We shall not introduce the animals we are about to inspect according to
a systematic classification, but bring them forward as they appear to
the eye of the traveller or sportsman, giving the largest and the most
important the first place. Our object is rather to view the
characteristic animals of each region we visit than to attempt a
scientific examination of the whole animated kingdom of the world--a
task which must be left to those who have far more time at their
disposal than we possess.
We will begin, therefore, with the animals belonging to the ruminantia--
the eighth in natural order; taking next the carnivora--the fifth; and
the smaller rodentia--the sixth; while the birds and reptiles will
follow in due course. Among these, however, we shall select only the
most notable and curious; for although North America does not teem with
animal life in the same degree as the southern half of the continent,
were we to attempt to introduce all those existing in it we could give
but a meagre account of each.
Without further preface, therefore, we will commence our survey with the
elk.
The monarch of the American pine-forests--the superb moose or elk--
ranges from the mouth of the Mackenzie River to the shores of the
Atlantic, at the eastern extremity of Nova Scotia, and passing the great
lake region, is found even as far as the State of New York. Observe him
as he stands with huge palmated horns ready for action, his vast
nostrils snuffing up the scent coming from afar; his eyes dilated, and
ears moving, watching for a foe; his bristly mane erect; his large body
supported on his somewhat thick but agile limbs, standing fully six feet
six inches in height at the shoulder, above which rise the head and
antlers. The creature's muzzle is very broad, protruding, and covered
with hair, except a small moist, naked spot in front of the nostrils.
He has a short, thick neck, the hair thick and brittle. The throat is
somewhat maned in both sexes. So large is the cavity of the nose, that
a man may thrust his arm right into it. The inter-maxillaries are very
long, and the nasals short. He differs from the European elk only by
having much darker hair,--the coat of the male, when in its prime, at
the close of the summer, being completely black. Under the throat the
males have a fleshy appendage termed the bell, from which grow long
black hairs. The bristles on his thick muzzle are of a lighter colour
than those of the coat, being somewhat of a reddish hue. The neck and
shoulders are covered with very fine soft wool, curiously interwoven
with the hair. Out of this the Indians manufacture soft, warm gloves.
The moose hair is very brittle and inelastic. It is dyed by the
Indians, and employed for ornamenting numerous articles of birch-bark.
The moose is of cautious and retiring habits, generally taking up his
abode amid the mossy swamps found round the margins of the lakes, and
which occupy the low ground in every direction. Here the cinnamon fern
grows luxuriantly, while a few swamp maple saplings and mountain ash
trees occur at intervals, and afford sufficient food to the moose.
It is to these regions the bull retires with his consort, and remains
for weeks together, claiming to be the monarch of the swamp; and should
he hear the approach of a distant rival, he will crash with his antlers
against the tree stems, making sudden mad rushes through the bushes, the
sound of his blows reverberating to a distance. He has also a curious
custom of tearing up the moss over a considerable area, exposing the
black mud by pawing with the fore-feet. He continually visits these
hills, and in consequence a strong musky effluvia arises from them. The
Indian hunter, by examining them, can ascertain without fail when they
were last visited by the animal. He utters loud sounds both by day and
night, described by the Indians in their guttural voices as "quoth,
quoth," but occasionally becoming sharper and more like a bellow when he
hears a distant cow. The cow utters a prolonged and strangely wild
call. This is imitated by the Indian hunter through a trumpet composed
of rolled-up birch-bark, when his dogs are in chase of the animal; and
the bull being by this means attracted towards him, becomes more easily
his victim.
During the early part of the year, and the summer, the antlers are
growing; but this process ceases early in September, when the moose has
got rid of the last ragged strip of the deciduous skin against the young
larch-trees and alder-bushes. He now stands ready to assert his claims
against all rivals. At this season the bulls fight desperately; often
the collision of the antlers of huge rivals, driven with mighty force by
their immense and compact necks, is heard to a great distance, like the
report of a gun on a still autumnal evening. They probably approach
from different directions, regardless of the rugged ground, the rocks,
and fallen trees in their course, bellowing loudly, and tearing up the
ground with their horns. Now they catch sight of each other, and rush
together like two gladiators. Now butting for some time till their
antlers become interlocked, perhaps both fall struggling to the ground.
Frequently portions of skeletons, the skulls united by firmly-locked
antlers, have been found in some wilderness arena, where a deadly fight
has occurred. A magnificent pair of horns thus interlocked is to be
seen in the Museum of the Royal College of Surgeons. Terrible must have
been the fate of the combatants, illustrating Byron's lines:--
"Friends meet to part;
Love laughs at faith:
True foes once met,
Are joined till death."
Captain Hardy says he has twice heard the strange sound emitted by the
moose, which, till he became acquainted with its origin, was almost
appalling. It is a deep, hoarse, and prolonged bellow, more resembling
a feline than a bovine roar. Sometimes the ear of the hunter is
assailed by a tremendous clatter from some distant swamp or burned wood.
It is the moose, defiantly sweeping the forest of pines right and left
among the brittle branches of the ram pikes, as the scaled pines
hardened by fire are locally termed. When, however, the moose wishes to
beat a retreat in silence, his suspicions being aroused, he effects the
process with marvellous stealth. Not a branch is heard to snap, and the
horns are so carefully carried through the densest thickets, that a
rabbit would make as much noise when alarmed. He will also, when
hard-pressed, take the most desperate leaps to avoid his foes.
Though he seldom or never attacks human beings when unassailed, he will
do so occasionally when badly wounded, if nearly approached. An old
Indian hunter had one day followed up a moose, and wounded the animal,
when it turned on him. There being no tree near, he jammed himself for
safety between two large granite boulders which were at hand. The
aperture, however, did not extend far enough back to enable him to get
altogether out of the reach of the infuriated bull, which set on him
with its fore-feet, and pounded him so severely that several of his ribs
were broken; indeed, for several years afterwards he was nearly bent
double by the severe beating he had received.
In the summer, when the plague of flies commences, the moose takes to
the water to avoid their bites. There are several species--one termed
the moose-fly--which are equally annoying to the hunter. The animal
strives to free himself from their irritation by running among bushes
and brambles; and should he reach a lake, he will plunge into the water,
allowing only his nostrils and mouth to remain above the surface.
