PRAIRIE WOLVES AND ANTELOPE
One morning, a few days later, a train was speeding westward among
the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, bearing the travellers towards
their summer home. The grey monotone of the prairie was unbroken by
any bit of colour. The soil, the sage-brush, the dead grass that had
grown the summer before, were all grey, unvaried except where a great
rock or a bush taller than its fellows cast a long black shadow. Now
and then the train passed close to some high butte, whose sides were
gashed and gullied by deep ravines, and whose summit was crowned by a
scattered fringe of black pines. Far off on either side, rose great
mountains, covered with a mantle of snow, the most distant looking
like far-off white clouds. From this snowy covering long fingers of
white ran down the narrow valleys and ravines, seeming like white
clasps holding the covering close in its place. The nearer foothills
were white towards their tops, and against the shining snow the black
pine trees stood out in strong contrast. Scattered over the grey
plain were horses and cattle, most of them in little herds, but now
and then a single cow was seen and near her a staggering calf, which
had just been born, to face the scorching heats and bitter colds of
the high plains.
Suddenly as the train rushed around a low knoll, a dozen animals were
seen, running swiftly along, parallel with the track, and less than
three hundred feet distant. In colour they were bright yellow, almost
red, with white patches and white legs, and two or three of them had
black and nearly straight horns. They were graceful, and ran very
swiftly, easily keeping pace with the train.
"Oh, Uncle Will," said Jack, grasping his uncle's arm, "what are
those? They're not deer, I am sure. They must be antelope. How pretty
they are, and see how fast they run! Why, they are going faster than
the train, I do believe. They just seem to skim over the ground."
"Yes, those are antelope, the swiftest animal on the plains. And yet
the coyotes catch a good many of them, just by running them down.
Now, how do you suppose they do that, Jack?" and his uncle smiled at
the boy's puzzled expression.
"I don't know. You said they were the swiftest animals on the plains,
and yet you say that the coyotes catch them. That seems to mean that
the coyotes are swifter. Doesn't it?" asked Jack.
"Not exactly," replied his uncle; "it only means that they are
smarter--more cunning. A single coyote who undertook to run down
a single antelope, would get very tired and very hungry before he
accomplished it, but when two or three coyotes are together, it
is quite a different thing. The coyotes do not all run after the
antelope together. They take turns, and while one runs, the others
rest, so at last they tire the antelope out."
"But I should think that when the antelope ran, it would leave all
the wolves behind, those that were resting even more than the one
that was chasing it."
"It would do so if it ran straight away and out of the country, but
this it does not do. Instead, it runs in large circles. When three
or four prairie wolves decide that they want antelope meat for
breakfast, one of them creeps as close as possible to the animal they
have selected, and then makes a rush for it, running as fast as he
possibly can, so as to push the antelope to its best speed and to
tire it out. Meantime his companions spread out on either side of the
runner, and get on little hills or knolls, so as to keep the chase
in sight. They trot from point to point, and pretty soon when the
antelope turns and begins to work back towards one of them, this one
tries to get as nearly as possible in its path, and as it flies by,
the wolf dashes out at it and runs after it at the top of its speed,
while the one that had been chasing the antelope stops running, and
trots off to some near-by hill, where, while the water drips off his
lolling tongue, he watches the race and gets his breath again. After
a little the antelope passes near another coyote, which takes up
the pursuit in its turn. And so the chase is kept up until the poor
antelope is exhausted, when it is overtaken and pulled down by one
or more of the hungry brutes."
"Why, I should think the coyotes would kill all the antelope after
awhile," said Jack.
"Of course the coyotes do not catch every antelope they start," said
his uncle. "Sometimes the game runs such a course that it does not
pass near any of the waiting wolves, and only the one that starts it
has any running to do. Then the chase does not last long; the wolves
give up. Sometimes the antelope is so stout and strong that it tires
out all its pursuers. Yet they catch them more frequently than one
would think, and it is not at all uncommon to see coyotes chasing
antelope, although, of course one does not often see the whole race
and its termination. Often if a wolf running an antelope comes near
to a man, he gives up the chase and that particular antelope is
saved. It is a common thing for a single coyote to chase an old doe
with her kids, just after the little ones have begun to run about.
