposed that we should
take a week’s holiday upon Mount Cole
— partly for the sake of a change from

180
A Kangaroo Hunt

the routine of station life, and partly with
an eye to securing a few skins of the
great sulphur-crested cockatoo. These
lovely birds rarely venture down upon
the open plains, but are usually to be
found in abundance in the sombre euca-
lyptus forests upon the hills. Mount
Cole is one of the loftiest spurs of the
great dividing range of southern Australia ;
and, although its highest point is only
four thousand feet above the sea-level,
its commanding position upon the great
plains of the Wimera and Fiery Creek
lends it a certain imposing grandeur. It
is clothed from base to summit with a
great forest of giant eucalyptus, which
was, not many years since, the refuge for
countless thousands of kangaroos. But
it is scarcely necessary to state that these
animals are very rarely seen here of late
years; and it was certainly with no an-
ticipation of kangaroo hunting that we
set off from the “station” that frosty
June morning. Indeed, when R. put a
small rifle into the trap, just before start-
ing, it was with a joke and a smile that
showed the entirely perfunctory nature of
the operation. There were a couple of
good breech-loading guns, however, and
a liberal supply of No. 3, No. 6, and No.

181
A Kangaroo Hunt

10 cartridges; and of these we expected
to make good use. A pleasant drive of
thirty miles over the yellow plains, dotted
here and there with graceful shioke and
contorted honeysuckle trees, landed us
at the “selection”? of one Allan Wilkin-
son, who was to be our host and guide.
He was a long-haired, gentle-eyed native
of fifty, who had been born and bred up-
on the mountain, and was gifted with the
far sight and the slow, drawling speech
of a typical Western trapper of the old
days. Here we took horses and rode six
miles farther into the mountains, drawing
up eventually at a rough saw-mill which
was owned by our gentle-mannered_ host.
We made this our headquarters; and for
several days we clambered about the hills
under Wilkinson’s guidance, at times los-
ing ourselves for hours in the cloud-banks
which hung perpetually about the moun-
tain’s flank, or anon attaining some lofty
summit and peering through the gray
vistas of eucalyptus, and out over the
sunny plains to golden Ballarat or pastoral
Evoca. But of game we saw none, not
even the shake of a bunny’s tail. The
cockatoos, the wallaby, and the mountain
goats seemed all to have deserted these
usual feeding-grounds; and after three

182
A Kangaroo Hunt

days of the most energetic hunting, our
bag contained only one little pair of the
scarlet parrots known as lowries. At the
end of that time the rain came down in
torrents —came down as it knows how
to do upon occasion during the Australian
winter ; and we were glad of the excuse
to beat a retreat to Wilkinson’s hospitable
homestead in the foot-hills, where we
found the uproar of a growing family of
lusty young Victorians rather a relief after
the strange and solemn stillness of the
hills. But still more grateful to us was
the news we received from one of the
boys, to the effect that he had that after-
noon seen a fine troop of kangaroos feed-
ing quietly in a certain clearing about two
miles distant from the house. His imagi-
nation had been particularly impressed by
the monster proportions of a certain im-
mense “old man” who led the herd.
This incident was freely discussed over
our typical Australian supper of mutton-
pie and delicious tea, and R. and I resolved
to have a try at the herd in question the
next day. In the morning we found
the storm raging as wildly as ever, and
Wilkinson’s kindly eyes twinkled with
leasure as he looked out upon the
drenched landscape.

183
A Kangaroo Hunt

«My word,” he exclaimed, “ we are in
luck. This is grand kangaroo weather.”

The kangaroo is a late feeder, so we
deferred our start until about four o’clock
in the afternoon. The wind was still roar-
ing loudly in the tall gum-trees, and the
rain poured in streams down our glistening
oil-skins when we set out. ‘Thanks to the
inclemency of the weather, we were not
obliged to exercise any great caution in
approaching the feeding-ground, and the
dull light minimized the chances of our
being seen. The only real danger lay in
the possibility of the game getting wind
of us; for no animal has a keener scent
than the kangaroo, and to none is the odor
of man more antipathetic. We found that
the spot indicated by young Wilkinson
was a “selector’s”’ clearing in the forest,
a bit of fairly level ground half a mile or
so in width, which lay at the bottom of a
small valley between two low spurs of the
foot-hills. Covered with rich grass, and
surrounded as it was on all sides by the
primeval forest, it was the likeliest place
in the world for kangaroo; and, as we ap-
proached, Wilkinson assured us that we
could count with certainty upon their re-
turning frequently to so favorable a feed-
ing-ground. We were rather disappointed,

184
A Kangaroo Hunt

 

 

The Plains in 1840
A Kangaroo Hunt

therefore, when, upon reaching the edge
of the clearing, and peering through the
fringe of leaves, we could discover no liv-
ing object save a few horses grazing peace-
fully near its centre. We were about to
break cover, when my attention was at-
tracted by a few black spots upon the
farther edge of the meadow. These I
pointed out to Wilkinson.

“« Kangaroo, sure enough,” was his whis-
pered reply; and upon looking closely,
both R. and I could see the queer, elon-
gated objects moving about from time to
time as they grazed quietly.

There were a good many of them — five
— seven — nine — perhaps twelve, of sizes
so varying as to suggest the idea that they
must all be members of one large and grow-
ing family. Fortunately for us the wind
was blowing across the clearing from north
to south, while the kangaroos were grazing
upon its far eastern edge, and we ourselves
were placed at its extreme western extrem-
ity. We were much too far off for a safe
shot, and it would be necessary, therefore,
first to make a long détour through the
forest so as to approach them from behind,
and then to do a piece of very careful
stalking ; for the slope of the mountain
opposite, close to which the kangaroos

187
A Kangaroo Hunt

were feeding, was very sparsely wooded,
and any moving object upon its surface
would be very likely to attract the atten-
tion of the watchful sentinel of the herd.
Now, I have already observed that, under
ordinary circumstances, it is nearly impos-
sible to successfully stalk a herd of feeding
kangaroos. First, of course, because of
the vigilant “old man” who is always on
guard; second, and more important, on
account of a strange bird, called the kan-
garoo-warner, which is always to be found
in the neighborhood of a feeding herd, ever
ready to give instant warning of the ap-
proach of any suspicious-looking intruder.
I was never able to obtain a satisfactory
explanation of this peculiar habit of the
Australian jay, — for such it is, — and the
question seems to be still a moot one among
Australian ornithologists; but I was in-
formed that in former times a kangaroo-
warner was never seen save in the company
of its favorite marsupial. It is, of course,
just possible that this belief might be traced
to a certain natural desire for poetic sym-
metry upon the part of the native mind.
If this is not the case, then one is inevita-
bly led to the conclusion that the kanga-
roo-warner must be sadly in want of an
occupation at the present day. In any
188
A Kangaroo Hunt

 

 

A Kangaroo “Dip.”

case he is a queer bird; and another of
his peculiarities is the fact that his spirits
seem to be very much affected by a low
barometrical pressure, for he is invariably
silent in the rain. So in this particular
we were again singularly favored by the
stormy weather.

We had proceeded only a few hundred
yards through the forest in making our
détour, when we came upon a hard and
well-beaten path with abundant kanga-
roo signs lying all about it. We had evi-

189
A Kangaroo Hunt

dently stumbled upon a track worn by
the kangaroos in going to and from their
feeding-ground; and as it was just as
evident that when disturbed they would
make off by their accustomed route, I
decided to post myself here with the
breech-loader and wait events, while R.
went forward with the rifle, and made the
attempt to stalk the herd. I should have
been very pleased to have undertaken the
latter part of the programme myself, as
R. proposed; but while I was as anxious
as any “new chum” could be to shoot a
kangaroo, I was still more anxious that the
kangaroo should be shot, and I was well
aware that my Rocky Mountain experi-
ence of deer-stalking might fail me in
a mew country and against a new game,
while R., who was an expert bushman,
would make no mistakes. So I put a cou-
ple of fresh cartridges in my Manton and
waited patiently. It was quite half an
hour before Wilkinson and I saw R. again.
Then he was crawling slowly down the op-
posite bank toward the feeding herd, tak-
ing advantage of every stump and every
tussock of grass, and even wriggling along
flat upon his stomach where the cover was
too thin to afford protection otherwise.
The kangaroos seemed to be browsing in

190
A Kangaroo Hunt

perfect security, perhaps lulled by the
weather ; and even the “old man”’ only
raised himself occasionally to gaze about
in a lazy sort of way, while he chewed his
last mouthful of grass, and then lowered
himself with a gentle and graceful move-
ment, and proceeded to feed again. He
was a tremendous fellow, seven or eight
feet in height, as could be seen, even at
this distance ; and we were constrained to
admit that the enthusiasm of the youth-
ful Wilkinson had been entirely justified.
After fifteen minutes of extremely careful
stalking, R. succeeded in approaching
within sixty yards of the herd without
awakening their suspicions. Then stand-
ing up boldly, and profiting by the mo-
mentary surprise of the kangaroos, he
brought the “old man” down with a
well-aimed shot below and behind the
shoulder. As had been foreseen, the rest
of the herd immediately made off in our
direction; but instead of scattering pell-
mell as other wild animals would have
done under like circumstances, these queer
denizens of a queer country fell into line,
and departed in regular Indian file, the big
old doe leading the way, and the smallest
diminutive pickaninnies bringing up the
rear. The doe covered the ground with
19l
A Kangaroo Hunt

tremendous leisurely hops, holding her
fore-paws before her in a mincing way
that was very comical. The smaller ani-
mals — each an exact, though diminutive,
counterpart of the leader — followed in
gradually diminishing perspective, every
little beggar hopping just a little more
rapidly than the one before him, until the
fast-flying legs of the last puny fellow at
the end of the line were blurred like the
spokes of a wheel in rapid motion. The
effect of this extraordinary procession was,
to my unaccustomed eyes, so altogether
ludicrous and absurd, that I nearly lost my
shot in an uncontrollable burst of Jaugh-
ter. As it was, I might just as well have
had my laugh out to the end; for although
I let the old doe have both barrels full
in the flank as she passed me at twenty
yards’ distance, she never even faltered in
her course, and had quite disappeared in
the scrub, with all her numerous progeny
at her heels, before I had time to replace
the empty cartridges. The No. 3 shot, in
all probability, had little more effect upon
her tough hide than so many grains of
sand. Nevertheless, it might perhaps have
brought her down if I had aimed at the
head, for one pellet penetrating the brain
through the eye would have been suffi-

192
A Kangaroo Hunt

 

   

  
 
     

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Skinning.

cient. But the motion was so eccentric
and perplexing that this would have been
a very risky shot; and I preferred the
chance of stunning her by a direct double
charge full in the body, to the almost ab-
solute certainty of missing her altogether
by attempting the more difficult shot.
While this curious procession was defil-
.ing before me, I took occasion to observe
carefully the peculiarities of their gait, aid
especially to note the use they made of
their extremely powerful tail when in rapid

flight; for I had heard more than one

193
A Kangaroo Hunt

opinion upon the subject, and some Aus-
tralians seem to believe that the kangaroo
mainly owes its extreme fleetness to the
aid it receives from its muscular caudal
appendage. But upon this occasion, at
least, I am able to own that every animal
held its tail straight out behind it; and if
there had remained any doubt upon the
subject the impressions left in the muddy
soil would have settled the question beyond
cavil, for the only imprints were those of
the sharp-pointed hoofs of the hind feet.
R’s “old man” proved to be a magnif-
icent specimen, measuring seven feet six
inches from hoof to snout. It was fortu-
nate that he had been killed outright at
the first shot, for he would assuredly have
proved himself a very ugly customer if
only wounded and partially disabled. Wil-
kinson assured us that the pelt of this fine
fellow would be worth more than a pound
sterling in the Melbourne market, for kan-
garoo leather has lately come into great
demand for the higher grades of book-
binding and other work of that kind.
Such is the irony of fate ; the much-hated .
pest of forty years ago has become the
much-prized rarity of to-day, and the hide
alone of one kangaroo is worth the price

of four fine sheep.

194
A Kangaroo Hunt

We skinned him hastily, — for the light
was failing by this time, —and slung the
great tail and the hind quarters over a pole
of tough black wattle which Wilkinson
cut out of the neighboring scrub, leaving
the remainder of the carcass to feed the
foxes, the native cats, and the bandicoots.
It was all we could do to struggle home
under the weight of this small half of our
booty ; but by relieving one another occa-
sionally we succeeded at length in reaching
the mountain homestead, a triumphant,
though wet and dilapidated, procession.

The older generation of Australians have
the strongest objection to consuming the
flesh of the kangaroo, in any shape or
form, a prejudice for which I could only
account by supposing that they must have
suffered from a surfeit of this form of diet
in their youth; for the younger generation
are rather partial to kangaroo flesh than
otherwise, and I found it excellent myself
in every way. It has a delicate, gamey
flavor, something between that of vension
and grouse; and, like vension, it is the bet-
ter for a week’s hanging before going to
the spit. The best part of the animal —
the especial delicacy —is the great fleshy
tail. This is delicious prepared in any one
of the various styles that are known to the

195
A Kangaroo Hunt

art of cookery, either roast, or boiled, or
braised, or potted, or stewed; but it is
more especially to be récomeachied 3 in the
form of soup. Kangaroo-tail soup is a sort
of glorified ox-tail that would tickle the
jaded palate of the veriest old epicure.

Kangaroos make delightful pets. They
are very easily domesticated, and when
tamed are full of pretty, affectionate ways.
I knew of one, belonging to some Aus-
tralian ladies, which came regularly into
the drawing-room every afternoon to par-
take daintily of five-o’clock tea; and of
another which got into the habit of ac-
companying its master in all his shoot-
ing expeditions, often covering twenty-five
or thirty miles of country in the course
of a day’s sport. Although not especially
clever in the way of tricks, they are pos-
sessed of retentive memories, and are very
quick to recognize a friend or to resent an
injury. While preparing the illustrations
which accompany this article, I went fre-
quently to the Melbourne Royal Park,
where the magnificent collection of Mac-
ropide aftorded me peculiar facilities for
observing and sketching.

In one of the paddocks there was a
splendid «old man,’ who seemed to me
to epitomize all the strange peculiarities

196
«a Kangaroo Hunt

of his kind; and I chose him as my espe-
cial model. In order to study exhaustively
all their eccentricities of motion, I got
into the habit of stirring this old fellow
up with pebbles, small clods of earth, or
anything else which came to my hand.
He soon began to resent this treatment ;
and finally, the moment I appeared upon
the grounds, he would rush up to the bar-
rier and stand at bay, spitting at me sav-
agely, and exhibiting every sign of the most
furious rage. In another paddock were
some very pretty does, with great, soft,
liquid eyes like those of an antelope.
These I tried to make friends with, feed-
ing them regularly with buns and sweets,
of which they are very fond. The result
was that one of them soon came to know
me well, and always came up to be stroked
and petted.

If the colonization of Australia con-
tinues at the same rapid pace at which it
is now proceeding, it is hardly too much
to say that, fifty years from date, the kan-
garoo will only be known as a domestic
pet, or preserved perhaps upon some gen-
tleman’s private estate, like the deer in
the royal park at Windsor. Their places
will then be taken by the deer and the
foxes, which have, during the past few

197
A Kangaroo Hunt

years, increased so enormously as to indi-
cate that transportation to the southern
hemisphere has augmented their vitality
and increased their procreative energy.

198
THE LAST

OF THE BUFFALO

By George Bird Grinnell
 
 

Buffalo's Head.

 
  
   

@%N the floor, on either side of
my fireplace, lie two buffalo
skulls. They are white and
weathered, the horns cracked
and bleached by the snows and
frosts and the rains and heats of
many winters and summers. Often, late
at night, when the house is quiet, I sit

201
The Last of the Buffalo

before the fire, and muse and dream of the
old days; and as I gaze at these relics of
the past, they take life before my eyes.
The matted brown hair again clothes the
dry bone, and in the empty orbits the wild
eyes gleam. Above me curves the blue
arch; away on every hand stretches the
yellow prairie, and scattered near and
far are the dark forms of buffalo. They
dot the rolling hills, quietly feeding like
tame cattle, or lie at ease on the slopes,
chewing the cud and half asleep. The
yellow calves are close by their mothers;
on little eminences the great bulls paw
the dust, and mutter and moan, while
those whose horns have grown one, two,
and three winters are mingled with their
elders.