Sometimes, indeed, he will dive altogether, and is frequently known to
hide himself from his pursuers by remaining for a long time below the
water. He also feeds upon the tendrils and shoots of the yellow
pond-lily, by reaching for them under water. An Indian, on one
occasion, was following the track of a moose, when it led him to the
edge of a little round pond in the woods, whence he could find no exit
of the trail. After waiting for some time, he beheld the head of the
animal rising above the surface in the very middle of the pond. While
hastening for his gun, which he had left at a little distance, the moose
made for the opposite shore, and emerging from the water, regained the
shelter of the forest ere he could get round for a shot. The animals
have been known also to visit the seashore, and one was seen swimming
off to an island over a mile distant, which he reached in safety.
The moose feeds chiefly on the leaves of young shoots and bushes, or the
smaller trees--the red and other maples, the white birch, the balsam,
fur, poplar, and mountain ash; and occasionally, as has been said, on
the roots of the yellow pond-lily, with a bite now and then at a tussock
of broad-leaved grass growing in the dried bogs. To get at the foliage
beyond the reach of his muzzle, he frequently charges a young tree and
rides it down, till he has brought the tempting leaves within his reach.
The horns of the animal begin to sprout in April, the old pair having
fallen some time before. In the middle of this month the coat is shed,
when the animal for some time afterwards presents a very rugged
appearance. The cow towards the end of May produces one or two calves,
generally near the margin of a lake, or in one of the densely-wooded
islands, where they are secure from the attacks of the bull moose, who,
cruel tyrant that he is, often destroys them. Rarely more than two are
born at a time.
Besides its human foes, the moose is attacked occasionally by the bear.
Captain Hardy describes coming upon the traces of a recent struggle
between a young moose and one of these animals. "The bear had evidently
stolen through the long grass upon the moose, and had taken him at a
disadvantage in the treacherous bog. The grass was very much beaten
down, and deep furrows in the soil below showed how energetically the
unfortunate moose had striven to escape from his powerful assailant.
There was a broad track plentifully strewed with moose hair, showing how
the moose had struggled with the bear, to the wood, where, no doubt, the
affair ended, and the bear dined."
As the winter approaches, the cows, with the young bulls and calves,
congregate in small parties on the open "barrens" and hill-sides. When
the snow comes thickly down, they form what is called a yard; and in
Canada, where its depth is very great, they have to remain in it during
the whole winter, feeding round the area on the young wood of deciduous
trees. In Nova Scotia, however, they migrate to other localities when
they have consumed the more tempting portions of food in the yard. In
the morning and afternoon they are found feeding, or chewing the cud;
but at noon, when they lie down, they are difficult to approach, as they
are then on the alert, employing their wonderful faculties of scent and
hearing to detect the faintest taint or sound in the air, which might
indicate the approach of danger. The snapping of a little twig, the
least collision of a rifle with a branch, or crunching of the snow under
the mocassins, will suffice to arouse them. Curiously enough, however,
they are not alarmed by any sound, even the loudest, to which they have
been accustomed. The hunter has, therefore, to approach the yard with
the greatest possible caution, in order to get a shot.
We will, however, start off on a moose hunt, in autumn, with a practical
Indian hunter. The air of the autumnal night is frosty and bracing.
The moose are moving rapidly from place to place. Night is drawing on.
The last fluttering of the aspens dying away, leaves that perfect repose
in the air which is so necessary to the sport. The moon rises, shedding
a broad and silvery light through the forest. Mysterious sounds greet
our ears. The Indian hunter is provided with his trumpet of birch-bark,
in the form of a cone, about two feet in length. He shelters himself
behind the edge of the banks, a clump of bushes, or rocks; and now he
emits the cry of the cow moose, so exactly, that the male animal is
easily deceived by it. He waits: there is no response. An interval of
fifteen minutes elapses; still no reply is heard. Again the Indian
sends his wild cry pealing through the wood. Presently a low grunt,
quickly repeated, comes from some distant hill; and the snapping of
branches and falling trees attests the approach of the bull. The hunter
is now doubly careful; kneeling down, and thrusting the mouth of his
call into some bushes close by, he utters a lower and more plaintive
sound. At length an answer reaches his ears. The snapping of the
branches is resumed; and presently the moose is seen stalking into the
middle of the moonlit "barren." Our weapons are ready; and as the
magnificent animal stands looking eagerly around in the woodland
amphitheatre, a rifle ball, laden with death, brings him to the ground.
In some districts the Indians employ another method of calling. They
conceal themselves in a swamp, in the midst of some damp mossy valley,
during a dark night. One holds a torch of birch-bark with a match ready
for lighting. The hunter calls, and the moose approaches more readily
than towards the open "barren." When the creature is within distance of
the deadly rifle, the match is applied to the torch, which, flaring up,
illuminates the swamp, and discovers the startled moose standing amidst
the trees, and incapable apparently of flight. The Indians declare that
he is fascinated by the light; and though he may walk round and round
it, he will not leave the spot, and thus presents an easy mark to the
hunter's rifle.
Let us set forth on an expedition to "creep" moose, which may be
described as a similar mode of hunting to stalking. The ground we
select is among the "barrens" before described. It is strewed with dead
trees in all directions, amid which briars and bushes have grown up, and
conceal their sharp, broken limbs, and the rough granite rocks scattered
in all directions. Here, collecting wood for burning, we form our camp,
and sit round the blazing fire, on which a well-filled frying-pan is
hissing, while we are covered by our blankets to protect ourselves from
the pattering rain-drops. Our suppers over, we stretch ourselves for
repose, and gradually fall asleep, as the snapping of the logs on the
fire, the pattering of the rain, and the hootings of the owls in the
distant forest become less and less distinct. Our Indian brings us
notice in the morning that two moose have passed close to the camp
during the night. However, in spite of the plaintive call from the
treacherous bark trumpet, they will not approach, having been forewarned
of danger by the smell of our camp-fire. We make our way amid the
bushes, already leafless, except that here and there are seen bunches of
dwarf maples with a few scarlet leaves of autumn still clinging to them.
Presently our companion whispers, "Down--sink down! slow--like me!" A
magnificent bull appears about five hundred yards off. The wind is
blowing from him to us. The Indian utters the usual call; but the moose
does not answer, having already a companion close at hand. Presently he
lies down in the bushes, and we worm ourselves slowly and laboriously
towards the edge of the alder swamp. Gently lowering ourselves into the
swamp, we creep noiselessly through the dense bushes, their thick
foliage closing over our heads. It is an anxious moment!--the slightest
snapping of a bough, the knocking of a gun-barrel against a stem, and
the game is off. "We must go back," whispers the Indian. "Cannot get
near enough on this side. Too open!" The difficult task of retreating
is performed without disturbing the moose. Another half-hour is then
employed in creeping like snakes through the wet bushes. At length, as
we reach the edge of the swamp, the great animal rises directly facing
us, gazing steadily towards us. We fire. A headlong stagger follows
the report; and the creature, turning round, is hidden from sight behind
a clump of bushes. The Indian at the same time fires at a large cow
moose who has, unknown to us, been lying close to the bull. We dash
forward a few paces. On the other side the great bull suddenly rises in
front of us and strides on into thicker covert. Another shot, and he
sinks lifeless at our feet.
