Samson and I go on a moose hunt--Samson's clever tracking--He comes
up with the moose and tries a shot--No bullet in the gun--Two
dejected hunters return to the camp--We have better luck next
time--Roses make a thorny path--We disturb a band of wolves--Samson
stampedes them with his riding-whip--"Firing Stony" and I go
hunting--I bring down a noble elk--Novel method of fishing.
One day I went with Samson on a moose hunt. We set out early in the
morning, walking fast, and sometimes running for awhile. About ten
o'clock, after hours of tramping through dense forest and wading
through many swamps, we came upon the track of a big buck moose.
Samson looked at the hoof-prints, and also at the ends of brush which
had been bitten off by the huge fellow as he fed by the way. Finally
he said, "Let us sit down for a little while, and let me think." I
watched him as he lit his pipe and slowly puffed and thought out his
plan of campaign. At last he rose and said, "That moose may be close
to us. You stop right here, for should I miss him or only wound him,
he is bound to run right past here. If so, you will have a good
shot; so you stay here and wait for me." I therefore sat down at the
root of a stout tree and waited and listened.
Presently a fine large jumping deer came within two rods of me, and
stood giving a long startled look around. I was strongly tempted to
fire at the handsome creature, but refrained for fear of disturbing
our larger game. Then the deer trotted on into the thicket, and I
continued to wait. By and by Samson came back, and bidding me follow
him, once more we took up the track. We strode along for perhaps an
hour, when Samson remarked, "There, we will not follow the track any
longer. He is resting, and I think he is in the centre of that clump
of trees" (pointing to a dense body of timber not far from us).
"See, his track passes straight on to the windward of that spot, and
he will make a circle and come back close to his own track. I think
he is there now. Let us go with the wind from here, and come around
and meet his track."
This we accordingly did, and sure enough, as we came in on our
circle, which was opposite to that of the moose, we presently met his
track. The canny fellow was outwitted and we had but to follow him
to his lair, which we proceeded to do with great caution. As we
approached the clump of trees close to the westward fringe of which
his outgoing track passed, we were moving on tiptoe, I stepping very
carefully in Samson's steps as he bent and wriggled around and
through amongst the twigs and brush.
Soon we came to where he had first lain down. Here was his bed.
Samson looked troubled for a moment, and whispered, "He may have
fled." Then he looked and said, "No, he is only moving his bed," and
with renewed caution we moved on slowly and carefully. Presently we
heard him cough as if a leaf had stuck in his throat. The brush was
very close, and now we could hear him breathe, and Samson signed for
me to step ahead and shoot him. But I considered that we had been
out nearly all day, and as we wanted the meat badly, I did not want
to take any chances on myself. So I signed back, "You shoot him."
Samson thereupon stepped ahead and fired, and I jumped beside him.
We heard the crash of the huge animal making from us, and sprang
forward in his track; but to our surprise there was no blood to be
seen. On we ran until we came to where I had sat and waited so long
and patiently. Samson saw that the moose had passed within three
yards of this place, and as there was still no sign of blood on his
track we were forced to the conclusion that there could not have been
a ball in Samson's gun. This might occur but once in a lifetime, yet
it was the only way of explaining the case in hand. He could not
miss him, the moose was so close and offered so large a target.
Very much disappointed, we turned our steps homeward. It was dark
before we reached the tents. We had gone far, the day had been long,
and we had not eaten anything since early morn. But optimistic old
Paul said, "The best of hunters often come home like you have. We
are not starving, there is plenty in camp, let us be thankful." We
could not but be cheered by the old man's words, but even to this
day, though thirty years have gone since then, I repent me that I had
not taken that shot.
About this time my cow presented me with a fine calf, and from thence
on we had milk as part of our provender. Of course the calf could
not keep up when we moved camp, so an old widow woman, Maria, made a
travois, and the calf was placed on it and thus was moved from camp
to camp.
One day Samson and I set off on horseback to reconnoitre the country
down east of where we had been hunting, in order to assure ourselves
that the enemy was not in the vicinity. We rode all day, and towards
evening, when about to make camp, Samson killed a jumping deer. Next
morning we shot a cow elk, and I found her calf, so we concluded that
with these we had about all our horses could pack home.
I had little Bob, or "Split Ear," as the Indians called him, and I
put the two smaller skins and half of the meat of the three animals
on him, all the time apologizing to the little fellow for doing so.