Not less peaceful is the scene near some
river-bank, when the herds come down
to water. From the high prairie on every
side they stream into the valley, stringing
along in single file, each band following
the deep trail worn in the parched soil
by the tireless feet of generations of their
kind. Ata quick walk they swing along,
their heads held low; the long beards of
the bulls sweep the ground; the shuffling
tread of many hoofs marks their passing,
and above each long line rises a cloud of

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The Last of the Buffalo

dust that sometimes obscures the wester-
ing sun.

Life, activity, excitement, mark another
memory as vivid as these. From behind
a near hill, mounted men ride out, and
charge down toward the herd. For an
instant the buffalo pause to stare, and then
crowd together in a close throng, jostling
and pushing each other, a confused mass
of horns, hair, and hoofs. Heads down
and tails in air, they rush away from their
pursuers ; and as they race along herd joins
herd, till the black mass sweeping over
the prairie numbers thousands. On _ its
skirts hover the active, nimble horsemen,
with twanging bowstrings and sharp ar-
rows piercing many fat cows. The naked
Indians cling to their naked horses as if
the two were parts of one incomparable
animal, and swing and yield to every mo-
tion of their steeds with the grace of per-
fect horsemanship. The ponies, as quick
and skilful as the men, race up beside the
fattest of the herd, swing off to avoid the
charge of a maddened cow, and returning,
dart close to the victim, whirling hither
and yon, like swallows on the wing. And
their riders, with the unconscious skill,
grace, and power of matchless archery, are
drawing their bows to the arrow’s head,

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The Last of the Buffalo

and driving the feathered shaft deep
through the bodies of the buffalo. Re-
turning on their tracks, they skin the dead,
then load meat and robes on their horses,
and with laughter and jest ride away.

After them, on the deserted prairie,
come the wolves to tear at the carcasses.
The rain and the snow wash the blood
from the bones, and fade and bleach the
hair. For afew months the skeleton holds
together; then it falls down, and the fox
and the badger pull about the whitening
bones, and scatter them over the plain. In
some such way came the bones of this
cow and this bull of mine on the prairie
where I found them, and picked them up
to keep as mementoes of the past, to dream
over, and in such revery to see again the
swelling hosts which yesterday covered the
plains, and to-day are but a dream.

So the buffalo passed into history. Once
an inhabitant of this continent from the
Arctic slope to Mexico and from Vir-
ginia to Oregon, and within the memory
of men yet young roaming the plains in
such numbers that it seemed that it could
never be exterminated, it has now disap-
peared as utterly as has the bison from
Europe. For it is probable that the éx-
isting herds of that practically extinct spe-

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The Last of the Buffalo

cies, now carefully guarded in the forests
of Grodno, even exceed in numbers the
buffalo in the Yellowstone Park; while
the wild bison in the Caucasus may be
compared with the “wood” buffalo which
survive in the Peace River district. In
view of the former abundance of our buf-
falo, this parallel is curious and interesting.
The early explorers were constantly as-
tonished by the multitudinous herds which
they met with, the regularity of their
movements, and the deep roads which
they made in travelling from place to
place. Many of the earlier references are
to territory east of the Mississippi, but
even within the last fifteen years buffalo
were to be seen on the Western plains in
numbers so great that an entirely sober
and truthful account seems like fable.
Describing the abundance of buffalo in a
certain region, an Indian once said to me,
in the expressive sign language of which
all old frontiersmen have some knowl-
edge, “The country was one robe.”
Much has been written about their
enormous abundance in the old days, but
I have never read anything that I thought
an exaggeration of their numbers as I have
seen them. Only one who has actually
spent months in travelling among them in

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The Last of the Buffalo

those old days can credit the stories told
about them. The trains of the Kansas
Pacific Railroad used frequently to be de-
tained by herds which were crossing the
tracks in front of the engines; and in 1870,
trains on which I was travelling were
twice so held, in one case for three hours.
When railroad travel first began on this
road, the engineers tried the experiment
of running through these passing herds;
but after their engines had been thrown
from the tracks they learned wisdom, and
gave the buffalo the right of way. Two
or three years later, in the country be-
tween the Platte and Republican Rivers, I
saw a closely massed herd of buffalo so
vast that I dare not hazard a guess as to
its numbers; and in later years I travelled
for weeks at a time, in northern Montana,
without ever being out of sight of buffalo.
‘These were not in close herds, except now
and then when alarmed and running, but
were usually scattered about, feeding, or
lying down on the prairie at a little dis-
tance from one another, much as domestic
cattle distribute themselves in a pasture or
on the range. As far as we could see on
every side of the line of march, and ahead,
the hillsides were dotted with dark forms;
and the field-glass revealed yet others on

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The Last of the Buffalo

every side, stretched out in one continu-
ous host to the most distant hills. Thus
was gained a more just notion of their
numbers than could be had in any other
way; for the sight of this limitless territory
occupied by these continuous herds was
more impressive than the spectacle of a
surging, terrified mass of fleeing buffalo,
even though the numbers which passed
rapidly before one’s gaze in a short time
were very great.

The former range of the buffalo has
been worked out with painstaking care by
Dr. J. A. Allen, to whom we owe an ad-
mirable monograph on this species. He
concludes that the northern limit of this
range was north of the Great Slave Lake,
in latitude about 63° N.; while to the
south it extended into Mexico as far as
latitude 25° N. ‘To the west it ranged at
least as far as the Blue Mountains of Ore-
gon; while on the east it was abundant in
the western portions of New York, Penn-
sylvania, Virginia, North and South Car-
olina, and Georgia. In the interior the
buffalo were very abundant, and occupied
Ohio, Kentucky, West Virginia, Tennes-
see, western Georgia, Illinois, Indiana, and
Iowa, parts of Michigan, Wisconsin, and
Minnesota, the whole of the great plains,

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from southern Texas north to their north-
ern limit, and much of the Rocky Moun-
tains. In Montana, Idaho, Wyoming,
and most of New Mexico they were abun-
dant, and probably common over a large
part of Utah, and perhaps in northern Ne-
vada. So far as now known, their western
limit was the Blue Mountains of Oregon
and the eastern foothills of the Sierra
Nevada.

Thus it will be seen that the buffalo
once ranged over a large part of the Amer-
ican Continent, — Dr. Allen says one-third
of it; but it must not be imagined that
they were always present at the same time
in every part of their range. They were
a wandering race, sometimes leaving a dis-
trict and being long absent, and again re-
turning and occupying it for a considerable
period. What laws or what impulses gov-
erned these movements we cannot know.
Their wandering habits were well under-
stood by the Indians of the Western plains,
who depended upon the buffalo for food.
It was their custom to follow the herds
about ; and when, as sometimes occurred,
these moved away and could not be found,
the Indians were reduced to great straits
for food, and sometimes even starved to

death.

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The Last of the Buffalo

Under natural conditions the buffalo
was an animal of rather sluggish habits,
mild, inoffensive, and dull. In its ways of
life and intelligence it closely resembled
our domestic cattle. It was slow to learn
by experience, and this lack of intelligence
greatly hastened the destruction of the
race. Until the very last years of its exis-
tence as a species, it did not appear to con-
nect the report of fire-arms with any idea
of danger to itself, and, though constantly
pursued, did not become wild. If he
used skill and judgment in shooting, a
hunter who had “ got a stand”’ on a small
bunch could kill them all before they had
moved out of rifle-shot. It was my for-
tune, one summer, to hunt for a camp of
soldiers; and more than once I have lain
on a hill above a little herd of buffalo, shot
down what young bulls I needed to supply
the camp, and then walked down to the
bunch, and, by waving my hat and shout-
ing, driven off the survivors, so that I could
prepare the meat for transportation to
camp. ‘This slowness to take the alarm,
or indeed to realize the presence of dan-
ger, was characteristic of the buffalo almost
up to the very last. A time did come
when they were alarmed readily enough;
but this was not until all the large herds

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The Last of the Buffalo

had been broken up and scattered, and the
miserable survivors had been so chased and
harried that at last they learned to start
and run even at their own shadows.

Another peculiarity of the buffalo was its
habit, when stampeded, of dashing blind-
ly forward against, over, or through any-
thing that might be in the way. When
running, a herd of buffalo followed its lead-
ers; and yet these leaders lost the power
of stopping, or even of turning aside, be-
cause they were constantly crowded upon
and pushed forward by those behind. This
explains why herds would dash into mire
or quicksands, as they often did, and thus
perish by the thousands. Those in front
could not stop, while those behind could
not see the danger toward which they
were rushing. So, too, they ran into riv-
ers, or into traps made for them by the
Indians, or against railroad cars, or even
dashed into the rivers, and swam blindly
against the sides of steamboats. If an ob-
stacle lay squarely across their path, they
tried to go through it; but if it lay at an
angle to their course they would turn a
little to avoid it.

The buffalo calf is born from April to
June, and at first is an awkward little
creature, looking much like a domestic

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calf, but with a shorter neck. The hump
at first is scarcely noticeable, but develops
rapidly. They are odd-looking and very
playful little animals. They are easily
caught and tamed, when quite young; but
when a few months old they become as
shy as the old buffalo, and are much more
swift of foot.

Although apparently very sluggish, buf-
falo are really extremely active, and are
able to go at headlong speed over a coun-
try where no man would dare to ride a
horse. When alarmed, they will throw
themselves down the almost vertical side
of a cafion, and climb the opposite wall
with catlike agility; and sometimes they
will descend cut banks by jumping from
shelf to shelf of rock like the mountain
sheep. To get at water when thirsty,
they will climb down bluffs that seem al-
together impracticable for such great ani-
mals. Many years ago, while descending
the Missouri River in a flatboat with
two companions, I landed in a wide bot-
tom to kill a mountain sheep. As we
were bringing the meat to the boat, we
saw on the opposite side of the river,
about half-way down the bluffs, which
were here about fifteen hundred feet high,
a large buffalo bull. The bluffs were al-

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The Last of the Buffalo

most vertical, and this old fellow was
having some difficulty in making his way
down to the water. He went slowly and
carefully, at times having pretty good
going, and at others slipping and sliding
for thirty or forty feet, sending the clay
and stones rolling ahead of him in great
quantities. We watched him for a little
while, and then it occurred to some ma-
licious spirit among us that it would be
fun to see whether the bull could go up
where he had come down. A shot was
fired so as to strike near him, for no
one wanted to hurt the old fellow; and
as soon as the report reached his ears, he
turned about, and began to scramble up
the bluffs. His first rush carried him
perhaps a hundred feet vertically, and
then he stopped and looked around. He
seemed not to have the slightest difficulty
in climbing up, nor did he use any cau-
tion, or appear to pick his way at all. A
second shot caused another rush up the
steep ascent; but this time he went only
half as far as before, and again stopped.
Three or four other shots drove him by
shorter and shorter rushes up the bluffs,
until at length he would go no farther,
and subsequent shots only caused him to

shake his head angrily. Plainly he had

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climbed until his wind had given out, and
now he would stand and fight. Our fun
was over; and looking back as we floated
down the river, our last glimpse was of
the old bull, still standing on his shelf,
waiting with lowered head for the un-
known enemy that he supposed was about
to attack him.

It is not only under stress of circum-
stances that the bison climbs. "The moun-
tain buffalo is almost as active as the
mountain sheep, and was often found in
places that tested the nerve and activity
of a man to reach; and even the buffalo
of the plains had a fondness for high
places, and used to climb up on to broken
buttes or high rocky points in the foot-
hills. I have often noticed the same habit
among range cattle and horses.

The buffalo were fond of rolling in the
dirt ; and to this habit, practised when the
ground was wet, are due the buffalo wal-
lows which so frequently occur in the
old ranges, and which often contain water
after all other moisture, except that of
the streams, is dried up. These wallows
were formed by the rolling of a succes-
sion of buffalo in the same moist place,
and were often quite deep. They have
frequently been described. Less well known

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The Last of the Buffalo

was the habit of scratching against trees
and rocks. Sometimes a solitary erratic
bowlder, five or six feet high, may be seen
on the bare prairie, with the ground imme-
diately around it worn down two or three
feet below the level of the surrounding
earth. This is where the buffalo walked
about the stone, rubbing against it, and
where they trod loosening the soil, which
has been blown away by the wind, so
that in course of time a deep trench was
worn about the rock. Often single trees
along streams were worn quite smooth by
the shoulders and sides of the buffalo.
When the first telegraph line was built
across the continent, the poles used were
light and small; for transportation over
the plains was slow and expensive, and it
was not thought necessary to raise the
wires high above the ground. These
poles were much resorted to by the buf-
falo to scratch against, and before long a
great many of them were pushed over.
A story, now of considerable antiquity, is
told of an ingenious employee of the
telegraph company, who devised a plan
for preventing the buffalo from disturbing
the poles. This he expected to accom-
plish by driving into them spikes which
should prick the animals when they rubbed

216
The Last of the Buffalo

against them. The result somewhat aston-
ished the inventor; for it was discovered
that, where formerly one buffalo rubbed
against the smooth telegraph poles, ten
now struggled and fought for the chance
to scratch themselves against the spiked
poles, the iron furnishing just the irrita-
tion which their tough hides needed.

It was in spring, when his coat was
being shed, that the buffalo, odd-looking
enough at any time, presented his most
grotesque appearance. The matted hair
and wool of the shoulders and sides began
to peel off in great sheets ; and these sheets,
clinging to the skin and flapping in the
wind, gave the animal the appearance of
being clad in rags.

The buffalo was a timid creature, but
brought to bay would fight with ferocity.
There were few sights more terrifying to
the novice than the spectacle of an old
bull at bay. His mighty bulk a quivering
mass of active, enraged muscle, the shining
horns, the little, spiky tail, and the eyes
half hidden beneath the shaggy frontlet,
yet gleaming with rage, combined to ren-
der him an awe-inspiring object. Never-
theless, owing to their greater speed and
activity, the cows were much more to be

feared than the bulls.

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The Last of the Buffalo

It was once thought that the buffalo
performed annually extensive migrations,
and it was even said that those which
spent the summer on the banks of the
Saskatchewan wintered in Texas. ‘There
is no reason for believing this to have been
true. Undoubtedly there were slight gen-
eral movements north and south, and east
and west, at certain seasons of the year;
but many of the accounts of these move-
ments are entirely misleading, because
greatly exaggerated. In one portion of
‘the northern country I know that there
was a decided east and west seasonal mi-
gration; the herds tending in spring away
from the mountains, while in the autumn
they worked back again, no doubt seek-
ing shelter in the rough, broken country
of the foothills from the cold west winds
of the winter.

The buffalo is easily tamed when caught
as a calf, and in all its ways of life resem-
bles the domestic cattle. It at once learns
to respect a fence, and manifests no dispo-
sition to wander.

Three years ago there were in this
country about two hundred and fifty do-
mesticated buffalo, in the possession of
about a dozen individuals. Of these the
most important herd was that of Hon.