The Cariboo, or Reindeer.
We have before mentioned the extensive tracts existing in North America,
which, from their desolate appearance, are appropriately called
"Barrens." Far as the eye can reach the whole ground is seen strewn
with boulders of rock and fallen trees, scattered round in the wildest
confusion. Here and there charred stumps rise from the green-sward; in
some spots clumps of spruce are seen, against which the white stems of
the graceful birch stand out in bold relief; while the bank of some
stream, or the margin of a lake, is marked by fringing thickets of
alder. In many parts are moist, swampy bogs, into which the sportsman
sinks ankle-deep at every step. The ground, however, is everywhere
thickly carpeted by a luxuriant growth of a species of lichen. It
possesses wonderfully nutritive qualities; so much so, that large
quantities of alcohol have lately been extracted from it, as well as
from other lichens growing in sub-arctic regions. It is the chief food
of the cariboo, which animal frequents these desolate-looking "barrens."
Visiting one of these "barrens," we may perchance fall in with several
of the noble-looking animals known in Europe and Asia as the reindeer,
though we must look sharp to recognise them; for so similar are they in
colour to the rocks and general features of the ground, that only the
keen eye of the Indian can easily detect them, especially when they are
lying down. Should we approach them on the weather-side, or should the
slightest noise be made, they will quickly detect us. Up they spring,
and after a brief stare, make off in graceful bounds at a rapid rate.
Now, having got beyond danger, they drop into a long swinging trot, and
proceed in single file across the "barren," till they enter the line of
forest in the far distance.
The cariboo of North America is a strongly-built, thickset animal,
compared to the more graceful of his relatives. He carries on his head
a pair of magnificent antlers, varying greatly in different specimens--
some palmating towards the upper ends, others with branches springing
from the palmated portions. In most instances there is but one
developed brow antler, the other being a solitary curved prong. The
back of the cariboo is covered with brownish hair, the tips of which are
of a rich dun grey, whiter on the neck than elsewhere. The nose, ears,
and outer surface of the legs and shoulders are of a brown hue. The
neck and throat are covered with long, dullish white hair, and there is
a faint whitish patch on the side of the shoulders. The rump and tail
are snowy-white, while a band of white runs round all the legs, joining
the hoofs.
As winter approaches, the hair grows long, and lightens considerably in
hue. Frequently, indeed, individuals may be seen in a herd with coats
of the palest fawn colour--almost white. The muzzle is entirely covered
with hair. The fur is brittle, and though in summer it is short, in
winter it is longer and whiter, especially about the throat. The hoofs
are broad, depressed, and bent in at the tip. The full-grown bucks shed
their horns, and it is seldom that they are seen in a herd after
Christmas. The female reindeer, however, retains hers during winter.
Several theories have been advanced to account for this. There seems no
doubt, however, that the object is to enable the female to protect her
fawns from the males, who are apt to attack the young and destroy them.
The cariboo is gregarious, and males, females, and young herd together
at all seasons; and by this provision of Nature the females are able to
defend the young, who would otherwise be subjected to injury. In
another respect these animals are wonderfully provided for the mode of
existence they are compelled to pursue. Not only have they to cross
wide snow-covered districts, but frequently to pass across frozen
expanses of water. To enable them to do this in the winter, the frog of
the foot is almost entirely absorbed, and the edges of the hoof, now
quite concave, grow out in sharp ridges, each division on the under
surface presenting the appearance of a huge mussel-shell, and serving
the office of natural skates. So rapidly does the shell increase, that
the frog does not fill up again till spring, when the antlers bud out.
With this singular conformation of the foot, it has a lateral spread;
and an additional assistance for maintaining a foothold on slippery
surfaces is given by numerous long, stiff bristles which grow downward
at the fetlock, curving over entirely between the divisions. The
cariboo is thus enabled to proceed over the snow, to cross frozen lakes,
or ascend icy precipices, with an ease which places him, when in flight,
beyond the reach of all enemies, except perhaps the nimble and untiring
wolf.
The cariboo is essentially a migratory animal. There are two
well-defined periods of migration, in the spring and autumn. Throughout
the winter it appears also seized with an unconquerable desire to change
its residence. One day it may be found feeding quietly through the
forests in little bands, and the next, perhaps, all tracks show a
general move in a certain direction. The animals join the main herd
after a while, and entirely leaving the district, travel toward new
feeding-grounds. Though often found in the same woodlands as the moose,
they do not enjoy each other's company. In severe winters the cariboos
travel to the southernmost limits of their haunts, and even sometimes
enter the settlements. Not being aquatic, like the moose, to avoid the
flies in summer they ascend the mountain ranges, where they can be free
from their attacks. The hunter, however, follows them, and their speed
being of no avail among the precipices, many are shot. During most of
the year the flesh of the animal is dry and tasteless; but it possesses
a layer of fat, two or more inches thick, which is greatly esteemed.
This, with the marrow, is pounded together with the dried flesh, and
makes the best kind of pemmican--a food of the greatest value to the
hunter. The cariboo lives in herds, sometimes only of ten or twenty,
but at others consisting of thirty or more individuals. They range
across the whole width of the continent, being found in great numbers to
the west of the Rocky Mountains, especially at the northern end of
British Columbia. Although specifically identical with the reindeer of
Europe, it has never yet been trained by Indians or Esquimaux to carry
their goods or draw their sleighs, as in Lapland and along the Arctic
shores of Asia.
The Wapiti, or Canadian Stag.
In the wilder parts of the Southern States of the Union, herds of the
magnificent Canadian stag or wapiti--popularly called the elk--range
amid the woods and over the prairies. Sometimes three or four hundred
are found in one herd, always led by an old buck, who exacts from them
the strictest obedience--compelling them to halt or move onward as he
judges necessary. Now the superb herd of long-horned creatures are seen
to wheel to the right or left, now to advance or retreat at the signal
he issues.