At that time they are very swift for short distances, but have not
the strength to stand a long chase. In such a case a mother will
often stay behind her young, and will try to fight off the coyote,
butting him with her head and striking him with her forefeet. He pays
little attention to her, except to snap at her, and keeps on after
the kids. Several times I have seen a mother antelope lead her young
one into the midst of a bed of cactus, where the wolf could not go
without getting his feet full of thorns. If the bed is small, the
wolf will make fierce dashes up to its borders, trying to frighten
the little ones, so that they will run out on the other side and he
can start after them again, but usually the mother has no trouble in
holding them. I have several times killed young antelope whose legs
had been bitten up by coyotes, but which had got away. One hot day
last summer a gang of section-men were working in a railroad cut west
of here, when suddenly a big buck antelope ran down one side of the
cut, across the track and up the other side. His sudden dash into the
midst of them startled the men, and as they stood looking up where he
had crossed, a coyote suddenly plunged down the side of the cut, just
as the antelope had done. The readiest of the section men threw a
hammer at him, and the wolf turned and scrambled up the bank and was
not seen again.
"I wonder what the men thought?" said Jack.
"Two or three years ago I camped one afternoon near Rock Creek, and
as there was very little feed, we turned the horses loose at night
to pick among the sage-brush and grease wood. Early in the morning,
before sunrise, while the man with me was getting breakfast, I
started out to get the horses. They were nowhere to be seen, and I
climbed to the top of the hill back of camp, from which, as it was
the only high place anywhere about, I felt sure that I could see
them. Just before I got to the top of the hill an old doe antelope
suddenly came in view, closely followed by a coyote. Both of them
seemed to be running as hard as they could, and both had their
tongues hanging out as if they had come a long way. Suddenly, almost
at the heels of the antelope--much closer to her than the other
wolf--appeared a second coyote which now took up the running, while
the one that had been chasing her stopped and sat down and watched.
The antelope ran quite a long distance, always bearing a little to
the left, and now seeming to run more slowly than when I first saw
her. As she kept turning, it was evident that she would either run
around the hill on which I stood, or would come back near it. At
first I was so interested in watching her that I forgot to look at
the wolf that had stopped. When I did so, he was no longer in the
same place, but was trotting over a little ridge that ran down from
the hill and was watching the chase that was now so far off. He could
easily have cut across and headed the antelope, but he knew too well
what she would do to give himself that trouble. After a little, it
was evident that the antelope would come back pretty near to the
hill, but on the other side of it from where she had passed before,
and the wolf which I had first seen chasing her, trotted out two or
three hundred yards on the prairie and sat down. The antelope was now
coming back almost directly towards him, and I could see that there
were two wolves behind her, one close at her heels and the other a
good way further back. The first wolf now seemed quite excited. He no
longer sat up, but crouched close to the ground, every few moments
raising his head very slowly to take a look at the doe, and then
lowering it again so that he would be out of sight. Sometimes he
crawled on his belly a few feet further from me, evidently trying to
put himself directly in the path of the antelope; and this he seemed
to have succeeded in doing. As she drew near him I could see that
she was staggering, she was so tired, and the wolf behind could at
any moment have knocked her down, if he had wanted to, but he seemed
to be waiting for something. The wolf that was following him was now
running faster and catching up.
"When the antelope reached the place where the first wolf was lying
hidden, he sprang up and in a jump or two caught her neck and threw
her down. At the same moment, the two wolves from behind came up, and
for a moment there was a scuffle in which yellow and white and grey
and waving tails were all mixed up, and then the three wolves were
seen standing there, tearing away at their breakfast.
"Great Scott! that must have been exciting," said Jack.