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The Last of the Buffalo

C. J. Jones, of Garden City,
Kan., which included about
fifty animals, captured
and reared by himself,
and the Bedson herd
of over eighty, pur-
chased in Manitoba.
The Jones herd at one
time consisted of about
one hundred and fifty
head. Next came that of
Charles Allard and Michel
Pablo, of the Flat Head
Agency in Montana,
which in 1888 numbered
thirty-five, and has now
increased to about ninety.
Mr. Jones’s herd has been
broken up; and he now
retains only about forty-
five head, of which fif-
teen are breeding cows.
He tells me that within
the past year or two he
has sold over sixty pure
buffalo, and that nearly
as many more have died
Wy through injuries received in
Indian Med. transporting them by rail.
Mr. Jones is the only individual who

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The Last of the Buffalo

of recent years has made any systematic
effort to cross the buffalo with our own
domestic cattle. As far back as the be-
ginning of the present century, this was
successfully done in the West and North-
west, and in Audubon and Bachman’s
Quadrupeds of America may be found an
extremely interesting account, written by
Robert Wickliffe, of Lexington, Ky., giv-
ing the results of a series of careful and
successful experiments which he carried
on for more than thirty years. These ex-
periments showed that the cross for cer-
tain purposes was a very valuable one, but
no systematic efforts to establish and per-
petuate a breed of buffalo cattle were
afterwards made until within the past ten
years. Mr. Jones has bred buffalo bulls
to Galloway, Polled Angus, and ordinary
range cows, and has succeeded in obtain-
ing calves from all. Such half-breeds are
of very large size, extremely hardy, and,
as a farmer would say, “easy keepers.”
They are fertile among themselves or with
either parent. A half-breed cow of Mr.
Jones’s that I examined was fully as large
as “an ordinary work-ox, and in spring,
while nursing a calf, was fat on grass.
She lacked the buffalo hump, but her
hide would have made a good robe. The

220
The Last of the Buffalo

great size and tremendous frame of these
cross-bred cattle should make them very
valuable for beef; while their hardiness
would exempt them from the dangers
from winter, —so often fatal to domestic
range cattle, — and they produce a robe
which is quite as valuable as that of the
buffalo, and more beautiful because more
even all over. If continued, these at-
tempts at cross-breeding may do much to
improve our Western range cattle.

Mr. Jones has sold a number of buffalo
to persons in Europe, where there is con-
siderable demand for them. It is to be
hoped that no more of these domesticated
buffalo will be allowed to leave the coun-
try where they were born. Indeed, it
would seem quite within the lines of the
work now being carried on by the Agri-
cultural Department for the Government
to purchase all the domesticated American
buffalo that can be had, and to start, in
some one of the Western States, an exper-
imental farm for buffalo breeding and buf-
falo crossing. With a herd of fifty pure
bred buffalo cows and a sufficient number
of bulls, a series of experiments could be
carried on which might be of great value
to the cattle growers of our Western coun-
try. The stock of pure buffalo could be

221
The Last of the Buffalo

kept up and increased ; surplus bulls, pure
and half bred, could be sold to farmers ;
and, in time, the new race of buffalo cat-
tle might become so firmly established
that it would endure.

To undertake this with any prospect of
success, such a farm would have to be
managed by a man of intelligence and of
wide experience in this particular field;
otherwise all the money invested would
be wasted. Mr. Jones is perhaps the only
man living who knows enough of this
subject to carry on such an experimental
farm with success.

Although only one species of buffalo is
known to science, old mountaineers and
Indians tell of four kinds. These are, be-
sides the ordinary animal of the plains,
the “ mountain buffalo,” sometimes called
“bison,” which is found in the timbered
Rocky Mountains; the “wood buffalo”’
of the Northwest, which inhabits the tim-
bered country to the west and north of
Athabaska Lake; and the “ beaver buffa-
lo.” The last named has been vaguely
described to me by northern Indians as
small and having a very curly coat. I
know of only one printed account of it;
and this says that it had “short, sharp
horns, which were small at the root and

222
The Last of the Buffalo

curiously turned up and bent backward,
not unlike a ram’s, but quite unlike the
bend of the horn in the common buffalo.”’
It is possible that this description may re-
fer to the musk ox and not to a buffalo.
The “mountain” and “wood” buffalo
seem to be very much alike in habit and
appearance. They are larger, darker, and
heavier than the animal of the plains; but
there is no reason for thinking them spe-
cifically distinct from it. Such differences
as existed were due to the conditions of
their environments.

The color of the buffalo in its new coat
is a dark liver-brown. ‘This soon changes,
however, and the robes, which are at their
best in November and in early December,
begin to grow paler toward the spring;
and when the coat is shed, the hair and
wool from the young animals are almost a
dark smoky-gray. The calf when first
born is of a bright yellow color, almost a
pale red on the line of the back. As it
grows older it becomes darker, and by late
autumn is almost as dark as the adults.
Variations from the normal color are very
rare; but pied, spotted, and roan animals
were sometimes killed. Blue or mouse-
colored buffalo were occasionally seen; and
a bull of this color was observed in the

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The Last of the Buffalo

National Park in January, 1892. White
buffalo — though often referred to as
mythical sometimes occurred. These
varied from gray to cream-white. The
rare and valuable “ silk ”’ or ‘‘ beaver’ robe
owes its name to its dark color and its pe-
culiar sheen or gloss. White or spotted
robes were highly valued by the Indi-
ans. Among the Blackfeet they were
presented to the Sun as votive offerings.
Other tribes kept them in their sacred
bundles.

Apart from man, the buffalo had but
few natural enemies. Of these the most
destructive were the wolves, which killed
a great many of them, chiefly however,
old, straggling bulls; for the calves were
protected by their mothers, and the fe-
males and young stock were so vigorous
and so gregarious that they had but little
to fear from this danger. It is probable
that, notwithstanding the destruction which
they wrought, the wolves performed an
important service for the buffalo race,
keeping it vigorous and healthy by killing
weak, disabled, and superannuated animals,
which could no longer serve any useful
purpose in the herd, and yet consumed the
grass which would support healthy breed-
ing animals. It is certainly true that sick

224
The Last of the Buffalo

buffalo, or those out of condition, were
rarely seen.

The grizzly bear fed to some extent on
the carcasses of buffalo drowned in the
rivers or caught in the quicksands, and oc-
casionally caught. living buffalo and killed
them. A Blackfoot Indian told me of an
attempt of this kind which he witnessed.
He was lying hidden by a buffalo trail in
the Bad Lands, near a little creek, waiting
for a small bunch to come down to water,
so that he might kill one. The buffalo
came on in single file as usual, the leading
animal being a young heifer. When they
had nearly reached the water, and were
passing under a vertical clay wall, a grizzly
bear, lying hid on a shelf of this wall,
reached down, and with both paws caught
the heifer about the neck and threw him-
self upon her. The others at once ran off;
and a short struggle ensued, the bear trying
to kill the heifer, and she to escape. Al-
most at once, however, the Indian saw a
splendid young bull come rushing down
the trail toward the scene of conflict, and
charge the bear, knocking him down. A
fierce combat ensued. ‘The bull would
charge the bear, and when he struck him
fairly would knock him off his feet, often
inflicting severe wounds with his sharp

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The Last of the Buffalo

horns. The bear struck at the bull, and
tried to catch him by the head or shoul-
ders, and to hold him; but this he could
not do. After fifteen or twenty minutes of
fierce and active fighting the bear had re-
ceived all the punishment he cared for, and
tried to escape ; but the bull would not let
him go, and kept up the attack until he
had killed his adversary. Even after the
bear was dead the bull would gore the car-
cass, and sometimes lift it clear of the
ground on his horns. He seemed insane
with rage, and, notwithstanding the fact
that most of the skin was torn from his
head and shoulders, appeared to be looking
about for something else to fight. The
Indian was very much afraid lest the bull
should discover and kill him, and was
greatly relieved when he finally left the
bear and went off to join his band. This
Blackfoot had never heard of Uncle Re-
mus’s tales; but he imitated Brer Rabbit
— lay low and said nothing.

To the Indians the buffalo was the staff
of life. It was their food, clothing, dwell-
ings, tools. The needs of a savage people
are not many, perhaps; but whatever the
Indians of the plains had, that the buffalo
gave them. It is not strange, then, that
this animal was reverenced by most plains

226
The Last of the Buffalo

tribes, nor that it entered largely into
their sacred ceremonies, and was in a
sense worshipped by ‘eta: « Through
the corn and the buffalo we worship the
Father,” say the Pawnees. ‘What one
of all the animals is most sacred?” ask
the Blackfeet; and the reply given is,
“The buffalo.”

The robe was the Indian’s winter cov-
ering and his bed; while the skin, freed
from the hair and dressed, constituted his
summer sheet or blanket. Dressed hides
were used for moccasins, leggings, shirts,
and women’s dresses. Dressed cow-skins
formed their lodges, the warmest and
most comfortable portable shelters ever
devised. Braided strands of raw hide fur-
nished them with ropes and lines, and
these were made also from the twisted
hair. The green hide was sometimes used
as a kettle, in which to boil meat, or,
stretched over a frame of boughs, gave
them coracles, or boats, for crossing rivers.
The tough, thick hide of the bull’s neck,
allowed to shrink smooth, made a shield
which would turn a lance-thrust, an
arrow, or even the ball from an old-
fashioned smooth-bore gun. From the
raw hide, the hair having been shaved
off, were made parfleches, — envelope-like

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The Last of the Buffalo

cases which served for trunks or boxes,
useful to contain small articles. The can-
non-bones and ribs were used to make
implements for dressing hides, the shoul-
der-blades lashed to sticks made hoes and
axes, and the ribs runners for small sledges
drawn by dogs. ‘The hoofs were boiled
to make a glue for fastening the feathers
and heads on their arrows; the hair used
to stuff cushions, and later saddles; strands
of the long black beard to ornament arti-
cles of wearing-apparel and implements
of war, such as shields and quivers. The
sinews lying along the back gave them
thread and bow-strings, and backed their
bows. The horns furnished spoons and
ladles, and ornamented their war bonnets.
Water buckets were made from the lining
of the paunch. The skin of the hind leg
cut off above the pastern, and again a
short distance above the hock, was once
used for a moccasin or boot. Fly-brushes
were made from the skin of the tail dried
on sticks. Knife-sheaths, quivers, bow-
cases, gun-covers, saddle-cloths, and a hun-
dred other useful and necessary articles,
all were furnished by the buffalo.

The Indians killed some smaller game,
as elk, deer, and antelope; but for food
their dependence was on the buffalo. But

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before the coming of the whites their
knives and arrow-heads were merely sharp-
ened stones, weapons which would be in-
efficient against such great, thick-skinned
beasts. Even under the most favorable
circumstances, with these primitive imple-
ments, they could not kill food in quanti-
ties sufficient to supply their needs. They
must have some means of taking the
buffalo in considerable numbers. Such
wholesale capture was accomplished by
traps or surrounds, which all depended for
success on one characteristic of the animal,
its curiosity.

The Blackfeet, Plains Crees, Gros Ven-
tres of the Prairie, Sarcees, some bands
of the Dakotas, Snakes, Crows, and some
others, drove the herds of buffalo into
pens from above, or over high cliffs, where
the fall killed or crippled a large majority
of the herd. The Cheyennes and Ara-
pahoes drove them into pens on level
ground; the Blackfeet, Aricaras, Mandans,
Gros Ventres of the Village, Pawnees,
Omahas, Otoes, and others, surrounded
the herds in great circles on the prairie,
and then frightening them so that they
started running, kept them from breaking
through the line of.men, and made them
race round and round in a circle, until

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The Last of the Buffalo

they were so exhausted that they could
not run away, and were easily killed.

These primitive modes of slaughter
have been described by earlier writers, and
frequently quoted in recent years; yet in
all that has been written I fail to find a
single account which gives at all a true
notion of the methods employed, or the
means by which the buffalo were brought
into the enclosures. Eye-witnesses have
been careless observers, and have taken
many things for granted. My under-
standing of this matter is derived from
men who from childhood have been fa-
miliar with these things; and from them,
during years of close association, I have
again and again heard the story of these
old hunting methods.

The trap of the Backfeet was called
the piskun. It was an enclosure, one side
of which was formed by the vertical wall
of a cut bank, the others being built of
rocks, logs, poles, and brush six or eight
feet high. It was not necessary that these
walls should be very strong; but they had
to be tight, so that the buffalo could not
see through them. From a point on the
cut bank above this enclosure, in two di-
verging lines stretching far out into the
prairie, piles of rock were heaped up at

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short intervals, or bushes were stuck in
the ground, forming the wings of a V-
shaped chute, which would guide any ani-
mals running down the chute to its angle
above the piskin. When a herd of buffalo
were feeding near at hand, the people
prepared for the hunt, in which almost
the whole camp took part. It is com-
monly stated that the buffalo were driven
into the piskin by mounted men, but this
is not the case. They were not driven,
but led; and they were led by an appeal
to their curiosity. The man who brought
them was usually the possessor of a “ buf-
falo rock,” a talisman which was believed
to give him greater power to call the
buffalo than was had by others. The
previous night was spent by this man in
praying for success in the enterprise of
the morrow. The help of the Sun, Népz,
and all Above People was asked for, and
sweet grass was burned to them. Early
in the morning, without eating or drink-
ing, the man started away from the camp,
and went up on the prairie. Before he
left the lodge he told his wives that they
must not go out, or even look out, of the
lodge during his absence. They should
stay there, and pray to the Sun for his
success, and burn sweet grass until he

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The Last of the Buffalo

returned. When he left the camp, and
went out on the prairie toward the buf-
falo, all the people followed him, and dis-
tributed themselves along the wings of the
chute, hiding behind the piles of rocks or
brush. The caller sometimes wore a robe
and a bull’s-head bonnet, or at times was
naked. When he had approached close
to the buffalo, he endeavored to attract
their attention by moving about, wheeling
round and round, and alternately appear-
ing and disappearing. The feeding buf-
falo soon began to raise their heads and
stare at him; and presently the nearest
ones would walk toward him to discover
what this strange creature might be, and
the others would follow. As they began
to approach, the man withdrew toward
the entrance of the chute. If the buffalo
began to trot, he increased his speed ; and
before very long he had the herd well
within the wings. As soon as they had
passed the first piles of rock, behind which
some of the people were concealed, the
Indians sprang into view, and by yelling
and waving robes frightened the hind-
most of the buffalo, which then began
to run down the chute. As they passed
along, more and more people showed
themselves and added to their terror; and

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The Last of the Buffalo

in a very short time the herd was in a
headlong stampede, guided toward the an-
gle above the piskiin by the piles of rock
on either side.

About the walls of the piskiin, now full
of buffalo, were distributed the women
and children of the camp, who, leaning
over the enclosure, waving their arms and
calling out, did all they could to frighten
the penned-in animals, and to keep them
from pushing against the walls, or trying
to jump or climb over them. As a rule,
the buffalo raced round within the enclo-
sure; and the men shot them down as they
passed, until all were killed. After this
the people all entered the piskim, and cut
up the dead, transporting the meat to camp.
The skulls, bones, and less perishable offal
were removed from the enclosure; and
the wolves, coyotes, foxes, and badgers
devoured what was left.

It occasionally happened that something
occurred to turn the buffalo, so that they
passed through the guiding arms and es-
caped. Usually they went on straight to
the angle, and jumped over the cliff into
the enclosure below. In winter, when
snow was on the ground, their straight
course was made additionally certain by
placing on or just above the snow, a line

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The Last of the Buffalo

of buffalo chips leading from the angle of
the V, midway between its arms out on to
the prairie. These dark objects, only
twenty or thirty feet apart, were easily seen
against the white snow; and the buffalo
always followed them, no doubt thinking
this a trail where another herd had passed.

By the Szkstkau tribe of the Blackfoot
nation and the Plains Crees, the piskiin was
built in a somewhat different way, but the
methods employed were similar. With
these people, who inhabited a flat country,
the enclosure was built of logs and near a
timbered stream. Its walls were complete;
that is, there was no opening or gateway
in them, but at one point this wall, else-
where eight feet high, was cut away so
that its height was only about four feet.
From this point a bridge or causeway of
logs, covered with dirt, sloped by a grad-
ual descent down to the level of the prai-
rie. This bridge was fenced on either
side with logs, and the arms of the V came
together at the point where the bridge
reached the ground. The buffalo were
driven down the chute as before, ran up
on this bridge, and were forced to leap into
the pen. As soon as all had entered, In-
dians who had been concealed near by ran
up and put poles across the opening through

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The Last of the Buffalo

which the buffalo had passed; and over
these poles hung robes, so as entirely to
conceal the outer world. ‘Then the butch-
ering of the animals took place.