The wapiti is indeed a grand animal, growing to the height of the
tallest ox, and endowed with wonderful activity, as well as power. See
him as he dashes through the forest, his branched horns separating in
serpentine curves, six feet from tip to tip, laid close over his back as
he makes his way amid the trees. His head is of a lively,
yellowish-brown hue, the neck covered with reddish and black hairs, the
latter of considerable length, descending in a thick bunch below it.
They are among the fiercest of the deer tribe. The bucks often enter
into desperate contests with each other, battling--with their huge
horns--the fight frequently ending only with the death of the weaker
rival. Sometimes their horns have become so inextricably interlocked,
that both have fallen to the ground, and, unable to rise, have perished
miserably. They will frequently, when wounded, attack their human
assailants; and the bold hunter, if thus exposed with rifle unloaded to
their fierce assaults, will rue the day his weapon failed to kill the
enraged quarry at the first shot.
The wapiti, when pursued, will boldly plunge into the lake or broad
river, and breast the rapid current to avoid his foes; or will
occasionally, if hard-pressed, attack the bold hunter who ventures to
follow in his light canoe.
His cry is a sharp whistling sound, which rings through the air far and
wide on a calm day. He feeds on the branches of the trees and grass,
and in winter scrapes, with his powerful fore-feet, deep into the snow,
to obtain the lichens and dry herbage which grow beneath. His flesh for
several months in the year is dry and coarse, but his hide is much
prized by the Indians, who manufacture from it a leather of a peculiarly
soft character, which retains that quality after being wet,--instead of
turning hard, as is the case with that manufactured from other
deerskins. A remarkable feature of the wapiti is that the horns differ
in form almost as greatly as do those of the branches of trees, no two
specimens being found with them exactly alike.
The Karjacou, or Virginian Deer.
The most graceful of the deer tribe, the karjacou, scours in large herds
across the prairies, frequently entering the haunts of man. Yet so
easily is it scared that it takes to flight at the very appearance of a
human being. Curiously enough, however, it will again return to its
favourite feeding-grounds, even though the hunter's rifle may lay low
many of the herd. It is about the size of the fallow-deer, and of a
light brown hue. Its horns are slender, and have numerous branches on
the interior sides, but are destitute of brow antlers.
Let us watch a herd startled by our approach. Away they spring, leaping
into the air, turning their heads in every direction to ascertain the
cause of their alarm, and then rush off at full speed; but in a short
time, if they are not followed, we may see them return, especially as
night draws on, and crouch down in their accustomed sleeping-places.
Should a salt lake be near, they will come in vast numbers to lick up
with their tongues the saline particles adhering to the surrounding
stones, where the salt has crystallised from the evaporation of the
water.
They are at all times thirsty, and they require constant draughts of
pure water, to obtain which they are sure to visit the nearest stream or
spring as night is about to close over the scene. Wherever the
tenderest herbage grows upon the plain, there the karjacou comes to crop
it during summer. In winter he finds an abundant supply of food from
the buds and berries, or fallen fruits; or, when snow is on the ground,
he eats the string moss hanging in masses from the trees. He willingly
takes to the water, and will cross a lake or broad river, swimming at a
rapid rate with his whole body submerged, his head alone appearing above
the surface; thus he will often baffle his pursuers, even though they
may follow him with a boat. He has been known, indeed, when
hard-pressed near the sea-coast, to plunge into the ocean, and buffeting
the waves, to make his way far from the land, rather than be captured.
His flesh affords the Indian a large portion of his winter supply of
food, while his skin is manufactured into clothing, the leather from it
being especially soft and pliable. From the settlers in the western
provinces he receives little mercy, as, without hesitation, he leaps
their fences, banqueting on their growing corn or vegetables; and, after
doing all the mischief in his power, by his activity generally again
makes his escape. No animal surpasses in beauty the young fawn, the fur
of which is of a ruddy brown tint, ornamented with white spots arranged
in irregular lines, merging occasionally into wide stripes.
Like others of his tribe, the male is excessively combative when meeting
others of his own species; and a story is told of three animals thus
encountering each other in a desert, when all their horns becoming
entangled, they remained fixed, unable to separate, till they sank
together on the ground, their skulls and skeletons afterwards being
discovered, thus giving evidence of the combat and its fatal result.
The Antelope.
No animal of the American wilds surpasses the antelope in beauty. The
little creatures congregate in herds of many thousands, though, from the
exterminating war waged against them by the Indians, they have greatly
decreased in numbers. The size of the antelope is about that of the
common red-deer doe; the colour somewhat between buff and fawn, shaded
here and there into reddish-brown, and a patch of pure white on the
hind-quarters. This gives rise to the expression of the hunter, when he
sees it flying before him, that the creature is "showing its clean
linen." The ears are placed far back on the head, are very long, and
curved so much that at a distance they appear like horns, while the
horns themselves appear as if coming out of the animal's eyes; they are
long and slender, curving slightly backwards, and have no branches,
except a little bud, which is developed when the creature is about two
years old. The chief peculiarity of the animal is its lack of a dewlap.
The feet have no rudimentary hoofs like the deer, yet this want in no
way interferes with its speed. Often the creature may be seen for a
moment browsing not fifty yards off, the next it has dwindled to a mere
speck, and is in another lost to sight. They do not leap like deer, but
run with level backs, as sheep do, their legs glancing faster than sight
can follow. In vain the hunter attempts to follow the rapid movements
of the creatures on horseback. Perhaps they will let him approach to
within a short distance, and then away they float on a line at
right-angles to their former retreat. To come up with them, indeed, as
an American writer observes, is as hopeful an undertaking as trying to
run down a telegraphic message. The only way to get near them is by a
stratagem. They are not afraid of horses, and the hunter, by walking
behind his horse, may often approach a herd without being discovered,
provided the wind blows from them. He then pickets his horse with a
sharp stake, and sinking down in the grass he ties a bright-coloured
handkerchief to the end of his ramrod; he then crawls forward on hands
and knees, dragging his rifle, till he approaches still nearer, when he
remains concealed, and lifts his flag in the air. The antelopes, on
catching sight of it, stop browsing, and raising their heads, peer
towards it, exhibiting no signs of fear. For a moment he drops his
flag; the beautiful creatures then resume their repast, but their
curiosity gets the better of their prudence. Again they look forward,
when the flag is once more raised and waved slowly backward and forward.
The antelopes have now their curiosity excited to the utmost; for a
moment they stop irresolute, then advance a few steps snuffing the air.