"It was," said his uncle; "I had been so interested in watching this
thing, which after all had not taken more than ten or fifteen minutes
of time, that I had forgotten all about the horses. It only needed
a moment's looking to see them, a short distance down the stream,
and before I had got to them and brought them back to camp, I heard
Bill's voice singing out breakfast."
"I always thought," said Jack, "that the antelope could run so fast
that they could get away from all their enemies except hunters that
carried rifles. Is there any other wild animal besides the coyote
that catches them?"
"Yes, the golden eagles often kill them when they are quite young,
though if any old ones are near they will fight the birds and keep
them from catching the kids. Once in winter I saw an eagle attack
two kids that were feeding at a little distance from a big bunch of
perhaps a thousand antelope. At this time the young ones were seven
or eight months old, and so quite large and strong. The eagle had
been sitting somewhere on the hillside and flew down over the kids
to pounce on one of them. They immediately began to run to the herd,
and when the eagle made a dart at them, they both stopped, reared on
their hind legs, a good deal in the position of the unicorn that we
sometimes see fighting for the crown, and struck at the bird with
their forefeet. Perhaps the eagle was not very hungry, but at all
events this turned him and the kids ran on. He made two more swoops
at them before they reached the herd, but each time they fought him
off in the same way by rearing up and striking at him. Of course when
they got in among the other antelope the eagles left them and flew
away.
"You know that in old times, before they had horses or fire-arms, the
Indians used to catch antelope in traps."
"No, I didn't know that," said Jack, "how did they do it? I should
think it would have needed a pretty big trap to hold an antelope."
"It was something on the same plan as the way in which they trapped
the buffalo; they built two long straight fences which almost came
together at one end and were far apart at the other. At the end of
the fences where they almost came together, the Indians either built
a corral or dug a deep pit which they roofed over by slender poles on
which they put grass and dirt. Now you have heard that the antelope
is very curious. If he sees anything that he does not understand or
can't quite make out he is likely to go up closer to it, so as to
see what this object really is. The Indians took advantage of this
weakness of the antelope and by means of it decoyed bunches of them
into the space between the widely separated ends of these two fences.
Other Indians were hidden behind the fence, and as soon as the herd
got started down between these wings the Indians near the end of the
fence ran out and got behind the antelope, which were then forced to
run down towards the pit or the corral. If it was a pit, they broke
through the roof in running over it, or they ran into the corral
where they were killed by the Indians, who were hidden near-by.
"Down in Utah and Colorado, south-west of here, I have seen in
several places the remains of these fences and corrals. I do not know
that the Indians hereabouts ever caught the antelope in pits, but men
who have lived up north with the Blackfeet and Cheyennes, tell me
that up there they used the pits instead of the corrals.
"So you see, my boy, the antelope has his troubles like other people.
It isn't all cake and pie for him, even though he can run fast and
lives out on the prairie where he can see a long distance."
"That's so, Uncle Will," said Jack, "I never thought of all these
things."
While the two had been talking they had forgotten about the antelope,
and these had now been long left behind. Now the train with a long
groaning whistle plunged into the darkness of a snow shed, and a few
moments later ran out past the border of a large lake, the surface
of which was covered with ducks and geese which rose from the water
until the air was fairly dark with their numbers. The whistle of
the duck's wings and the clamour of the honking geese could be
heard, even though the car windows were shut, and the passengers all
gathered at the windows to look at the great flocks of birds.
When they had passed out of sight of the lake his uncle said to Jack:
"That is the Medicine Lake, and the next stop is our station. Better
ring the bell for the porter, so that he can have all our things
together ready to put off."
"Well, Thomas," he said to the smiling coloured man who came up,
brush in hand, "we are going to leave you now. Please get all our
things ready to throw off. You know the train does not stop long."
"All right sir, all right," said Thomas, "I'll see that nothing is
left. Hope you will have a good drive out, Mr. Sturgis. Nice day
you've got. Don't always have such nice weather, this time of the
year." And he brushed furiously.