Farther to the south, out on the prairie,
where timber and rocks and brush were
not obtainable for making traps like these,
simpler but less effective methods were
adopted. ‘The people would go out on
the prairie, and conceal themselves in a
great circle open on one side. ‘Then
some man would approach the buffalo, and
decoy them into the circle. Men would
now show themselves at different points,
and start the buffalo running in a circle,
yelling and waving robes to keep them
from approaching, or trying to break
through, the ring of men. This had to
be done with great judgment, however ;
for often if the herd got started in one di-
rection it was impossible to turn it, and it
would rush through the ring, and none
would be secured. Sometimes if a herd
was found in a favorable position, and there
was no wind, a large camp of people would
set up their lodges all about the buffalo, in
which case the chances of success in the
surround were greatly increased.

The tribes which used the fishin also
practised driving the buffalo over high,

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The Last of the Buffalo

rough cliffs, where the fall crippled or
killed most of the animals which went
over. In such situations, no enclosure was
built at the foot of the precipice.

In the later days of the piskin in the
north, the man who brought the buffalo
often went to them on horseback, riding
a white horse. He would ride backward
and forward before them, zig-zagging this
way and that; and after a little they would
follow him. He never attempted to drive,
but always led them. The driving began
only after the herd had passed the outer
rock piles, and the people had begun to
rise up and frighten them.

This method of securing meat has been
practised in Montana within thirty years,
and even more recently among the Plains
Crees of the north. I have seen the re-
mains of old piskins, and the guiding wings
of the chute, and have talked with many
men who have taken part in such killings.

All this had to do, of course, with the
primitive methods of buffalo killing. As
soon as horses became abundant, and sheet-
iron arrow-heads, and later, guns, were se-
cured by the Indians, these old practices
began to give way to the more exciting
pursuit of running buffalo and of surround-
ing them on horseback. Of this modern

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The Last of the Buffalo

method, as practised twenty years ago, and
exclusively with the bow and arrow, I have
already written at some length in another
place.

To the white travellers on the plains in
early days the buffalo furnished support
and sustenance. Their abundance made
fresh meat readily obtainable; and the early
travellers usually carried with them bundles
of dried meat, or sacks of pemmican, food
made from the flesh of the buffalo, that
contained a great deal of nutriment in very
small bulk. Robes were used for bed-
ding; and in winter buffalo moccasins were
worn for warmth, the hair side within.
Coats of buffalo skin are the warmest cov-
ering known, the only garment which will
present an effective barrier to the bitter
blasts that sweep over the plains of the
Northwest.

Perhaps as useful to early travellers as
any product of the buffalo was the “ buf-
falo chip,” or dried dung. This, being
composed of comminuted woody fibre of
the grass, made an excellent fuel, and in
many parts of the treeless plains was the
only substance which could be used to
cook with.

The dismal story of the extermination
of the buffalo for its hides has been so

239
The Last of the Buffalo

often told, that I may be spared the sick-
ening details of the butchery which was
carried on from the Mexican to the Brit-
ish boundary line in the struggle to obtain
a few dollars by a most ignoble means.
As soon as railroads penetrated the buffalo
country, a market was opened for their
hides. Men too lazy to work were not
too lazy to hunt; and a good hunter could
kill in the early days from thirty to sev-
enty-five buffalo a day, the hides of which
were worth from $1.50 to $4 each. This
seemed an easy way to make money, and
the market for hides was unlimited. Up
to this time the trade in robes had been
mainly confined to those dressed by the
Indians, and these were for the most part
taken from cows. The coming of the
railroad made hides of all sorts marketable,
and even those taken from naked old bulls
found a sale at some price. The butchery
of buffalo was now something stupendous.
Thousands of hunters followed millions of
buffalo, and destroyed them wherever found
and at al] seasons of the year. ‘They pur-
sued them during the day, and at night
camped at the watering places, and built
lines of fires along the streams, to drive the
buffalo back so that they could not drink.
It took less than six years to destroy all the

240
The Last of the Buffalo

buffalo in Kansas, Nebraska, Indian Terri-
tory, and northern Texas. The few that
were left of the southern herd retreated to
the waterless plains of Texas, and there for
a while had a brief respite. Even here
the hunters followed them ; but as the ani-
mals were few, and the territory in which
they ranged vast, they held out here for
some years. It was in this country, and
against the very last survivors of this south-
ern herd, that “ Buffalo Jones” made his
very successful trips to capture calves.

The extirpation of the northern herd
was longer delayed. No very terrible
slaughter occurred until the completion
of the Northern Pacific Railroad; then,
however, the same scenes of butchery
were enacted. Buffalo were shot down
by tens of thousands, their hides stripped
off, and the meat left to the wolves. The
result of the crusade was soon seen: the
last buffalo were killed in the Northwest
near the boundary line, in 1883; and that
year may be said to have finished up the
species, though some few were killed in
1884 to 1885.

After the slaughter had been begun,
but years before it had been accomplished,
the subject was brought to the attention
of Congress, and legislation looking to

241
The Last of the Buffalo

the preservation of the species was urged
upon that body. Little general interest
was taken in the subject; but in 1874,
after much discussion, Congress did pass
an act providing for the protection of the
buffalo. The bill, however, was never
signed by the President.

During the last days of the buffalo, a
remarkable change took place in its form ;
and this change is worthy of considera-
tion by naturalists, for it is an example of
specialization — of development in one
particular direction— which was due to
a change in the environment of the spe-
cies; and it is interesting because it was
brought about in a very few years, and
indicates how rapidly, under favoring con-
ditions, such specialization may take place.

This change was noticed and com-
mented on by hunters who followed the
northern buffalo, as well as by those who
assisted in the extermination of the south-
ern herd. The southern hunters, how-
ever, averred that the “regular’’ buffalo
had disappeared, — gone off somewhere,
— and that their place had been taken by
what they called the southern buffalo, a
race said to have come up from Mexico,
and characterized by longer legs and a
longer, lighter body than the buffalo of

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The Last of the Buffalo

earlier years, and which was also peculiar
in that the animals never became fat. In-
telligent hunters of the northern herd,
however, recognized the true state of the
case, which was that the buffalo, during
the last years of their existence, were so
constantly pursued and driven from place
to place that they never had time to lay
on fat as in earlier years, and that, as a
consequence of this continual running, the
animal’s form changed, and instead of a
fat, short-backed, short-legged animal, it
became a long- legged, light-bodied easke
formed for running.

This specialization in the direction of
speed at first proceeded very slowly; but
at last, as the dangers to which the ani-
mals were subjected became more and
more pressing, it took place rapidly, and
as a consequence the last buffalo killed on
the plains were extremely long-legged and
rangy, and were very different in appear-
ance —as they were in their habits —
from the animals of twenty years ago.

Buffalo running was not a sport that re-
quired much skill, yet it was not without
its dangers. Occasionally a man was killed
by the buffalo, but deaths from falls and
from bursting guns were more common.
Many curious stories of such accidents are

243
The Last of the Buffalo

told by the few real old-timers whose
memory goes back fifty years, to the time
when flint-lock guns were in use. A
mere fall from a horse is lightly regarded
by the practised rider; the danger to be
feared is that in such a fall the horse may
roll on the man and crush him. Even
more serious accidents occurred when a
man fell upon some part of his equip-
ment, which was driven through his body.
Hunters have fallen in such a way that
their whip-stocks, arrows, bows, and even
guns, have been driven through their
bodies. The old flint-lock guns, or
“fukes,” which were loaded on the run,
with powder poured in from the horn by
guess, and a ball from the mouth, used
frequently to burst, causing the loss of
hands, arms, and even lives.

While most of the deaths which oc-
curred in the chase resulted from causes
other than the resistance of the buffalo,
these did occasionally killa man. A cu-
rious accident happened in a camp of Red
River half-breeds in the early seventies.
The son of an Iroquois half-breed, about
twenty years old, went out one day with
the rest of the camp to run buffalo. At
night he did not return, and the next day
all the men went out to search for him.

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The Last of the Buffalo

They found the horse and the arms, but
could not find the man, and could not im-
agine what had become of him. About
a year later, as the half-breeds were hunt-
ing in another part of the country, a cow
was seen which had something unusual on
her head. They chased and killed her,
and found that she had on her head the
pelvis of a man, one of the horns having
pierced the thin part of the bone, which
was wedged on so tightly that they could
hardly get it off. Much of the hair on
the head, neck, and shoulders of the cow
was worn off short, and on the side on
which the bone was, down on the neck
and shoulders, the hair was short, black,
and looked new, as if it had been worn
entirely off the skin, and was just begin-
ning to grow out again. It is supposed
that this bone was part of the missing
young man, who had been hooked by the
cow, and carried about on her head until
his body fell to pieces.

My valued friend, Charley Reynolds,
who was for years chief of scouts at Fort
Lincoln, Dak., and was killed by the
Sioux in the Custer fight in 1876, told
me of the death of a hunting partner of
his, which shows how dangerous even a

dying buffalo may be. The two men had

245
The Last of the Buffalo

started from the railroad to go south, and
bring in a load of meat. On finding a
bunch of buffalo, they killed by stalking
what they required, and then on foot
went up to the animals to butcher them.
One cow, lying on her side, was still mov-
ing a little convulsively, but dying. The
man approached her as if about to cut her
throat; but when he was within a few feet
of her head, she sprang to her feet, rushed
at him, struck him in the chest with her
horns, and then fell dead. Charley ran
up to his partner, and to his horror saw
that the cow’s horn had ripped him up
from the belly to the throat, so that he
could see the heart still expanding and
contracting. Charley buried his partner
there, and returning to the town, told his
story. He was at once arrested on the
charge that he had murdered his com-
panion, and was obliged to return to the
place and to assist in digging up the body
to establish the truth of his statements.

In the early days when the game was
plenty, buffalo running was exhilaratin
sport. Given a good horse, the buffalo
hunter’s only other requisite to success was
the ability to remain on its back till the
end of the chase. No greater degree of
skill was needed than this; and yet the

246
The Last of the Buffalo

quick motion of the horse, the rough
ground to be traversed, and the feeling
that there was something ahead that must
be overtaken and stopped, made the ride
attractive. There was the very slightest
spice of danger; for while no one antici-
pated an accident, it was possible that
one’s horse might step into a badger hole,
in which case his rider would get a fall
that would make his bones ache.

The most exciting, and by far the most
interesting, hunts in which I ever took
part were those with the Indians of the
plains. They were conducted almost noise-
lessly ; and no ring of rifle-shot broke the
stillness of the air, nor puff of smoke rose
toward the still, gray autumn sky. The
consummate grace and skill of the naked
Indians, and the speed and quickness of
their splendid ponies, were well displayed
in such chases as these. More than one
instance is recorded where an Indian has
sent an arrow entirely through the bodies
of two buffalo. Sometimes such a hunt
was signalized by some feat of daring bra-
vado that, save in the seeing, was scarcely
credible, as when the Cheyenne Big Ribs
rode his horse close up to the side of a
huge bull, and, springing on his back,
rode the savage beast for some distance,

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The Last of the Buffalo

and then with his knife gave it its death-
stroke. Or aman might find himself in
a position of comical danger, as did “The
Trader’ who was thrown from his horse
on to the horns of a bull without being
injured. One of the horns passed under
his belt and supported him, and at the
same time prevented the bull from tossing
him. In this way he was carried for some
distance on the animal’s head, when the
belt gave way and he fell to the ground
unhurt, while the bull ran on. There
were occasions when buffalo or horses fell
in front of horsemen riding at full run,
and when a fall was avoided only by leap-
ing one’s horse over the fallen animal. In
the buffalo chase of old days it was well
for a man to keep his wits about him;
for, though he might run buffalo a thou-
sand times without accident, the moment
might come when only instant action
would save him his life, or at least an
ugly hurt.

In the early days of the first Pacific
Railroad, and before the herds had been
driven back from the track, singular hunt-
ing parties were sometimes seen on the
buffalo range. These hunters were capital-
ists connected with the newly constructed
roads; and some of them now for the first

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time bestrode a horse, while few had ever
used fire-arms. On sucha hunt, one well-
known railroad director, eager to kill a
buffalo, declined to trust himself on horse-
back, preferring to bounce over the rough
prairie in an ambulance driven by an
alarmed soldier, who gave less attention
to the mules he was guiding than to the
loaded and cocked pistol which his excited
passenger was brandishing.

It was on the plains of Montana, in the
days when buffalo were still abundant, that
I had one of my last buffalo hunts —a
hunt with a serious purpose. A company
of fifty or more men, who for weeks had
been living on bacon and beans, longed
for the “boss ribs”’ of fat cow; and when
we struck the buffalo range two of us were
deputed to kill some meat. My com-
panion was an old prairie man of great
experience, and I myself was not altogether
new to the West; for I had hunted in
many territories, and had more than once
been “jumped” by hostile Indians. Our
horses were not buffalo runners, yet we felt
a certain confidence that if we could find
a bunch and get a good start on them, we
would bring in the desired meat. The
troops would march during the day; for
the commanding officer had no notion of

251
The Last of the Buffalo

waiting in camp merely for fresh meat,
and we were to go out, hunt, and over-
take the command at their night’s camp.

The next day after we had reached the
buffalo range we started out long before
the eastern sky was gray, and were soon
riding off over the chilly prairie. The
trail which the command was to follow
ran a little north of east; and we kept to
the south and away from it, believing that
in this direction we would find the game,
and that if we started them they would
run north or northwest, against the wind,
so that we could kill them near the trail.
Until some time after the sun had risen
we saw nothing larger than antelope; but
at length, from the top of a high hill, we
could see far away to the east dark dots
on the prairie, which we knew could only
be buffalo. They were undisturbed too ;
for, though we watched them for some
time, we could detect no motion in their
ranks.

It took us nearly two hours to reach
the low, broken buttes on the north side
of which the buffalo were; and, riding
up on the easternmost of these, we tried
to locate our game more exactly. It was
important to get as close as possible before
starting them, so that our first rush might

252
The Last of the Buffalo

carry us into the midst of them. Know-
the capabilities of our horses, which were
thin from long travel, we felt sure that if
the buffalo should take the alarm before
we were close to them, we could not over-
take the cows and young animals which
always run in the van, and should have to
content ourselves with old bulls. On the
other hand, if we could dash in among
them during the first hundred yards of the
race, we should be able to keep up with
and select the fattest animals in the herd.

When we reached a point just below
the crest of the hill, I stopped and waited,
while Charley, my companion, rode on.
Just before he got to the top he too halted,
then took off his hat and peered over the
ridge, examining so much of the prairie
beyond as was now visible to him. His
inspection was careful and thorough; and
when he had made sure that nothing was
in sight, his horse took a step or two for-
ward and then stopped again, and the rider
scanned every foot of country before him.
The horse, trained as the real hunter’s
horse is always trained, understood what
was required of him, and with pricked ears
examined the prairie beyond with as much
interest as did his rider. When the calf
of Charley’s right leg pressed the horse’s

253
The Last of the Buffalo

side, two or three steps more were taken,
and then a lifting of the bridle hand caused
another halt.

At length I saw my companion slowly
bend forward over his horse’s neck, turn,
and ride back to me. He had seen the
backs of two buffalo lying on the edge of
a little flat hardly a quarter of a mile from
where we stood. The others of the band
must be still nearer tous. By riding along
the lowest part of the sag which separated
the two buttes, and then down a little ra-
vine, it seemed probable that we could
come within a few yards of the buffalo un-
observed. Our preparations did not take
long. The saddle cinches were loosened,
blankets arranged, saddles put in their
proper places and tightly cinched again.
Cartridges were brought round to the front
and right of the belt, where they would
be convenient for reloading. Our coats
tied behind the saddle were looked to, the
strings which held them being tightened
and securely retied. All this was not lost
on our horses, which understood as well
as we did what was coming. We skirted
the butte, rode through the low sag and
down into the little ravine, which’ soon
grew deeper, so that our heads were below
the range of vision of almost anything on

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The Last of the Buffalo

the butte. Passing the mouth of the little
side ravine, however, there came into full
view a huge bull lying well up on the hill-
side. Luckily his back was toward us;
and, each bending low over his horse’s
neck, we rode on, and in a moment were
hidden by the side of the ravine. Two
or three minutes more, and we came to
another side ravine, which was wide and
commanded a view of the flat. We stopped
before reaching this, and a peep showed
that we were within a few yards of two
old cows, a young heifer, and a yearling,
all of them to the north of us. Beyond,
we could see the backs of others, all lying
down.