Once more the flag sinks out of sight; they seem to be asking each other
what is the cause of the strange sight they have seen. Again it is
raised; they draw nearer and nearer, till they are within range of the
hunter's deadly rifle; he fires, and almost to a certainty one of the
beautiful animals springs into the air and tumbles head-foremost on the
ground. For a moment the survivors run off from their fallen friend,
but seldom go far. Once more they return within easy rifle-shot of the
hunter. Unless, however, he requires the meat, he must be greatly
lacking in right feeling if he slaughters uselessly so beautiful an
animal. The antelope becomes so easily confused, that when met on the
prairies it frequently runs headlong into the midst of the travellers.
The creatures are often killed by being surrounded, when the whole herd
are driven into an enclosed spot and become the easy prey of the hungry
hunters.
The Bighorn, or Mountain Sheep.
Amid the almost inaccessible peaks of the Rocky Mountains, herds of
animals with enormous horns may be seen leaping from rock to rock,
sometimes descending at one spring from a height of twenty or thirty
feet--when, the Indians assert, they invariably alight on their horns,
and by this means save their bones from certain dislocation. They are
bighorns, or mountain sheep, and are considered the chief game of these
regions. The animals appear to partake both of the nature of the deer
and of the goat. They resemble the latter more especially in their
habits, and in frequenting the most lofty and inaccessible regions,
whence, except in the severest weather, they seldom descend to the
upland valleys. In size the bighorn is between the domestic sheep and
the common red-deer of America, but is more strongly built than the
latter. It is of a brownish-dun colour, with a somewhat white streak on
the hind-quarters. The tail is shorter than that of the deer, and
tipped with black. As the age of the animal increases, the coat becomes
of a darker tinge. The horns, of the male especially, are of great
size, curving backwards about three feet in length, and twenty inches in
circumference at the roots.
Frequently on the highest spot one of the band is stationed as a
sentinel, and whilst the others are feeding he looks out for the
approach of danger. They have even more acute sight and smell than the
deer. On an alarm being given the whole herd scampers up the mountain,
higher and higher, every now and then halting on some overhanging crag
and looking down oh the object which may have caused them alarm; then
once more they pursue their ascent, and as they bound up the steep sides
of the mountains throw down an avalanche of rocks and stones.
Occasionally the young lambs are caught and domesticated by the hunters
in their mountain homes, when they become greatly attached to their
masters, amusing them by their merry gambols and playful tricks.
Attempts have been made to transport them to the States; but although
milch-goats have been brought to feed the lambs, they have suffered by
the change from the pure air of the mountains to the plains, or they
have not taken kindly to their foster-mothers, and have invariably
perished on the journey.
The creatures reach a height of three feet six inches at the shoulders,
while the horns are of about the same length. In colour they vary
greatly, changing according to the season of the year.
The Bison, commonly called the Buffalo in America.
Throughout the wide-extending prairies of North America, from north to
south to the east of the Rocky Mountains, vast herds of huge animals--
with shaggy coats and manes which hang down over the head and shoulders
reaching to the ground, and short curling horns, giving their
countenances a ferocious aspect--range up and down, sometimes amounting
to ten thousand head in one herd. They commonly go by the name of
buffaloes, but are properly called bisons. Clothed in a dense coat of
long woolly hair, the buffalo is well constituted to stand the heats of
summer as well as the cold of the snowy plains in the northern regions
to which he extends his wanderings.
Let us look at him as he stands facing us on his native plains, his red
eyes glowing like coals of fire from amid the mass of dark brown or
black hair which hangs over his head and neck and the whole fore part of
his body. A beard descends from the lower jaw to the knee; another huge
bunch of matted hair rises from the top of his head, almost concealing
his thick, short, pointed horns standing wide apart from each other. As
he turns round we shall see that a large oblong hump rises on his back,
diminishing in height towards the tail: that member is short, with a
tuft of hair at the tip. The hinder part of the body is clothed with
hair of more moderate length, especially in summer, when it becomes fine
and smooth, and soft as velvet. From his awkward, heavy appearance,
when seen at a distance, it would not be supposed that he is extremely
active, capable of moving at a rapid rate, and of continuing his
headlong career for an immense distance. So sure of foot is he, also,
that he will pass over ground where no horse could follow, his limbs
being in reality slender, and his body far more finely proportioned than
would be supposed till it is seen stripped of its thick coating of hair.
While his thick coat protects him from the cold, he is also provided
with a broad, strong, and tough nose, with which he can shovel away the
snow and lay bare the grass on which he feeds. Sometimes, however, when
a slight thaw has occurred, and a thin cake of ice has been formed over
the snow, his nose gets sadly cut, and is often seen bleeding from the
effects of his labours. It is said that when a herd comes near the
settlements, the domesticated calves, and even the horses, will follow
the buffalo tracks, and graze on the herbage which they have disclosed
and left unconsumed.
The flesh of the buffalo, especially that of the cow, is juicy, and
tender in the extreme. The most esteemed portion is that composing the
hump on its back, which gives it so strange an aspect. It is indeed
frequently killed merely for the sake of this hump, and the tongue and
marrow-bones. Sometimes, also, when parched with thirst, the hunter
kills a buffalo to obtain the water contained within certain honeycombed
cells in its stomach. The buffalo is provided with this reservoir, in
which a large quantity of pure water can be stored, that it may
traverse, without the necessity of drinking, the wide barren plains
where none can be obtained. Vast numbers, without even these objects in
view, are wantonly slaughtered, and the chief part of the flesh utterly
wasted, by the thoughtless Indians of the plain, who have thereby
deprived themselves of their future support. Many tribes depend almost
entirely for their subsistence on the buffalo, of which the flesh is
prepared in several ways. When cut up into long strips, and dried in
the sun till it becomes black and hard, it will keep for a long time.
It is also pounded with the fat of the animal, and converted into
_pemmican_--an especially nutritious food, which, if kept dry, will
continue in good order for several years.
The prairie Indians make use of the hide for many purposes. They scrape
off the hair and tan it, when it serves them for coverings for their
tents. It is also carefully dressed, when it becomes soft and
impervious to water. It is then used for clothing. Some of the tribes
also form their shields from it. The hide is pegged down on the ground,
when it is covered with a kind of glue. In this state it greatly
shrinks and thickens, and becomes sufficiently hard to resist an arrow,
and even to turn aside an ordinary bullet which does not strike
directly.