Then we started for home, leading our loaded steeds. Everything went
well until our moccasins gave out. The country we were in was rich
in roses. Beautiful tiny prairie rose-bushes, crowded with crimson
and pink and white blossoms with their delicate shadings and fragrant
aroma, were all around us, and everywhere under us, as our bare and
bleeding feet evidenced. Under such conditions we surely had "too
much of a good thing." And yet we did not like to leave any of the
meat. While we were thus proceeding painfully on our way we came
upon a sleeping band of prairie wolves. They had evidently gorged
themselves to the full and were now resting. I held both horses, and
Samson tiptoed in amongst them as they snored, and fetching his
riding-whip down full length across the side of a tremendous
she-wolf, he brought out of her a howl of mingled surprise and pain,
and then there was a stampede of wolves in every direction that was
amusing to witness. But while we laughed heartily and trudged on,
the rose-bushes seemed to multiply, and I bethought me of my
saddle-blanket, and again apologizing to my horse, I tore a strip
from it, and we wound that around our bleeding and bruised feet.
Twice I did this, until no more of the blanket could be spared from
the horse's back; and when the second wrapping was worn out I again
made profound apologies to my horse, and mounted on top of the meat
and hides. The sturdy little fellow, nothing daunted, trotted me
into camp, I promising to give him many days of absolute rest.
Another day I went out with one of our hunters called
"Firing-at-a-mark Stony." We generally cut his name short, calling
him "Firing Stony." He was a good hunter, but just then he was
suffering with weak eyes and had not done much on this trip. We rode
for miles, when presently I saw a buck elk in the distance, moving
across our course. We headed him off, and I said to my companion,
"Run to that bluff and shoot him." This he attempted to do, but
missed the elk. Then said I, "You have had your chance; the next one
is mine."
We kept on a few miles farther, when suddenly I saw a monster elk
feeding along the shore of a small lake. I seized my companion's
rein and pulled both horse and man out of sight as quickly as I
could. We hastily fastened our horses and approached the spot where
I had seen the elk. There was quite a promontory or hill down to the
spot where our game was feeding, and he seemed to be coming our way.
So I crawled to the top of this hill, and Firing Stony came behind
me. "If you miss him I will fire," he said. "Of course," said I,
"you are Firing Stony; you cannot do anything else but fire.
However, I am not going to miss him," and up to the top of the hill
we crawled. When I peeped over the summit the big fellow was almost
directly beneath me, and still calmly feeding; so I rose and shot him
right through the back, and down he tumbled. Firing Stony then ran
excitedly down and shot him in the head. "Why did you do that?" I
enquired. "To make sure of him," he responded cheerfully, "we
already missed one to-day." "You missed one, but I did not," said I,
and we laughed as we reloaded our guns and straightened the immense
creature preparatory to skinning him. We made a fire and roasted the
antlers, and were hungry enough to heartily enjoy a substantial meal.
Once more our horses were heavily laden, especially mine, for besides
half of the meat I had the hide; but this time it was not little Bob,
so I did not much care.
[Illustration: "Down we ran, and chased them across the full length
of the bar."]
I had with me my train of dogs, and as we were drying all the meat we
could spare for future use, I was glad to hear that there were fish
in a creek which ran from Spotted Lake into Buffalo Lake. So one day
I took a boy with me and a pack-horse, and whistling the dogs after
us, we galloped on to the creek. This I found to be made up of a
long bar on which the water was shallow, and deep holes, and sure
enough in the deep holes the fish were found in great numbers. I saw
these were suckers and jackfish; but while here were the fish in
plenty, we had neither nets nor spear, nor even a hook. How were we
to kill the fish? I sat down on the bank to study out some method
for this purpose. The day was clear and fine, with small clouds
scudding across the sky. Presently one of these clouds came between
us and the sun. As the sky darkened, I saw to my delight that the
fish came up out of the deep holes and started across the bar and
down stream. They were in the process of migrating. I called to the
boy to make ready, and he slipped off his leggings and I took off my
trousers, and we got some sticks and watched the sky. Now another
fleecy cloud was sailing athwart us and the sun, and up came the
fish, and down we ran, and chased them across the full length of the
bar, each of us killing quite a number as we ran. These we threw out
to the dogs, who ate them eagerly, and in a few hours we had killed
all our dogs could eat and all our horses could carry home. Indeed,
the boy's horse seriously objected to carrying any, for no sooner had
we got the animal packed and the boy astride of the pack, than there
was the biggest kind of a circus, and presently down came both boy
and fish. But we made the "bucking" brute pack most of the fish
home, and the boy rode the other horse as we rode back to camp.