We jumped on our horses again, and,
setting the spurs well in, galloped up the
ravine and out on the flat; and as we came
into view the nearest buffalo, as if propelled
by a huge spring, were on their feet, and,
with a second’s pause to look, dashed away
to the north. Scattered over the flat were
fifty or seventy-five buffalo, all of which,
by the time we had glanced over the field,
were off, with heads hanging low to the
ground, and short, spiky tails stretched out
behind. We were up even with the last
of the cows; and our horses were running
easily, and seemed to have plenty of reserve

255
The Last of the Buffalo

power. Charley, who was a little ahead
of me, called back, «They will cross the
trail about a mile north of here. Killa
couple when we get to it.” I nodded,
and we went on. The herd raced forward
over the rolling hills; and in what seemed
a very short time we rushed down a long
slope on to a wide flat, in which was
a prairie-dog town of considerable extent.
We were on the very heels of the herd,
and in a cloud of dust kicked up by their
rapid flight. To see the ground ahead was
impossible. We could only trust to our
horses and our good luck to save us from
falling. Our animals were doing better
than we had supposed they could, and were
going well and under a pull. I felt that
a touch of the spurs and a little riding
would bring us up even with the leaders
of the buffalo. The pace had already
proved too. much for several bulls, which
had turned off to one side and been passed
by. As we flew across the flat, I saw far
off a dark line and two white objects,
which I knew must be our command. _ I
called to my comrade, and, questioning by
the sign, pointed at the buffalo. He nod-
ded; and in a moment we had given free
rein to our horses, and were up among the
herd. During the ride I had two or three
256
The Last of the Buffalo

times selected my game, but the individ-
uals of the band changed positions so con-
stantly that I could not keep track of them.
Now, however, I picked out a fat two-
year-old bull; but as I drew up to him he
ran faster than before, and rapidly made
his way toward the head of the band. I
was resolved that he should not escape; and
so, though still fifteen or twenty yards in
the rear, I fired. At the shot he fell heels
over head directly across a cow, which
was running by his side and a little behind
him. I saw her turn a somersault, and al-
most at the same instant heard Charley
shoot twice in quick succession, and saw
two buffalo fall. I fired at a fat young
cow, that I had pushed my pony up close
to. At the shot she whirled, my horse
did the same, and she chased me as hard
as she could go for seventy-five yards, while
I did some exceedingly vigorous spurring,
for she was close behind me all the time.
To do my horse justice, I think that he
would have run as fast as he could, even
without the spurs, for he appreciated the
situation. At no time was there any im-
mediate danger that the cow would over-
overtake us; if there had been, I should
have dodged her. Presently the cow
stopped, and stood there very sick. When

257
The Last of the Buffalo

I rode back I did not find it easy to get
my horse near her; but another shot was
not needed, and while I sat looking at her,
she fell over dead. The three buffalo first
killed had fallen within a hundred yards
of the trail where the wagons afterward
passed, and my cow was but little farther
away. [he command soon came up, the
soldiers did the butchering, and before
long we were on the march again.

Of the millions of buffalo which even
in our own time ranged the plains in free-
dom, none now remain. From the prai-
ries which they used to darken, the wild
herds, down to the last straggling bull,
have disappeared. In the Yellowstone
National Park, protected from destruction
by United States troops, are the only wild
buffalo which exist within the borders of
the United States. These are mountain
buffalo; and, from their habit of living in
the thick timber and on the rough moun-
tain sides, they are only now and then
seen by visitors to the Park. It is impos-
sible to say just how many there are; but
from the best information that I can get,
based on the estimates of reliable and con-
servative men, I conclude that the num-
ber was not less than four hundred in the
winter of 1891-1892. Each winter or

258
The Last of the Buffalo

spring the Government scout employed in
the Park sees one or more herds of these
buffalo ; and as such herds are usually made
up in part of young animals and have calves
with them, it is fair to assume that they
are steadily if slowly increasing. The
report of a trip made in January, 1892,
speaks of four herds seen in the Hayden
Valley, which numbered respectively 78,
50, 110,and 15. Besides these, a number
of single animals and of scattering groups
were seen at a distance, which would per-
haps bring the total number up to three
hundred. Of course, it is not to be sup-
posed that all the buffalo in the Park were
at that time collected in this one valley.
In the far Northwest, in the Peace
River district, there may still be found
a few wood buffalo. Judging from re-
ports of them which occasionally reach us
from Indians and Hudson’s Bay men, their
habits resemble those of the European
bison. ‘They are seldom killed, and the
estimate of their numbers varies from five
hundred to fifteen hundred. This cannot
be other than the merest guess ; since they
are scattered over many thousand square
miles of territory which is without inhabi-
tants, and for the most part unexplored.
On the great plains is still found the

259
The Last of the Buffalo

buffalo skull half buried in the soil and
crumbling to decay. The deep trails once
trodden by the marching hosts are grass-
grown now, and fast filling up. When
these most enduring relics of a vanished
race shall have passed away, there will be
found, in all the limitless domain once
darkened by their feeding herds, not one

trace of the American buffalo.

POSTSCRIPT, 1896.

Since this estimate was made, the num-
ber of buffalo in the Yellowstone Park has
seriously diminished. Up to May, 1894,
there had never been any law governing
this reservation. By the organic Park act
the Secretary of the Interior was author-
ized to establish regulations for the care
and government of the reservation, but no
power to enforce them was given him.
The troops detailed to protect the Park
had authority only to arrest and eject from
it violators of the regulations who could
at once return to the Park if they chose.
The lawless element in the neighborhood
of the reservation learned that offences
could not be punished; and in the years
1892, 1893, and 1894, poachers destroyed
great numbers of buffalo and other game.
In May, 1894, Congress passed a law es-

260
The Last of the Buffalo

tablishing a government for the Park, and
since then a number of offenders have
been punished. This law was enacted,
however, too late to save the buffalo of
the Park ; and their numbers there are be-
lieved to be now very small, perhaps not
more than fifty.

The principal herds of domesticated
buffalo in private hands in 1896 are the
Allard herd, which includes parts of the
Jones and Bedson herds, and numbered in
the autumn of 1895 about 200; the Cor-
bin herd in New Hampshire, about 75;
the Carlin herd in South Dakota, 23; and
the Good-night herd in Texas about 40.
Besides these there are, of course, the
buffalo at the different Zodlogical Gar-
dens in the country, which may number
50 or more.

261
AT SAINT MARY’S

By Harry C. Hale
 

 

& ERMANENT camp had fi-
. nally been made, and our
four “‘ conical walls” were
pitched on the immediate

© bank of the St. Mary’ s River,
a a hundred yards from the point where
that stream gives outlet to the waters of
the upper St. Mary’s Lake.

The river flowed, swift and cold, past
our very doors; and from the latter we
looked out to the south, and feasted our
eyes on Divide, Kootenai, and Red Eagle
265

 
At St. Mary's

Mountains, each noted for some remark-
able incident, the story of which we had
been many times told already by our lo-
quacious guide, who had joined our party
two days before.

Ten days or so previous to this, had one
been spending a day at the military post
of Fort Assiniboine, Mont., — which one
never does, — he might have seen depart-
ing therefrom a column of dusky horse-
men, followed by several six-mule teams
drawing heavy red wagons, and headed by
two suspicious-looking men on_ horses
branded “«U.8,”

The horsemen were a detachment of
“F” Troop, Tenth United States Cavalry;
the wagon-train consisted of four « army
wagons complete;”’ and the two evil-look-
ing men at the head of the column were
myself and a much better man, Lieuten-
ant Letcher Hardeman of the Tenth Regi-
ment United States Cavalry.

This party left the post one hot day late
in the summer of 1894; and seven days
later, having made an interesting march
over two hundred miles of Montana soil,
it appeared at Blackfoot station on the
Great Northern Railroad. There it was
joined by a party of eight gentlemen who
had arrived that day on the west-bound

266
At St. Mary’s

train; and from there the united parties
proceeded toward the Rocky Mountains,
which, looming up in the hazy air, fogged
by smoke from the numerous prairie fires,
looked big and formidable, and but a stone’s
throw away.

But a good part of three days were
consumed in reaching those mountains.
Though they did seem near at hand, they
proved to be fifty miles distant by road.

On the third day an early camp was
made on the St. Mary’s River; and as this
seemed to be about as far as wagons could
go in these parts, here we concluded to
make our permanent headquarters during
our week’s sojourn in these mountains.

And so, with our tent doors facing the
stream and but twenty feet away from its
waters, here in this beautiful valley we went
into camp and were happy.

Preparations were immediately made for
sport. Rods, reels, and lines were soon
assembled, shotguns unpacked, belts filled
with ammunition; and in an hour the en-
thusiastic sportsmen of the party were
enjoying themselves with that intense
pleasure known only to the eager angler or
hunter when he finds himself in a preserve
rich with his especial game.

But of that party two members were not

267
Ad St. Mary's

out for fish or small game. Hardeman
and I had decided at the outset to kill a
Rocky Mountain sheep, —a “ big horn;”’
and not only had we so decided, but we
had so asserted. We might condescend to
catch a few trout or to shoot a few grouse
in our spare moments, — pour passer le
temps, — but the business of our life while
in these mountains would be mutton —
wild mutton.

The members of our party were nice
gentlemen, and treated our youthful vapor-
ings with a serious attention that pleased
us. Even our guide, a thirteen-year resi-
dent of this locality, did not smile; but
contented himself with saying that he had
known “a few gentlemen to miss them
sheep at thirty yards the first time they got
a shot at them,” but that he guessed “ these
West Point boys knew how to shoot a gun,
and how to keep their nerve when in sight
of big game.”

We came to know more about that
guide and “nerve” and things later on.

But it did seem ridiculous to hear of a
man’s getting a shot at a mark the size of
a sheep, and missing it at fiftv yards. The
wonder was how he cou/d miss at al] —
where his bullet could go and not hit —
at that range. We were not troubled.

268
At St. Mary's

Give us a shot anywhere within one, yes,
two, hundred yards, and we would answer
for the result. Had we not been qualify-
ing as sharpshooters in our regiments for
several years past? Had we not already
demonstrated to our party our skill in aim-
ing and our accuracy in judging distance
by breaking innumerable bottles as they
floated down the streams on which we had
camped en route ?

As to “losing our nerve’? — oh, well,
that was simply absurd. We were not
troubled.

The day after our arrival in camp was
Sunday, and a day of rest (we numbered
two clergymen among us); but two of the
party returning in the evening from a climb
over the nearest mountain, Flat Top, raised
our hopes to a high degree by telling us
of six sheep they had seen on their ride.

Monday morning Hardeman and I
started for Flat Top.

We were armed with the regulation
Springfield carbine, and each wore a field-
belt full of ammunition. A field-belt
holds forty rounds, and when full is heavy.
But it was well, we thought, to go on such
an expedition well equipped. We rea-
soned how badly we should feel, if, having
exhausted our supply, we ran on to more

269
At St. Mary’s

game. Oh, no, it would not do to go with-
out plenty of ammunition. So we left no
vacant thimbles in our belts.

When mounted and ready to start, our
guide pointed out the direction to be taken,
and assured us that we could not possibly
get lost; for, after reaching the timber, we
would follow a “plain, blazed trail, clean
up.

PThen, as he wished us good luck, he
smiled.

There was a drizzling rain. It was
early in the morning, and cold. The grass
was high in the ravines; and by the time
we had reached the lower line of timber
we were wet through as high as the waist,
and not dry above. We now entered the
thick timber, and the upper half of the
body began to feel the dampening effect of
the numerous shower-baths shaken from
dripping boughs above.

Ten minutes from the time of our en-
trance into the timber, we were lost; and
from this time on, for the next hour and
a half, it was a game of hide-and-go-seek
between us and that “ plain, blazed trail,”
and Hardeman and I were always “ It.”

But stumbling over the fallen trees,
interlaced and crossed in inextricable con-
fusion, winding in and out among the

270
At St. Mary’s

standing timber, getting a leg scraped here,
a knee struck there, now leading our horses
up a steep incline, now riding them with
a delicious sense of rest over a level bit of
trail for a few hundred yards—so we
plodded along, and finally reached the up-
per timber-line, emerging from the gloom
of the forest into the cheerful light of the
open, and leaving very willingly behind us
both our “plain, blazed trail”? and the
necessity for it.

But we had not reached the top of the
mountain yet by any means; and the ques-
tion now presented itself, — which direc-
tion to take. We had come out of the
wood near the wedgelike end of Flat Top.
Should we turn to our right, and pass
around the jutting spur to the farther side
of the mountain, or should we keep on
the side where we were, and take our way
to the left? Hardeman, who had with his
Indian scouts done considerable mountain
trailing in Arizona, and was just in his ele-
ment now, proposed to do neither, but
to climb straight to the top from where
we were. Accordingly we dismounted,
and then ensued the most difficult piece
of infantry work I ever took part in. But
we persevered, panting and struggling,
slipping and recovering, but always going

271
At St. Mary’s

up. Our horses, led with long, loose rein,
impeded us but little, picking their way
along our foot-tracks with precaution and
precision. ‘They seemed to feel the effect
of the rarefied air more than we; their
breathing came short and quick. We
were nearly seven thousand feet high.

We finally reached the top, only to find
that the rocks made it impracticable for
mounted work; so we tied our horses,
wishing we had left them down at the
timber-line.

A short rest, and we started afoot along
the summit of the long mountain. Not
knowing the habits of the game we were
seeking, we had no definite idea as to the
best method of hunting it. Well, we
would just clamber along over these moun-
tains, and trust to luck to fall in with some-
thing in the course of the day. The clouds
were hanging low and thick ; we were sur-
rounded by them, in fact, and our field of
vision was limited to a narrow circle.

An hour of this mountain travel, —down
dale and up slope, through the long, wet
grass, over the jagged rock and the treach-
erous shale,—an hour of this, and we
were ready for a rest.

We sat down within the edge of a
growth of pine on the side of a gentle

272
At St. Mary's

 

  
 

 

 

A Temporary Camp.

slope of shale, which swept up to a long
ridge a quarter of a mile away. As the
clouds would occasionally rise above or
drop below this ridge, it would stand for
a few moments clearly outlined against the
sky; and it was during one of these inter-
vals that, in sweeping the ridge with my
glass, I thought I saw a movement in an
object which till then I had taken for
a bush or a rock. Lowering my glasses,
and resting my eyes a moment, I looked
again. The object had disappeared.

It was a sheep. Without doubt it was

273
At St. Mary's

a sheep. Our plans were soon formed.
We would keep within the timber as long
as possible, and moving well off to our
left, approach them just below the line of
the ridge, always keeping between their
position and ours a clump of fir-brush
which we could discern in the immediate
vicinity of the spot where I had made the
discovery.

We started at a rapid gait, all fatigue
forgotten. We had not gone a hundred
yards when we came upon the place where
the band had slept the night before. Up
to this time I think Hardeman had been
rather sceptical as to whether I had really
seen any game; but now his eye lighted
up, as he realized that we were really in
the immediate neighborhood of the game
we sought.

The prettiest little beds imaginable these
animals had made for themselves. Round,
shallow basins were scooped out of the
-loose shale here and there; and so smooth
they appeared, with the small, flat pieces
of rock forming them, that they really
gave one the idea of being soft.

My imagination depicted the sheep
reaching this spot the evening before, an
old ram in the lead. I saw them stop, and
busy themselves in selecting and preparing

274
At St. Mary's

their resting-places for the night. One by
one they curled themselves in their cosey
beds, made soft by their own thick coats
of hair. What would I not give to have
been there in person, to have watched and
studied them in the morning, and — and
—my mind suddenly dropping me down
to earth — to know just where they were
at this instant.