The buffalo is especially a gregarious animal, and is found in herds of
immense size, many thousands in number. Their dark forms may often be
seen extending over the prairie as far as the eye can reach, a mighty
moving mass of life. Onward they rush, moved by some sudden impulse,
making the ground tremble under their feet, while their course may be
traced by the vast cloud of dust which floats over them as they sweep
across the plain. They are invariably followed by flocks of wolves, who
pounce on any young or sick members of the herd which may be left
behind. They range throughout the whole prairie country, from the
"Fertile Belt," which extends from the Red River settlement to the Rocky
Mountains in British Central America, to Mexico in the south. The bulls
are at times excessively savage. They often quarrel among themselves,
and then, falling out of the herd, they engage in furious combats,
greatly to the advantage of the pursuing wolves. In the summer, the
buffalo delights in wallowing in mud. Reaching some marshy spot, he
throws himself down, and works away till he excavates a mud-hole in the
soil. The water from the surrounding ground rapidly drains into this,
and covers him up, thus freeing him from the stings of the gnats and
flies which swarm in that season.
The buffalo is hunted on horseback both by whites and by Indians, though
the sport is one in which a considerable amount of danger must be
braved. Let us set off from a farm in the Western States, on the border
of the prairie. We have one or two nights to camp out before we reach
the buffalo grounds. Mounting our horses by break of day, after an
early breakfast, we ride on with the wind in our faces, and at length
discover across the plain a number of dark objects moving slowly. They
are buffaloes, feeding as they go. We see through our field-glasses
that there are calves among them. It is proposed that some of our party
should ride round, so as to stampede the herd back towards us, and thus,
by dividing them, enable us to get in the centre. We wait for some
time, when we see a vast mass of hairy monsters come tearing over a hill
towards us. We have shot several of the bulls, but our object is to
secure their calves and cows. As the herd approaches us, it swings
round its front at right-angles, and makes off westward. We dash
forward, and divide it into two parties. We also separate, some of our
hunters following one part of the herd, the others the remainder. The
enthusiasm of our horses equals our own. Away we go; nothing stops us.
Now we plunge with headlong bounds down bluffs of caving sands fifty
feet high,--while the buffaloes, crazy with terror, are scrambling
half-way up the opposite side. Now we are on the very haunches of our
game; now before us appears a slippery buffalo wallow. We see it just
in time to leap clear, but the next instant we are in the middle of one.
Our horses, with frantic plunges, scramble out; and on we go. We get
closer and closer to the buffaloes, when a loud thundering of trampling
hoofs sounds behind us. Looking over our shoulders, there, in plain
sight, appears another herd, tearing down on our rear. For nearly a
mile in width stretches a line of angry faces, a rolling surf of
wind-blown hair, a row of quivering lights burning with a reddish-brown
hue--the eyes of the infuriated animals. Should our horses stumble, our
fate will be sealed. It is certain death to be involved in the herd.
So is it to turn back. In an instant we should be trampled and gored to
death. Our only hope is to ride steadily in the line of the stampede,
till we can insinuate ourselves laterally, and break out through the
side of the herd. Yet the hope of doing so is but small.
On we rush rapidly as before, when suddenly, to our great satisfaction,
the herd before us divides into two columns, to pass round a low hill in
front. Still on we go, pushing our horses up the height. We reach the
summit, the horses panting fearfully, and the moisture trickling in
streams from their sides. But now the rear column comes on. They see
us, not fifty rods off, but happily pay no attention to us. We
dismount, facing the furious creatures. Should they not divide, but
come over the hill, in a few moments we must be trampled to death. The
herd approaches to within a hundred yards of the hill. We lift our
rifles and deliver a couple of steadily aimed bullets at the
fore-shoulders of the nearest bulls. One gives a wild jump, and limps
on with three legs; the other seems at first unhurt; but just as they
reach the foot of the mound, they both fall down. The whole host are
rushing over them. We rapidly reload. The fate of their comrades,
however, sends a panic into the hearts of the herd. Another falls just
when they are so close that we could have sprung on their backs. At
that moment they divide, and the next we are standing on a desert
island, a sea of billowing backs flowing round on either side in a
half-mile current of crazy buffaloes. The herd is fully five minutes in
passing us. We watch them as they come, and as the last laggers pant by
the mound we look westward and see the stampeders halting. We soon
understand the cause. They have come up with the main herd. Yes,
there, in full sight of us, is the buffalo army, extending its deep line
as far as the western horizon. The whole earth is black with them.
From a point a mile in front of us, their rear line extends on the north
to the bluffs bounding the banks of the river on which we had camped.
On the south it reaches the summits of some distant heights fully six
miles away. When it is known that with our field-glasses we can
recognise an object the size of a buffalo ten miles distant, and that
the mass extends even beyond the horizon, some idea may be formed of the
immense number of animals congregated in the herd. To say that there
are ten thousand, would be to give a very low estimate of their numbers.
The same writer from whose work the above is taken, describes an
extraordinary instance of friendship exhibited by a buffalo bull for one
of his comrades. (Generally speaking, the buffalo, even in the pairing
season, will forsake the wounded cow, and the cow will not stay one
moment to protect her hurt calf.) He was out hunting on one occasion,
when, having been for some time unsuccessful, and being anxious to
retrieve his character by bringing home some meat to camp, he caught
sight of two fine buffalo bulls on a broad meadow on the opposite side
of a stream. Dismounting from his horse, he took steady aim at the
nearest buffalo, which was grazing with its haunches towards him. The
ball broke the animal's right hip, and he plunged away on three legs,
the other hanging useless. He leaped on his horse, put spurs to its
flanks, and in three minutes was close on the bull's rear. To his
astonishment, and the still greater surprise of the two old hunters who
came after him, the unhurt bull stuck to his comrade's side without
flinching. He fired another shot, which took effect in the lungs of the
first buffalo. The second moved off for a moment, but instantly
returned to his friend. The wounded buffalo became distressed, and
slackened his pace. The unwounded one not only retarded his, but coming
to the rear of his friend, stood, with his head down, offering battle.
"Here indeed was devotion which had no instinct to inspire it. The
sight was sublime! The hunters could no more have accepted the
challenge of the brave creature, than they could have smitten Damon at
the side of Pythias. The wounded buffalo ran on to the border of the
next marsh, and, in attempting to cross, fell headlong down the steep
bank, and never rose again. Not till that moment, when courage was
useless, did the faithful creature consider his own safety in flight.
The hunters took off their hats as he walked away, and gave three
parting cheers as the gallant buffalo vanished beyond the fringing
timber."