As we began to near the line of the
ridge we recognized the necessity of ex-
treme care in picking our way, lest the
sound of our footfalls in the loose shale
should be heard. We were making great
efforts to tread noiselessly ; and we were
constantly reminded that our attempts were
a signal failure by hearing the disturbed
pieces of rock rolling from under our feet,
down, down, hundreds of yards below.
One of these little demons would start on
its downward course, — the one of us that
had started it always receiving a withering
look from the other, — and, rolling at first
slowly and smoothly, then bounding with
a gentle tink-tinkle from one point to
another, it would speed on, gathering im-
petus in its flight, and, like a bad boy on
a lark, picking up many companions as it
went, until finally the flight of this one
little stone would become a mad rush of

275
At St. Mary's

tumbling rock, and the pretty tinkling had
increased to a roar, which to our over-
sensitive ears seemed loud enough to
awaken the very mountains themselves.

Eventually the whole mass would find
its resting-place in the valley below; and
then we would cease grating our teeth in
impotent rage, and creep on.

We finally reached the ridge, cautiously
approached our point selected, and peered
over.

Nothing.

Disappointed, but not very surprised, we
passed on to a parallel ridge, a hundred
yards farther, which until now had been
hidden from view.

Again nothing. But stop!

Simultaneously we inclined our heads in
a listening attitude. ‘The far-distant tinkle
of rolling shale — a sound the significance
of which we were quick to appreciate —
met our ears. My glasses were out in an
instant; and a moment later I passed them
to my companion, directing him as I did
so to a point in the valley hundreds of feet
below. There, strung out in single file,
were eight Rocky Mountain sheep. They
were moving straight up the bed of a dry
ravine which headed, a few hundred yards
on, between two vertical cliffs.

276
At St. Mary's

The temptation was strong to run up
our sights, and take a chance shot; but
they were practically out of range, and
the noise would decrease the chances of
our seeing them later on. How beautiful
and how much to be desired did they
appear to us, and how supremely secure
did they seem to consider themselves !
They would trot a short distance, then
stop and look up in our direction, then on
again, in single file always, never bunched,
until finally, turning off to the right of
the ravine, they proceeded to perform some
wonderful gymnastics by taking their way
up what seemed to be a perfectly vertical
cliff, going from one ledge to another by
a series of the easiest and most graceful
leaps imaginable.

Half-way up the cliff they stopped, and
to our surprise began placidly grazing, as
though no enemy was within a hundred
miles. So far as securing them from where
we were, we might, indeed, have been a
hundred miles distant. We were sepa-
rated from them bya deep valley, and any
movement that way would be certain to
attract their attention.

No, there was no doubt that they had
heard and seen us, —saw us now probably ;
and the only thing left for us to do was

277
At St. Mary’s

to go back over the ridge, keep below it
on the farther side, pass clear around the
head of the intervening valley, and, coming
in from the opposite side, creep up to the
edge of the cliff to a point directly above
where our foolish mutton was so peace-
fully grazing.

It appeared but a short walk to our goal,
yet two hours were consumed in making
the distance. In order to keep ourselves
concealed from view during this brilliant
manceuvre, we necessarily lost sight of our
game; but as we neared our destination, and
made our stealthy, four-footed way to the
edge of the cliff, we were confident that
they would be where last seen, and we pre-
pared to drop our cartridges down among
them like a shower of hailstones. We
ought to get every one.

But we did not. They had not waited
for us. We could not explain it, and we
did not try. We cast a few rocks down
on to the ledge where we had last seen
them so unsuspectingly browsing, “just to
see,’ as Hardeman said, ‘how dead easy
they would have been;”’ and then, in si-
lence, we took up our carbines, and started
to retrace our steps campward.

The weariness of limb which we had
felt just before I made the unfortunate dis-

278
At St. Mary’s

covery of the sheep on the ridge, and
which had been forgotten from then till
now, suddenly returned with redoubled
intensity. Our carbines were heavy; and
we concluded, too, that to carry an excess
of ammunition, forty rounds for instance,
on a trip like this, was simply absurd.
Well, we were learning fast; and with
this comforting thought to cheer us, we
plodded on in silence. We were very glad,
in a despondent sort of way, when we
reached our horses.

We needed no “plain, blazed trail” to
follow on the homeward trip; our horses,
with a wonderful intelligence, took us at
a rapid gait straight back over the trail
we had followed coming up. At first we
often thought we knew better than our
beasts, and turned them right when they
would go left; but as every time we did
this we were forced to retrace our steps
to the point where we had turned off, and
give in to our horses’ better judgment, we
soon learned to let them have their own
way, and from that time on we never left
the trail.

Late that night we reached camp, and
first of all sought the guide. We wished
to have a little talk with him about “plain,
blazed trails.’ We found him, had our

279
At St. Mary's

talk, and then, feeling relieved and in a
better mood, ate a tremendous supper, and
betook ourselves to our tent.

We were weary and sore, but more de-
termined than ever to get asheep. ‘“ We
will go straight back to-morrow and bag
them sure,” said I, as I rolled myself in
my blanket that night.

«We will,” said my companion, falling
into an audible sleep.

The next day, Tuesday, broke bright
and warm ; and at an early hour we were
on our way. It proved to be a most unin-
teresting chase; we saw no game, though
we worked hard to find it. Again we
returned to camp empty-handed.

As our party sat discussing the next day’s
programme that night, after dinner was
finished and cigars were lighted, it appeared
that three of the gentlemen wished to go
to Red Eagle Lake, some ten or more
miles distant, to try their luck at catching
some of the wonderfully large trout said
to abound there. Their intention was to
take a camping outfit along, and remain
over night.

The “ sheep-chasers,’’ as Hardeman and
I were now called, having had enough of
Flat Top, proposed to accompany this
party, intending to make a side trip from

280
At St. Mary’s

the camp on the lake to a near mountain,
“Kootenai,” where, according to our
guide, we were “sure, dead sure,” to get
a shot at some sheep.

The next morning found us up with the
dawn, and busy making preparations for the
journey. Two docile mules were picked
out from the herd, aparejos were adjusted,
camping outfit packed, and at an early hour
we started.

Three hours of tedious travelling,
through timber very similar to that on
Flat Top, brought us to a beautiful park
near the lake. Camp was quickly pitched
and quickly deserted; the anglers heading
for the lake, my friend and I toddling
along in the footsteps of the guide, bound
for a “‘ sheep-lick ”’ some two miles distant,
where, we were repeatedly assured, we
would get “plenty of mutton, all right.”

We had appropriated the guide to our-
selves this day. He had told us so much
about the abundance of sheep on this Koo-
tenai Mountain, that we forgave him for
his “ plain, blazed trail” story of two days
before, and consented to let him show us
the place.

He led usa hard march for an hour and
a half; but our last two days of climbing
had accustomed our muscles to the un-

281
At St. Mary’s

usual exercise, and so, when we were finally
warned to “tread keerful” as we were ap-
proaching the lick, we were nearly as fresh
as when we started out. For the next
quarter of a mile we were fully occupied
in attempting to tread “keerful,” our hob-
nailed shoes and the slippery rocks com-
bating us at every step.

For some time we had been skirting
the mountain above the timber-line for
better walking. Now the guide led us
just inside the wood for concealment; and
soon rounding a projecting crag, and as-
cending a wooden spur running down the
mountain-side, we found ourselves peering
through the trees into a large, shallow
basin, treeless and rocky, and several hun-
dred yards across. Here and there in this
open could be discovered white patches
of earthy shale, and these were the sheep-
licks which we were seeking. They were
merely spots where salts exuded to the sur-
face from beneath, or were washed down
by seepage from above; but our guide had
informed us that when one once found a
lick he had a sure thing, as the game of
the surrounding country constantly visited
the place to satisfy their natural taste for the
salts found there.

Cautiously we parted the boughs and

282
At St. Mary’s

peered forth. We sought long and ear-
nestly among the rocks for any indications
of game, but with no result. To secure a
better view we gradually crept forward, un-
til at last we stood where we commanded
the whole basin.

Nothing — absolutely nothing.

We could scarcely believe it. We had
counted so much on this effort. But we
soon realized that our guide’s prognostica-
tions had proven incorrect, and we were
angry.

For a time nothing was said; then the
guide, seeing the gloom on our faces, evi-
dently thought it best to say something in
explanation. What he did say did not put
us in a better humor. He simply could
not understand it, that was all. He had
always found them there before, and he
did not see why they were not there now.

We said nothing, but sat down to rest
from that remarkable fatigue which always
attacked us immediately on the heels of a
disappointment.

I fell a-thinking. It really did appear
to be a favorable place for game. By ly-
ing under cover and waiting, we might yet
get a shot. But we were some distance
from camp, and the afternoon was fast
passing; we would have but little time

283
At St. Mary’s

to spare. The idea of remaining all
night was not entirely satisfactory ; as we
had nothing to eat, and nothing to cover
ourselves with during the long, cold hours
after sunset. But this was fast getting to
be a serious matter with us, this sheep-
chase; and it did seem that if we were ever
to secure a prize at all, now was our
chance. We would remain.

The proposition was promptly agreed
to by Hardeman, and the guide was told
to return to camp to let the rest of the
party know of our plans.

“Gets pretty cold at night,” said the
guide, pointing to a mass of snow lying
on the mountain-side a few feet above us.

We made no reply.

« Anything to eat with you?”’ pursued
the man, evidently dissatisfied with the
turn events were taking.

Our heads shook in unison a negative
reply.

He turned and left us.

To our right, and at some distance above
us, was a commanding position well cov-
ered with the usual scrubby, low-lying fir.
From here we judged we would be able
to get a view of the whole basin below
us; and here we now took our places,
some distance apart, Hardeman on my

284
At St. Mary's

 

 

 

A Sheep “Lick.”

right watching all approaches from his
side, I keeping a lookout to the left.

The mosquitoes and mountain-flies were
terrible ; and had it not been for the vile-
smelling mosquito “ dope,” which we car-
ried and used, we could scarcely have
withstood the pests.

We watched and waited, but without
reward. Several hours passed; and the sun,
shining full in our faces, dropped lower
and lower. From the valley below came
stealing toward us the shadows of the

285
At St. Mary’s

western peaks, blighting all they touched
with their darkened shapes, turning the
silver of the mountain streams to ink, veil-
ing the forest with a hood of gloom, si-
lently, relentlessly creeping up the slopes,
— higher and higher, — until at last they
entered our shelter, and sought us out.
The air grew chill; the leaves dropped
motionless.

The sun had set ; it was night.

Weary and stiff, and rather disgusted
with sheep-hunting as a means of sport,
we now betook ourselves to the timber
below, and began making preparations for
the night.

Selecting a smooth bit of ground, we
covered it with twigs of pine, chopped
with our hunting-knives from the  sur-
rounding trees. At the foot of our impro-
vised bed we built a fire; and its cheerful
warmth soon put us in better humor, and
made our eyelids heavy as well. We fell
asleep, and slept soundly until we slipped
into the fire, which may have been ten
minutes after slumber overtook us. Harde-
man and I were good travelling compan-
ions, each making a point of always doing
his part of the work, and undergoing his
half of the privations. I suppose that this
is the reason that neither of us, as he

286
At St. Mary's

picked himself out of the fire, evinced
any surprise at seeing the other doing the
same. Our bed, though smooth, was
sloping, the pine-needles were slippery,
and the fire was at the lower end of the
bed. We had fallen asleep at the same
time, side by side, began our unconscious
sliding race to the fire, and had come
in together, neither claiming any advan-
tage at the finish.

«A dead heat,’ suggested Hardeman,
as with one hand he fanned his ankle
with the frayed flap of his trouser leg,
and with the other he ceased touching the
sole of his shoe, which was filled with
hob-nails lately heated in the fire.

We discussed the idea of watching by
reliefs after this, but concluded that of
the two evils we preferred taking chances
with the fire; and so, climbing back to
our bed, we curled up “spoon fashion,”
and again fell asleep. To me it was a
night of sleeping moments and waking
hours, of toasted feet and frozen back ;
but with all the discomfort it was not
unpleasant, lying there on the soft bed, in-
haling the delicious fragrance of the resi-
nous pine, and looking up through the
motionless leaves to the starlit sky above.
All nature seemed, like us, to have gone

287
At St. Mary’s

to bed, so quiet was the night. During
one of my waking spells the moon came
out from behind a towering crag. Its
white light covered the forest and all
about us, and made the cheerful glow of
the fire appear a flickering red. Its rays
slowly passed from peak to peak, from
cliff to cliff, leaving in the recesses grew-
some shadows, and lighting up and bring-
ing nearer the projecting rocks. A huge
snow-bank on the mountain-side was
sought out, and made to do its part in
illuminating the night with its countless
numbers of sparkling jewels. ‘The mar-
mots came out from their homes in the
rocks ; and their shrill whistling soon filled
the night-air, echoing back and forth from
wall to wall, and sounding weird and un-
canny to the ear.

No, on the whole, that was not an un-
pleasant night ; and when dawn appeared,
and roused me out of my waking dreams,
it was almost with a shock that I remem-
bered where I was, and the practical na-
ture of the cause of my being there.

Long before sunrise we were in our
hiding-place of the evening before, shiver-
ing with the cold, and parrying, with cau-
tious movements, the repeated attacks of
the mosquitoes.

288
At St. Mary’s

Ten o’clock found us still in place, with
nothing to show for our pains.

But that hour brought the guide with
our breakfast; and as he approached us
straight across the basin, we considered
further concealment useless, and went out
to meet him. We sat down and ate, the
guide meanwhile telling us that he did
not understand the fact of there being
no sheep there, and occasionally causing
derisive smiles to pass between Harde-
man and myself, by pointing to various
spots where former hunters, trusting to
his leadership, had gotten so many sheep.
We considered these fairy-tales. Suddenly,
with an exclamation, “ Here they come,”
the guide jumped up, and ran behind a
large rock near by, making motion and
sound enough, it seemed to me, to attract
the attention of all of the animal kingdom
within a mile. Hardeman and I showed
our nerve (and were exceedingly surprised
at each other for it) by not moving a
muscle. Gradually we lowered ourselves,
and then, by slow, cautious wriggling,
managed to conceal ourselves behind the
rock in a sportsman-like manner. ‘Then,
and not till then, did we venture to look
up in the direction the guide was point-
ing. There, standing on a_ projecting

289
At St. Mary's

ledge on the very tip-top of Kootenai,
were six beautiful clear-cut figures against
the sky. They were “big horns.’ They
had not seen us evidently; but I shall
never understand how they missed the
gymnastics of that guide when he discov-
ered them and jumped for cover.

Would they come down? And, if they
came down, would they chance to ap-
proach us near enough for a shot? Oh
that we were back in our old cover where
we commanded the approaches from above.
We felt we were out of luck indeed. For
hours and hours we patiently lie in a spe-
cially chosen spot and not a lamb appears ;
but within five minutes after we come out
of concealment to a place where we can
make no movement without being seen,
and near which the game is not likely to
approach — then, suddenly, the mountains
are covered with sheep.

Yes, we seemed to be in hard luck.

We waited. We were well concealed,
and near one of the many licks. Just pos-
sibly this would be the lick preferred by
our wary mutton.

Finally a movement was noticeable
among them, and then one of them began
slowly descending the precipitous side of
Kootenai. Another and another followed,

290
At St. Mary’s

until all were winding their way down-
ward. Cautiously, suspiciously, they came,
the leader halting every few steps, and leav-
ing the trail to perch himself in a com-
manding position on some projecting ledge,
there to take an exhaustive look over the
rocks below. At each of these halts I
held my breath in suspense, fearful that
some unusual sound might startle our game,
and set them all running.

But down they came, nearer and nearer.
Would they turn as they reached the ba-
sin, and seek the nearest lick? If so, we
would not get a shot, for we could never
get within range without being seen.