The half-breed hunters of Rupert's Land make two expeditions in the year
in search of buffaloes--one in the middle of June, and the other in
October. They divide into three bands, each taking a separate route,
for the purpose of falling in with the herds of buffaloes. These bands
are each accompanied by about five hundred carts, drawn by either an ox
or a horse. They are curious vehicles, roughly formed with their own
axes, and fastened together with wooden pins and leather thongs, not a
nail being used. The tires of the wheels are made of buffalo hide, and
put on wet. When they become dry, they shrink, and are so tight that
they never fall off, and last as long as the cart holds together. The
carts contain the women and children, and provisions, and are intended
to bring back the spoils of the chase. Each is decorated with some
flag, so that the hunters may recognise their own from a distance. They
may be seen winding off in one wide line extending for miles, and
accompanied by the hunters on horseback. These expeditions run the
danger of being attacked by the Sioux Indians, who inhabit the prairies
to the south. The camps are therefore well surrounded by scouts, for
the purpose of reconnoitring either for enemies or buffaloes. If they
see the latter, they make a signal by throwing up handfuls of dust; if
the former, by running their horses to and fro.
Mr Paul Kane, the Canadian artist, describes one of these expeditions
which he joined. On their way they were visited by twelve Sioux chiefs,
who came for the purpose of negotiating a permanent peace; but whilst
smoking the pipe of peace in the council lodge, the dead body of a
half-breed, who had gone to a distance from the camp, was brought in
newly scalped, and his death was at once attributed to the Sioux. Had
not the older and more temperate half-breeds interfered, the young men
would have destroyed the twelve chiefs on the spot: as it was, they were
allowed to depart unharmed. Three days afterwards, however, the scouts
were observed making the signal of enemies being in sight. Immediately
a hundred of the best-mounted hastened to the spot, and concealing
themselves behind the shelter of the bank of a stream, sent out two of
their number as decoys, to expose themselves to the view of the Sioux.
The latter, supposing them to be alone, rushed upon them; whereupon the
concealed half-breeds sprang up and poured in a volley which brought
down eight. The others escaped, though several must have been wounded.
Two small herds having been met with, of which several animals were
killed, the scouts one morning brought in word that an immense herd of
bulls was in advance about two miles off. They are known in the
distance from the cows by their feeding singly, and being scattered over
the plain,--whereas the cows keep together, for the purpose of
protecting the calves, which are always kept in the centre of the herd.
We will start at daybreak with our friend, and a half-breed as a guide.
Six hours' hard riding brings us to within a quarter of a mile of the
nearest herd. The main body stretches over the plains as far as the eye
can reach, the wind blowing in our faces. We should have liked to have
attacked them at once, but the guide will not hear of it, as it is
contrary to the law of his tribe. We therefore shelter ourselves behind
a mound, relieving our horses of their saddles to cool them. In about
an hour one hundred and thirty hunters come up, every man loading his
gun, looking to the priming, and examining the efficiency of his
saddle-girths. The elder caution the less experienced not to shoot each
other,--such accidents sometimes occurring. Each hunter then fills his
mouth with bullets, which he drops into the gun without wadding; by this
means loading more quickly, and being able to do so whilst his horse is
at full speed. We slowly walk our horses towards the herd. Advancing
about two hundred yards, the animals perceive us, and start off in the
opposite direction, at the top of their speed. We now urge our horses
to full gallop, and in twenty minutes are in the midst of the stamping
long-haired herd. There cannot be less than four or five thousand in
our immediate vicinity,--all bulls; not a single cow amongst them. The
scene now becomes one of intense excitement,--the huge bulk thundering
over the plain in headlong confusion, while the fearless hunters ride
recklessly in their midst, keeping up an incessant fire but a few yards
from their victims. Upon the fall of each buffalo the hunter merely
throws, close to it, some article of his apparel to denote his own prey,
and then rushes on to another. The chase continues for about one hour,
extending over an area of about six square miles, where may be seen the
dead and dying buffaloes to the number of five hundred. In spite of his
horsemanship, more than one hunter has been thrown from his steed, in
consequence of the innumerable badger-holes in which the plains abound.
Two others are carried back to camp insensible. We have just put a
bullet through an enormous bull. He does not fall, but stops, facing
us, pawing the earth, bellowing, and glaring savagely. The blood is
streaming from his mouth, and it seems as if he must speedily drop. We
watch him, admiring his ferocious aspect, combating with death.
Suddenly he makes a dash towards us, and we have barely time to escape
the charge; when, reloading, we again fire, and he sinks to the ground.
The carts bring in the slaughtered animals to the camp, when the squaws
set to work, aided by the men, to cut them up, and prepare them for
drying and for making pemmican. The women are soon busily employed in
cutting the flesh into slices, and in hanging them in the sun on poles.
The dried meat is then pounded between two stones till the fibres
separate. About fifty pounds of it is put into a bag of buffalo skin,
with about forty pounds of melted fat, which, being mixed while hot,
forms a hard and compact mass. Hence its name, in the Cree language, of
pemmican--_pemmi_ signifying meat, and _kon_ fat--usually, however,
spelt pemmican. One pound of pemmican is considered equal to four
pounds of ordinary meat,--and it keeps for years, perfectly good,
exposed to any weather.
The prairie Indians obtain buffaloes by driving them into huge pounds,
where they are slaughtered. The pounds, however, can only be made in
the neighbourhood of forests, from whence the logs for their formation
can be obtained. The pound consists of a circular fence about 130 feet
broad. It is constructed of the trunks of trees laced together with
withies, with outside supports about 5 feet high. At one side an
entrance is left about 10 feet wide, with a deep trench across it, on
the outside of which there is a strong trunk of a tree placed, about a
foot from the ground. The animals, on being driven in, leap over this,
clearing the trench, which of course prevents them from returning. From
the entrance two rows of bushes or posts, which are called "dead men,"
diverge towards the direction from which the buffaloes are likely to
come. They are placed from 20 feet to 50 feet apart, and the distance
between the extremities of the two rows at their outer termination is
nearly two miles. Behind each of these "dead men" an Indian is
stationed, to prevent the buffaloes when passing up the avenue from
breaking out. Meantime, the hunters, mounted on fleet horses, range the
country to a distance of eighteen or twenty miles in search of a herd.