We watched with painful intensity as
they approached this lick. Slowly they
came, daintily picking their way over the
jagged rocks, never a misstep, and scarcely
asound. They neared the turning-point,
reached it, and, without an instant’s hesi-
tation, the leader passed on, taking the
straight trail leading in our direction. We
looked at each other eloquently; they
were as good as ours. They had finally
gotten to within about three hundred yards
from us when they became hidden from
view. We stood this state of things for a
moment or two; and then the suspense be-
came too great, and we left our shelter with

291
At St. Mary's

the intention of ascending the slope of a
small spur or ridge near us. Over that
spur we should now be able to see our
game. We started out, creeping very, very
cautiously. The slope was steep, and we
had difficulty in going up without disturb-
ing the rock.

« Look!”

Bang! Bang!

Six badly frightened and unhurt “big
horns’? were scampering over the rocks.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Bang! A perfect fusillade rang out. Over
a ridge and around a crag disappeared six
leaping forms.

It had taken about thirty seconds. Sud-
denly, as we were nearing the top of the
ridge, the animals had appeared on our
left, had immediately seen us, and stopped.
I had seen them as they appeared, had had
but one idea, — that they would get away
if not instantly shot, — had called out, and
turning, as I half knelt, half lay, on the
slope, had fired off-hand, and — missed.
Hardeman had done the same thing. We
had then both jumped up, and fired a half-
dozen bullets in the general direction of
the fleeing game, without in the slightest

292

 
At St. Mary’s

degree taking aim. The frightened but
unhurt animals had disappeared; and we
now found ourselves looking at each other
in a dazed sort of way, not just realizing
for a second what had taken place. But
it dawned on‘us soon enough.

Hardeman broke the silence.

«Why, they were not more than fifty
yards away,” said he in an incredulous
tone; then, as the full extent of the calam-
ity broke upon him, he shrieked, “Great
Heavens, man! We have missed them !
We have missed them, I tell you.”” I was
aware of this, and made no reply, but re-
mained sitting where I was, elbows on my
knees, and head between my hands. I was
trying to puzzle out ow we had missed
them.

«And they were not over fifty yards,”
said Hardeman, his voice taking on a dis-
couraged tone of conviction. ‘ Not an
inch over fifty yards, and we missed them,
we— missed —them.” He fell to musing
again.

We had forgotten the existence of our
guide until now, but we were made aware
of it by hearing a subdued chuckling as
he appeared from behind the rock where
we had left him. His chuckling was not
well-timed, and I reached for my rifle.

293
At St. Mary's

Hardeman saw the movement, and said, in
a weary tone, “ No use; you couldn't hit
him.”

« But you could,” I rejoined politely.

As we sat there in silence, ever wonder-
ing how we could have missed those sheep,
and now and then casting our eyes along
the rock, where it seemed onc or two must
be lying, a marmot came out of his hole
near by. Running down the slope a dis-
tance, he sat up and whistled at us in an
impudent manner.

“« How far?” said Hardeman, cocking
his piece.

“Fully a hundred yards.”

He fired; and the little animal, minus
his head, rolled down the shale.

«« And we missed a sheep at half that dis-
tance,” mused Hardeman.

Our return to camp was an unhappy
one. The gentlemen left there the day
before, having had excellent luck in their
piscatorial chase, were in good humor on
our arrival, and greeted us with many ex-
pectant salutations, which, it seemed to me,
were unnecessary, and would have been
appropriate and funny in Life’s “Useless
Questions.”” But we were in an humble
frame of mind, and did not resent their in-
terrogations.

294
At St. Mary’s

“Oh, yes” (smilingly); “we were
back.”

““ No; we had no sheep.”

“Any shots? Well, yes; we had gotten
a shot at some.”

“Yes,” yelled Hardeman, jumping up
and wildly gesticulating, “yes; we did get
some shots, and we missed ’em, and they
weren't fifty yards away, and there wasn’t
any excuse—and we are a couple of
chumps, that’s what we are.”

After this frank statement of the facts,
there was nothing more to be said; and we
were soon packed up, and picking our way
back toward our permanent camp.

The next day found everybody out of
camp but Hardeman and myself. We had
not had much to say, both of us thinking
the same thing, both afraid to utter our
thought.

Finally I could stand it no longer.

Hardeman was sitting in the tent driv-
ing some hob-nails in the soles of his shoes.
I was standing in the doorway, my eyes
fastened on Kootenai, in misty view from
here.

“TI wonder if they will return,” I said,
musing to myself.

“Eh,” said Hardeman, in a suspiciously
eager tone.

295
At St. Mary’s

“JT say,” said I, “that they will un-
doubtedly come back to the same place.
We did not have a fair show yore I
continued tentatively.

«“ Yes; we were taken unawares.”

I looted over my shoulder at him, and
caught his eye.

“All right,” he answered; and in a few
moments we were retracing our trail of
yesterday, some bacon and coffee in our
saddle-bag pockets, and two men following
to take care of us.

We were going to try them once more.

Three hours later two figures might
have been seen toiling up the steep side of
Kootenai Mountain. They were on the
side of a deep ravine, going slowly, and, in
spite of the loose rock, going noislessly.
Far above them, near the head of the
ravine and on one side, stood a clump of
fir-brush. A half-hour later they had
gained this shelter, and were lying side by
side, softly panting from their exertions.
Shortly one of them, leaving his carbine,
cautiously crawled to the edge of a ridge
separating the ravine up which they had
been creeping from another and deeper one

296
At St. Mary's

to the right. Slowly his head was raised
until the eyes looked over the ridge.
Slowly the head was lowered again, and
slowly did the body wriggle back to the
side of its companion. ‘Turning his head,
the other caught the look in his eyes,
and his lips formed the unspoken words,
“How many?” Eight raised fingers gave
definite reply.

Together they now made their way up-
ward, and in a moment were lying prone
just below the line of the ridge, their eyes
drinking in the sight of a bunch of eight
Rocky Mountain sheep not a hundred
yards distant, quietly licking the outcrop-
ping salt from the earth.

“Well, we've got them,” whispered
Hardeman, as he quietly took from his
belt a half-dozen cartridges, and spread
them out for quick use on the ground by
his side. .

“We have,” I nodded, adjusting the
sight of my carbine for a “ half-point”’
windage to the left.

Two gleaming barrels were slowly
thrust over the edge, and all was silent.
One, two, three seconds —then two re-
ports that sounded as one.

Six animals fleeing in six different di-
rections. Three more reports in quick

297
At St. Mary's

succession, and the number of fugitives les-
sened by one.

Again four shots rang out — those two
figures seem to think they are skirmish-
ing at the Department Rifle Competition.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

«That last one dropped at two hundred
and fifty at least,” said Hardeman coolly,
as the last of the animals remaining unhit
disappeared behind the rocks.

“That last one’ proved to have five
bullets in him.

“Well,” said I, as a half-hour later we
were sitting on the carcass of one of our
sheep which had slipped off my shoulder
while we were carrying it together, and
had sent Hardeman rolling down the shaly
slope, “well, let’s recapitulate. This is
our fifth day out, and the score stands as
follows : —

“Sheep seen, eight. Cartridges fired,
twelve. Hits: on the stand, two; on the
run, six. Misses: on the stand, none; on
the run, four. Killed: on the stand, two;
on the run, two. We have retrieved our-
selves, my friend, and may hold up our
heads again.”

«« And we missed those things yesterday
at fifty yards,’ mused Hardeman.

298
HUNTING MUSK-OX

WITH THE DOG RIBS

By Frank Russell
 
 

 

  

 

  

XN the seventh of July,
1893, I landed at
Fort Rae, an isolated
and insignificant sta-
tion kept by a chief
trader of the Hud-
son’s Bay Company.
Rae lies sixty miles
north of the main

body of the Great Slave Lake, and about

nine hundred miles north of the last rail-
way point. The main object of my jour-
ney to the Far North was to obtain
musk-ox for museum specimens. I had
chosen Rae as my headquarters; as it is
the nearest post to the Barren Ground,
which occupies the northeastern portion
of the continent beyond a line drawn

301

 
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

from the mouth of the Churchill River
to the mouth of the Mackenzie. The
musk-ox are now hunted by the Eskimo
from Hudson’s Bay and the shores of
Coronation Gulf, and by the Indians from
Fort Good Hope to the eastern end of
the Great Slave Lake. They were found
ten years ago at the edge of the timber;
but they have been hunted during the last
few years for their robes, until they have
been driven back from one to two hun-
dred miles beyond the limit of forest
growth. I expected to engage Indians to
accompany me into the Barren Ground
during the months of October and No-
vember. I secured the services of a young
Indian at the fort, who I soon found
would not be of any use as “ either man
or boy;” and as there were no others
available as interpreters, I was of neces-
sity interpreter, official head, dog-driver,
hunter, artist, naturalist, and cook of the
expedition, though the duties of the last
functionary never became very onerous.
Difficulties soon arose to prevent the
accomplishment of my plans. The In-
‘dians decided to abandon the fall hunt
altogether; as the days are short, and severe
storms prevail at that season, making the
trip into the Barren Ground extremely

302
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

dangerous. Four years ago a man was
lost and never seen again, and each year
one or more hunters are stricken with
paralysis resulting from the hardship and
exposure.

There was no alternative but to wait
until spring, when the longer days and
milder weather would permit us to travel.

Another, quite unexpected, obstacle was
the superstition of the Indians, which man-
ifested itself when I attempted to make
a summer trip into the Barren Ground.
They firmly believed that the animals
which I sent down to be mounted would
live forever, and would be in such a
happy state that they would induce all
the vast herds of musk-ox and reindeer
of the Barrens to migrate, and join them
in the mysterious ‘ Mollah Endah,” or
white man’s country.

Although they looked upon any white
man not connected with the Company as
lawful prey, who was to pay exorbitant
prices for their services because “ you are
rich and we are poor,” their superstition
was stronger than their cupidity. On the
fourth of March I told a party of four,
who had come to the fort for ammunition
for the hunt, that I was going with them
whether they wanted me to do so or not.

303
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

With the aid of the fort interpreter we dis-
cussed the matter until midnight. Johnnie
Cohoyla, a petty chief, was leader of the
party. He finally consented to “look after
me,’ which meant to look at me doing
my own work, and to cook for me —if I
purchased meat for him and his family,
which became surprisingly large in a short
time. In return I agreed to pay two
«‘ skins,” or one dollar a day, and supply
tea for our party during the trip.

We started late on the 5th for the Indian
camps at the edge of the timber. I was
not in a cheerful mood as I hitched in my
dogs for the long journey, which the Dog
Ribs emphatically declared would kill me,
as they, accustomed to such a life, ‘found
it hard.”’ I would have to walk or run on
snow-shoes the entire distance, and not lie
in a portable bed or cariole, as do most
travellers in the interior of the Far North,
while some native driver attends to the
team. I would not hear an English word
for two months, and the antagonism of the
unwilling Indians must prove a source of
constant annoyance.

My outfit consisted of a 45—go Win-
chester and ammunition, fifteen pounds of
dried caribou meat, eighteen pounds of
frozen bread, several pounds of tea, and a

304
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

few ounces of salt. My bedding consisted
of a single four-point blanket sewed to a
light deerskin robe.

Johnnie tried to “ plant”’ me on the hun-
dred and fifty mile trip to the camps. He
would have walked that distance in two

 

“
ec MUSK-OX
“MOUNTAINS }!
Ty

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Map of the Country Traversed, showing the Author's
Route from Fort Rae.

days, but his dogs were not equal to the
task ; and though they were beaten until
their heads were bruised and bleeding, they
could not reach our destination in less than
three days. My ankles troubled me with
the torturing ma/ de raquette, which made

305
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

me very glad to see the dirty, smoke-
begrimed lodges with their swarm of dogs
and half-naked children. The whole camp
was soon wrangling over my last pinch of
salt. I was dependent upon my rifle or the
Indians for meat, which with tea made up
the bill of fare for the next two months.

The Dog Ribs were not ready for the
great Etjerrer-kah, —musk-ox hunt. They
must first make new snow-shoes, sled-lines,
and moccasins; caribou must be killed, and
pounded meat and grease prepared. We
moved our camp twice during the next
three weeks, which interrupted the dreary,
monotonous rubdub of the Dog Rib drums,
to the beating of which the beggars sat
and gambled from early morning until
midnight.

On the evening of the 28th my dogs
were not to be found at feeding-time: “Te-
kah ils mangeaient vos chiens as’soir,’
said Johnnie. “‘ Yazzy tekah thlohn,”’ said
the others. ‘The wolves will eat your
dogs to-night.”

«Yes; the wolves are very numerous.”
Without the dogs I could do nothing ;
missing this opportunity I must remain
another year in the country, or go back
to Iowa without these, the most difficult
to obtain of American mammals. After a

306
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

long search the next morning, I found two
of them feeding upon the remains of a car-
ibou six miles from camp; and by 3 P.o.,
just as I was concluding arrangements to
buy two miserable little giddies, the other
two dogs made their appearance. I felt
that a year of my life had been restored !
An hour later we started on the grand
hunt, in which only the best men engaged,
the women and children, of course, remain-
ing at the camps in the woods. ‘There
were eleven Indians in the party, with two
lodges, — Johnnie in charge of mine, with
three other Indians. On the second day
we traversed a long, narrow lake called Ten-
endeatity. Early in the afternoon, from
the summit of a lofty granite hill, I be-
held the Barren Ground for the first time.
Behind us lay the rugged hills, their slopes
clothed with stunted pines, upon which a
bright sun was shining. Before us were
hills still more precipitous and barren,
everywhere strewn with angular blocks of
granite—a monotonous, dreary waste,
from which a snow-storm was swiftly ap-
proaching. Half-acre patches of pines
from one to three feet high still appeared
for a few miles, but our lodge-poles were
cut that day; these were trimmed -down
so slender that they would afford little fuel

307
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

 

 

  

Ready to Start.

   
  
  

for the return trip; each

sled carried four poles fourteen
feet in length. The country was
so rough that we only travelled thirty-
five miles.

On the fourth day we encamped in, 2
little clump of pines on the Coppermine
River. The Dog Ribs called this stream
Tson Ta. It takes its rise in a large lake
called Ek-ah Ta, which is two days’ jour-
ney in length. This was the last outlier
of the timbered country, and henceforth
fuel had to be carried on our sleds. The
largest of the trees reached a height of

308
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

twenty-five feet, with thick, twisted, and
much-branched trunks. We left the Cop-
permine with our sleds loaded, as heavily
as the dogs could haul, with wood, cut and
split into billets of convenient size. What
a luxury a good oil-stove would have been !
As we were about to start, “ Jimmy the
Chief,’ who was leader of the band, and
by far the most intelligent man among
them, after a long look eastward, turned
to me and said, ‘‘A-ye tetchiu touty, nit-
zy nitchah, yazzy edsah.” ‘This is the
woodless country where the blizzards blow,
and it is always cold.”’ ‘Then drawing his
old gray blanket closer about his shoulders,
and grasping his double-barrelled smooth-
bore, he set off at a rapid pace, the seven
trains falling into line upon the track of
his snow-shoes.

We followed the course of a small
stream called Kwe-lond Ta for about forty
miles, until we reached a lake at least
thirty miles in length, called Yambahty.

On the seventh day I killed a male cari-
bou, four or five years old, still bearing
his antlers, though we are told that the
bucks shed them early in December.
Half the caribou still carried their antlers.

As we advanced that day the hills be-

came more rolling, with gravel and peb-
309
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

bles, but fewer bowlders. Wherever the
wind had swept the surface clear of snow,
the reindeer moss (Cladonia rangiferina)
and tufts of low grass appeared. Toward
evening we passed a few old musk-ox
tracks.

On the ninth day we traversed the lar-
gest lake seen north of the Great Slave
Lake, which I think must have been the
Cogead Lake of Hearne, and called by
my companions Coahcachity. Away to-
ward the northern end of the lake four
or five peaks were visible. ‘Two of these
were lofty cones, standing pure white in
their snow-mantles, identical in size and
shape, with almost perpendicular sides.

We crossed two gravel ridges trending
southeast and northwest, and again en-
countered the hills of naked granite strewn
with great angular bowlders, which neces-
sitated constant watchfulness to prevent our
sleds from being broken.