The buffalo has an unaccountable propensity which makes him endeavour to
cross in front of the hunter's horse. They will frequently, indeed,
follow a horseman for miles in order to do so. He thus possesses an
unfailing means, by a dexterous management of his horse, of conducting
the animals into the trap prepared for them. The men also conceal
themselves in hollows and depressions in the ground, so as to assist in
turning the herd, should they attempt to escape in that direction. And
now some three or four hundred head of shaggy monsters are driven to the
expanded mouth of the avenue. The horsemen follow in their rear, and
prevent them turning back. Meantime the Indians stationed behind the
"dead men" rise, shaking their bows, yelling, and urging them on. Thus
they proceed, madly rushing on, the passage growing narrower and
narrower, while they, pressed together, are unable to see the danger
ahead. The foremost at length reach the fatal ditch, and leaping over,
enter the pound, the rest madly following. "The animals now begin to
gallop round and round the fence, looking for some means of escape; but
women and children on the outside, keeping perfectly silent, hold their
robes before every orifice, till the whole herd is brought in. They
then climb to the top of the fence, and the hunters, who have followed
closely in the rear of the buffaloes, spear and shoot with bows and
arrows or firearms at the bewildered animals, rapidly becoming frantic
with fear and terror in the narrow limits of the pound. A dreadful
scene of confusion and slaughter then ensues. The older animals toss
the younger. The shouts and screams of the Indians rise above the roar
of the bulls, the bellowing of the cows, and the moaning of the calves.
The dying struggles of so many powerful animals crowded together, create
a revolting scene, dreadful for its excess of cruelty and waste of
life." [Hind.]
In consequence of this wholesale and wanton destruction, the buffalo has
greatly diminished; and the Indians agree in the belief that their
people, in like manner, will decrease till none are left. It is
computed that for many years past no less than 145,000 buffaloes have
annually been killed in British territory; while on the great prairies
claimed by the United States a still greater number have been
slaughtered. In one year--1855--on the British side of the boundary,
there were 20,000 robes of skins received at York Factory alone; and
probably not fewer than 230,000 head of buffalo were slaughtered in the
previous year. This number would have been sufficient to sustain a
population of a quarter of a million. Yet so vast a number of the
animals are left to rot on the ground, that in all probability not more
than 30,000 Indians fed on the flesh of the slaughtered buffaloes.
The civilised fur-traders, however, with greater forethought, take means
to preserve the flesh of the animals they kill in the neighbourhood of
the forts, so that it may last them through the summer. For this
purpose they dig a square pit capable of containing seven or eight
hundred carcasses. As soon as the ice in the river is of sufficient
thickness, it is cut with saws into square blocks, of a uniform size,
with which the floor of the pit is regularly paved. The blocks are then
cemented together by pouring water in between them, and allowing it to
freeze into a solid mass. In like manner the walls are built up to the
surface of the ground. The head and feet being cut off, each carcass,
without being skinned, is divided into quarters; and these are piled in
layers in the pit, till it is filled up, when the whole is covered with
a thick coating of straw, which is again protected from the sun and rain
by a shed. In this manner the meat is preserved in good condition
through the whole summer, and is considered more tender and better
flavoured than when freshly killed.
Even in the winter the buffalo continues to range over the plains in a
far northern latitude. Mr Kane mentions seeing a band, numbering
nearly ten thousand, at the very northern confines of the Fertile Belt,
where the snow was very deep at the time. They, however, had never
before appeared in such vast numbers near the Company's establishments.
Some, on on that occasion, were shot within the gates of Fort Edmonton.
They had killed with their horns twenty or thirty horses, in their
attempt to drive them from the patches of grass which the horses had
laid bare with their hoofs. They were probably migrating northward, to
escape the human migrations so rapidly filling up the southern and
western regions which were formerly their pasture-grounds.
The Cree Indians use dogs to draw their sleighs. They are powerful,
savage animals, having a good deal of the wolf about them. They are
considered as valuable as horses, as everything is drawn over the snow
by them. When buffaloes have been killed in winter, the dead animals
are drawn in by them to the camp; and two can thus easily drag a large
cow buffalo over the snow. The sleigh or cariole used in these regions
is formed of a thin flat board about eighteen inches wide, bent up in
front, with a straight back behind to lean against. The sides are made
of fresh buffalo hide, with the hair completely scraped off, and which,
lapping over, entirely covers the front part, so that a person slips
into it as into a tin bath. Each carries but one passenger. The
driver, on snow-shoes, runs behind to guide the dogs. Each sleigh is
drawn by four dogs, their backs gaudily decorated with saddle-cloths of
various colours, fringed, and embroidered in the most fantastic manner,
and with innumerable small bells and feathers. Two men run before on
snow-shoes to beat a track, which the dogs instinctively follow. A long
cavalcade of this description has a very picturesque appearance.
While thus travelling, our friend Mr Kane caught sight of a herd of
buffaloes, which did not perceive the approach of the party till the
foremost sleigh was so near as to excite the dogs, who rushed furiously
after them, notwithstanding all the efforts of the drivers to keep them
back. The spirit of the hunt was at once communicated through the whole
line, and the entire party were in an instant dashing along at a furious
rate after the buffaloes. The frightened animals made a bold dash at
length through a deep snow-bank, and attempted to scramble up the steep
side of the river, the top of which the foremost one had nearly reached,
when, slipping, he rolled down and knocked over those behind, one on the
top of the other, into the deep snow-drift, from which men and dogs were
struggling in vain to extricate themselves. It would be impossible to
describe the wild scene of uproar that followed. One of the sleighs was
smashed, and a man nearly killed; but at length the party succeeded in
getting clear, and repairing the damage.
In some districts, where the buffaloes can with difficulty be
approached, the Indians employ a stratagem to get them within reach of
their arrows or rifles. One of the Indians covers himself in a wolf's
skin, another with a buffalo skin. They then crawl on all-fours within
sight of the buffaloes, and as soon as they have engaged their
attention, the pretended wolf jumps on the pretended calf, which bellows
in imitation of the real one. The buffaloes are easily deceived in this
way, as the bellowing is generally perfect, and the herd rush on to the
protection of their supposed young, with such impetuosity that they do
not perceive the cheat till they are quite close enough to be shot.
On one occasion Mr Kane and his Indian companion fell in with a
solitary bull and cow. On this they made a "calf," as the ruse is
called. The cow attempted to spring towards them, but the bull, seeming
to understand the trick, tried to stop her by running between them. The
cow now dodged and got round him, and ran within ten or fifteen yards of
the hunters, with the bull close at her heels, when both men fired, and
brought her down. The bull instantly stopped short, and, bending over
her, tried to help her up with his nose--evincing the most persevering
affection for her; nor could they get rid of him, so as to cut up the
cow, without shooting him also, although at that time of the year bull
flesh is not valued as food when the female can be obtained. This, and
another example which has been given, show that these animals are
capable of great affection for each other.
The Indians also occasionally approach a herd from leeward, crawling
along the ground so as to look like huge snakes winding their way amid
the snow or grass, and can thus get sufficiently near to shoot these
usually wary animals.