These vehicles were the common birch
flat sleds of the North, fifteen inches in
width, and seven feet in length. They
soon became grooved from end to end by
the sharp points of rocks lying just below
the surface of the snow, which ploughed
across the bottom, ordinarily as smooth as
glass, and made them much harder for

310
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

the dogs to haul. Still Jimmy’s old gray
blanket led the way straight over the hills,
never swerving from a northeast course.
Sometimes we would ascend for an hour,
and then go pell-mell down a steep incline
for two or three hundred feet, holding
back our sleds with all our strength, yet
landing in the drifts at the bottom, with
the sled-dog dragging under, and the rest
of the team tangled in the harness.

The reindeer were now quite abundant,
and we had little difficulty in killing
enough for men and teams. My dogs
were keen hunters, and were always ready
to dash after the herds of gray-hued cari-
bou, which swept over the snowy slopes
like the shadows of swift-flying clouds.
The only way that I could restrain them
was to overturn the sled. In the evening,
when they were released from the harness,
they would pursue any caribou which
might appear near our camp, which
caused me considerable anxiety, as the
dismal howl of the never-distant wolves
gave warning of their certain fate if they
left the camp. One of the giddies was lost
in this way.

On the tenth day Johnnie, Zak three
other Indians and myself, separated from
the others, and turned a little more to the

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Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

northward. We were now in what the
Dog Ribs designated the Musk-ox Moun-
tains. After running about ten miles,
Esyuh, who was in advance, suddenly
turned, and began to make frantic gestures.
Over the hills, a mile away, appeared a
black object, closely followed by another
and another. No need for him to urge
us to hasten forward, or to tell us what
those huge rolling balls were. “ Etjerrer!
Tahy etjerrer!’’ Three musk-ox; anda
few seconds later the dogs were all released
and scattering out over the country, some
in pursuit, some on the back track, and
others trotting complacently along at their
masters’ heels. We followed as fast as
we could run. Then it was that I dis-
covered the advantage of having light
clothing, light guns and ammunition. I
was distanced by my companions, who
killed the musk-ox after a run of three
miles. As soon as the dogs reached them
they turned to defend themselves, and fell
an easy prey to the hunters, who were
soon upon them. Our lodge was set up
that night beside the fallen carcasses, and
our teams for once had all they could eat.
There were several hundred pounds of
meat with fat two inches in thickness on
the backs. Meat of excellent quality,

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Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

without the faintest
trace of musk per-
ceptible. That from
one of the animals
was tender, and as
well flavored as any
/ venison that I ever
\ ate. The others
\ si or were tough; but
ce the Dog Ribs
Vw preferred tough
meat to walking a
dozen yards to get
that of a younger animal. The complex-
ion of our diet was now changed: before,
we had enjoyed caribou ribs boiled, gar-
nished with handfuls of coarse gray hairs ;
now we had boiled ribs of musk-ox with
hairs of a brownish black.

I awakened next morning with a sense
of weight upon my blanket ; and my ears
were greeted with a rushing roar caused
by a northeast gale, which had covered
everything inside our lodge, to a depth of
a foot or more, with fine, flour-like snow.
The temperature was at least thirty de-
grees below zero. It was impossible to
face such a blizzard without freezing in
a few minutes. All landmarks were ob-
scured so that we could not continue upon

313

  

A Giddie.
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

our course. As we had only wood enough
for the time that we expected to be en-
gaged in actual travel, we could have no
fire on days like this, when we were com-
pelled to “lay to.” We remained in our
blankets until midday, when a kettle of
meat was (half) boiled, and we turned in
again. In the evening a fire about the
size of a cigar-box was kept up long
enough to boil a kettle of tea, one cup for
each man—we always wanted four! No
meat was cooked; for our appetites were
soon satisfied with the large sticks of white
frozen marrow from the long bones of the
musk-ox.

Throughout the following day the storm
continued with increased severity, and we
were forced to lie in the snow another
twenty-four hours.

My dogs never came inside the lodge
at night, but coiled themselves up in the
lee of the lodge, where the snow soon
drifted over them, giving warmth and
shelter. The twelve Indian giddies came
inside as soon as the last man rolled up in
his blanket at night. At first they spent
a few minutes fighting over the bones
about the fireplace, then they rummaged
through everything that was not firmly
lashed down. As a dog walked over a

314
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

 

 

    
 
  

On the March.

prostrate form the muffled “=
“marche” or “minitla’’ would =
quiet them for an instant, when their
snarling and snapping would break out
anew, until some of us would pick up a
billet of wood and “ pacify them.” After
we had once fallen into the sleep of ex-
haustion we were seldom awakened by
their fighting over us. In the morning I
would find two or three giddies coiled up
in the snow upon my blanket; the heat
of their bodies melted the snow, which
froze as soon as they left it, and made my
scanty bedding hard and stiff.

After sixty hours of such resting we

315

=
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

were quite ready to move on, as the
thirteenth day dawned bright and clear.
Early in the day we caught sight of a
band of forty musk-ox already in flight
a couple of miles distant. We chased
them six miles, but only one of our party
reached them, Wisho, who killed four.
We were very much fatigued from our
long run, and covered with perspiration,
which froze on our outer garments as we
walked back with the dogs to bring up
the sleds. It was after nightfall before
we set up the lodge, and cold, tired, and
hungry, sat shivering around a column of
smoke over which hung a kettle contain-
ing both meat and drink ; for our supply
of tea was exhausted, and we had to quench
our thirst with the greasy bouillon, or “te-
woh,” in which the meat was boiled.

The temperature was falling rapidly,
giving us some concern about Johnnie
Cohoyla, who had not returned. The
next morning I was awakened by the
monotonous wailing of his brother, Esyuh,
who was chanting the virtues of the lost
reprobate, and entreating the fates in gen-
eral, and the North Wind in particular, to
spare him.

Tunna hoola (a man is lost).

The Dog Ribs repeated the phrase with

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Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

significant glances at me, as if this «« Woh-
kahwe”’ accompanying them had offended
the Great Spirit, so that he had wreaked
his vengeance upon the man who had
allowed me to enter the Dog Rib hunting-
ground. A terrific gale with a tempera-
ture of thirty degrees below zero prevented
us from searching for the lost man; we
could only spend the day in our blankets,
while the snow drifted in and over all.

That was one of the most miserable days
I ever spent. I had tried twice to run
with the Indians, and failed to reach the
musk-ox; and there seemed to be no im-
mediate prospect of my getting any. The
musk-ox were not numerous, they said,
and our wood might fail before we secured
any more. Johnnie must have perished,
as no human being could live through a
night of such storm without protection,
and it was thirty-six hours before we could
search for him. We were shivering in our
blankets, even the Indians saying, “ Edsah,
yazzy edsah ’’ — (it is cold, very cold).

The next morning proved to be calm,
and we set off in search of Johnnie. I
had as great difficulty to keep my cheeks
from freezing as at any time during the
winter, though there was scarcely any wind
blowing.

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Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

After running about ten miles I was re-
called by the signalling of another searcher.
Johnnie had been found by his brother,
safely and snugly rolled up in a couple of
musk-ox skins which he had secured, where
he had been warmer than if in the lodge;
and with plenty of frozen marrow to eat
he had been quite comfortable.

On the sixteenth day we continued the
journey northward. With the field-glass
I discovered a band of fourteen musk-ox
on the summit of a high hill, so far away
that it was impossible to distinguish them
from the surrounding bowlders with the
unaided eye. In a couple of hours we
were within half a mile of them, and re-
leased the dogs, which soon disappeared
over an intervening ridge. My compan-
ions had concluded, from the way that I
had run, or failed to run, on the two pre-
vious occasions, that I could not run very
far, and that their best plan to keep me
from bringing a magazine-gun into com-
petition with their muzzle-loaders, was to
give the musk-ox time to get far enough
away so that they could plant me in the
race. I had prepared for this occasion by
taking off some of my clothing, and only
carrying the ammunition actually required ;
so that when they did begin to run at a

318
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

swift pace my snow-shoes clanked close
beside them.

We soon came upon eleven of the musk-
ox standing at bay in two little clusters,
hardly lowering their heads at the dogs,
whose ardor had been cooled by the statue-
like immobility of the noble animals.
Their robes were in prime condition; the
long hair and heavy, erect mane
gave them an im-
posing appear-
ance. To kill
them was simple
butch-
ery; yet
Thadno
choice
but to fire
as rapidly as
possible and
get my share
of them, as
they were all
doomed anyway.

On leaving
Fort Rae, John-
nie had agreed to
assist me in skin-
ning the game

killed; he now

   
  
     
   
 

ye
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

found that his own affairs would require
all his attention. Esyuh helped me to
skin two, while I finished the third by
moonlight, freezing my fingers in the
operation. He afterward demanded sev-
enty skins— thirty-five dollars —for his
labor.

It was impossible to skin the heads in
the darkness. I wrapped the skins around
them so that they would not freeze during
the night.

Another blizzard was raging in the
morning, which prevented moving, but
enabled me to attend to the heads, which
had not frozen very much; but the skins
around them were stiff and solid, so that it
was impossible to fold them up for trans-
portation.

I spent the day sawing the skulls in
halves, so that they might be loaded on
the sled, sitting beside a little smoke aris-
ing from the bones of the musk-ox, which
contained enough grease to burn, though
not very readily. Our fires were started
with birch-bark, a small roll being carried
by each man for that purpose. The pine-
wood was cut in sticks a foot in length,
and finely split, then built up in a “log
cabin’? or a cone. Each man took his
turn blowing to keep it alight, as the

320
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

wood was not dry, and the quantity so
small that it required constant attention.

We were destined to spend the next
day in the blankets, with the clouds of
powdery snow settling down through the
smoke-hole of our lodge upon us. We had
had but two meals a day since leaving the
Coppermine, and when lying storm-bound
we ate but one. When travelling, al-
though we were voraciously hungry before
nightfall, it was thirst which troubled us
the most, as we were running most of the
time.

Early on the nineteenth day we sighted
musk-ox while yet a long distance from
them. While ascending a steep hill I was
delayed by my sled sinking in the soft
snow until the great awkward balls into
which the skins were frozen, projecting
at the sides, made the load drag heavily.
When I reached the top the others were
a quarter of a mile in advance, and instead
of waiting for me to come up, they had
released their dogs, and were likely to kill
every musk-ox before I could reach them.
Johnnie, remembering the havoc which
my Winchester was liable to make in his
fur returns, thought best to “suspend the
rules”’ of the hunting-code, and let me
buy of them if I wanted any musk-ox.

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Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

Without releasing my dogs, which were
wildly tugging at their collars, I started
forward with little hopes of killing any
musk-ox, but in excellent humor for
slaughtering a few Dog Ribs. Fortune,
however, smiled upon me. Four bulls of
the largest size broke away together with-
out a dog in pursuit, and came within
range. ‘This was not so much like butch-
ering them; they were running much
faster than I could on snow-shoes, and had
a chance for their lives. I killed two as
they passed me about a hundred yards dis-
tant, and wounded the others so that they
were bagged after a run of halfa mile. I
had now killed seven musk-ox, and had
as many on my sled as the Hudson’s Bay
people had told me it was possible to haul.
When Johnnie returned from chasing the
scattered herd, I stated my plain and un-
biassed opinion of him in all the Red River
French and Dog Rib that I could com-
mand. His deprecatory “Yazzy”’ changed
to a sheepish “ Nazee”’ (good) when I
informed him that I had secured all the
robes that I wanted. He refused to carry
a skeleton for me at any price ; not evena
head or half a split skull would he carry,
though I gave him two robes for carrying
back the lodge.

322
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

The next day was spent in camp; the
others were engaged in skinning the ani-
mals killed, and in boiling bones for grease
to eat on the return trip. I thus had an
opportunity to prepare the two skulls for
transportation.

On the twenty-first day of the hunt
we started homeward — the turning-point
of the expedition. We were all heavily
loaded with the loose bulky skins. The
sleds were frequently overturned, and if
our dogs had not been in unusually good
condition, would never have been brought
out at all. My load extended over both
ends of the sled, and was nearly as high as
my shoulders, with the four lodge-poles
on top, making it no easy matter to keep
everything lashed firmly.

On the twenty-third day a blinding
snow-storm prevented moving before mid-
day, when we pushed on through the soft
snow, without meat for ourselves or the
dogs. On the return trip we only secured
five caribou, which was less than half ra-
tions for five men and sixteen dogs.

We were now burning our lodge-poles
for fuel. On the night of the twenty-fifth
day the lodge was set up for the last time,
with two poles only, and with our sled
lines made fast to the circle of sleds, which

323
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

 

 

A Running Shot.

were always enclosed, gave sufficient sup-
port. We started at 6 a.m., determined
to reach the Coppermine, some fifty miles
distant, before camping. In the afternoon
we came upon a lodge-pole, standing be-
side a sled-track which we had followed
all day, upon which a line written in the
syllabic characters informed us that Jim-
my’s party was to reach the woods that
evening also.

At half-past ten, after sixteen and a half
hours of continuous travelling, we reached
the little grove of pines, which seemed
more welcome than any harbor to the

324
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

storm-tossed sailor. We were all too much
fatigued to cut much brush, and fell asleep
in a little hole scooped in the snow, before
a few logs which made such an uncomfor-
tably hot fire that we did not enjoy it as
we had anticipated. But we would no
longer have to sleep upon snow or flat
rocks; we would not have to sleep with
our moccasins and frozen blanket footings
next our bodies to dry them, and at noon-
day we could have fewoh to quench our
thirst.

After five hours’ rest we were awakened
by Jimmy, who reminded us that there
was nothing to eat, and that we must push
rapidly on. My load weighed over five
hundred pounds, and the dogs were getting
pitifully weak. I pushed. on the sled, and
carried a load on my back to assist them.
We were three days in reaching the camps.
We only rested five hours at night, and
then hurried on again, as the teams were
failing rapidly for want of food. On the
twenty-eighth day the first signs of a thaw
appeared ; the snow softened just enough
to cause it to stick to our snow-shoes, so
that it made them heavy to carry, and,
worse still, lumps of ice would accumulate
every few minutes which soon blistered the
bottoms of our feet over the entire surface.

325
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

On the last two days before reaching
the camps the heavy snow-shoes caused the
mal de raquette to reappear, which made
it simply torture to move; yet we were
now in the woods, where the soft snow
required heavier work in the management
of the sleds.

At two in the afternoon of the twenty-
ninth day we reached the vicinity of the
camping-place from which we had started,
and fired several rounds to announce our
arrival. A few minutes later we dashed
into—a deserted camp. The lodges were
gone, the snow had drifted over their sites.
Their skeleton poles offered a dreary wel-
come to us, as, tired, hungry, and disap-
pointed, we fcencd away in no pleasant
humor to follow the track along which a
line of slanting poles indicated the direc-
tion of departure. We were upon an old,
hard track from which the sled frequently
overturned into the soft snow on either
side, and my dogs were about giving up
altogether. A great deal more powder
was burned as we approached the camps
three hours later. As I passed one of the
first lodges, my sled swayed off the track,
and caught against a tree, much to the
amusement of a couple of young women,
who, after watching my attempts to right

326
Hunting Musk-Ox with the Dog Ribs

it, remarked, “ Yazzy Wahkahwee nat-
suthly ’’ (the white man is weak, indeed).
One of them grasped the sled-line to show
me how to straighten up a load, and
tugged and hauled and tugged again with-
out producing the slightest effect. I am
afraid that I laughed very ungallantly as
the discomfited maiden fled to the shelter
of the lodge. Mrs. Jimmy came to me
with a very cordial greeting, exclaiming,
« Merci, Merci — Cho. Nazee etjerrer-
kah”’ — (“ Thanks, big thanks, for the
good musk-ox hunt’’) ; evidently ascribing
our success, in a measure, to my presence.

It was nearly midnight on the fourth
of May when my weary dogs crept over
the hill into Fort Rae, and halted at the
door they had left two months before.
The long march of eight hundred miles
was over; but the goggles and snow-shoes,
the whip and harness, were not suffered to
be long laid aside, for five days later I
had started on the far longer journey down
the Mackenzie.

327