HUNTING ON THE TURIN PLAIN
After ten days we left the "Antelope Camp" to visit the Turin plain
where we had seen much game on the way to Urga. One by one our Mongol
neighbors rode up to say "farewell," and each to present us with
a silk scarf as a token of friendship and good will. We received
an invitation to stop for tea at the _yurt_ of an old man who had
manifested an especial interest in us, but it was a very dirty _yurt_,
and the preparations for tea were so uninviting that we managed to exit
gracefully before it was finally served.
Yvette photographed the entire family including half a dozen dogs, a
calf, and two babies, much to their enjoyment. When we rode off, our
hands were heaped with cheese and slabs of mutton which were discarded
as soon, as we had dropped behind a slope. Mongol hospitality is
whole-souled and generously given, but one must be very hungry to enjoy
their food.
A day and a half of traveling was uneventful, for herds of sheep and
horses indicated the presence of _yurts_ among the hills. Game will
seldom remain where there are Mongols. Although it was the first of
July, we found a heavy coating of ice on the lower sides of a deep
well. The water was about fifteen feet below the level of the plain,
and the ice would probably remain all summer. Moreover, it is said that
the wells never freeze even during the coldest winter.
PLATE IX
[Illustration: MONGOL HERDSMEN CARRYING LASSOS]
[Illustration: A LONE CAMP ON THE DESERT]
The changes of temperature were more rapid than in any other country
in which I have ever hunted. It was hot during the day--about 85°
Fahrenheit--but the instant the sun disappeared we needed coats, and
our fur sleeping bags were always acceptable at night.
We were one hundred and fifty miles from Urga and were still going
slowly south, when we had our next real hunting camp. Great bands of
antelope were working northward from the Gobi Desert to the better
grazing on the grass-covered Turin plain. We encountered the main herd
one evening about six o'clock, and it was a sight which made us gasp
for breath. We were shifting camp, and my wife and I were trotting
along parallel to the carts which moved slowly over the trail a mile
away. We had had a delightful, as well as a profitable, day. Yvette
had been busy with her camera, while I picked up an antelope, a
bustard, three hares, and half a dozen marmots. We were loafing in our
saddles, when suddenly we caught sight of the cook standing on his cart
frantically signaling us to come.
In ten seconds our ponies were flying toward the caravan, while we
mentally reviewed every accident which possibly could have happened
to the boys. Lü met us twenty yards from the trail, trembling with
excitement and totally incoherent. He could only point to the south and
stammer, "Too many antelope. Over there. Too many, too many."
I slipped off Kublai Khan's back and put up the glasses. Certainly
there were animals, but I thought they must be sheep or ponies.
Hundreds were in sight, feeding in one vast herd and in many smaller
groups. Then I remembered that the nearest well was twenty miles away;
therefore they could not be horses. I looked again and knew they must
be antelope--not in hundreds, but in thousands.
Mr. Larsen in Urga had told us of herds like this, but we had never
hoped to see one. Yet there before us, as far as the eye could reach,
was a yellow mass of moving forms. In a moment Yvette and I had left
the carts. There was no possibility of concealment, and our only chance
was to run the herd. When we were perhaps half a mile away the nearest
animals threw up their heads and began to stamp and run about, only to
stop again and stare at us. We kept on very slowly, edging nearer every
moment. Suddenly they decided that we were really dangerous, and the
herd strung out like a regiment of yellow-coated soldiers.
Kublai Khan had seen the antelope almost as soon as we left the
carts, and although he had already traveled forty miles that day, was
nervously champing the bit with head up and ears erect. When at last I
gave him the word, he gathered himself for one terrific spring; down
went his head and he dashed forward with every ounce of strength behind
his flying legs. His run was the long, smooth stride of a thoroughbred,
and it sent the blood surging through my veins in a wild thrill of
exhilaration. Once only I glanced back at Yvette. She was almost at
my side. Her hair had loosened and was flying back like a veil behind
her head. Tense with excitement, eyes shining, she was heedless of
everything save those skimming yellow forms before us. It was useless
to look for holes; ere I had seen one we were over or around it. With
head low down and muzzle out, my pony needed not the slightest touch to
guide him. He knew where we were going and the part he had to play.
More than a thousand antelope were running diagonally across our
course. It was a sight to stir the gods; a thing to give one's life to
see. But when we were almost near enough to shoot, the herd suddenly
swerved heading directly away from us. In an instant we were enveloped
in a whirling cloud of dust through which the flying animals were
dimly visible like phantom figures. Kublai Khan was choked, and his
hot breath rasped sharply through his nostrils, but he plunged on and
on into that yellow cloud. Standing in my stirrups, I fired six times
at the wraithlike forms ahead as fast as I could work the lever of my
rifle. Of course, it was useless, but just the same I had to shoot.
In about a mile the great herd slowed down and stopped. We could see
hundreds of animals on every side, in groups of fifty or one hundred.
Probably two thousand antelope were in sight at once and many more
were beyond the sky rim to the west. We gave the ponies ten minutes'
rest, and had another run as unsuccessful as the first. Then a third
and fourth. The antelope, for some strange reason, would not cross our
path, but always turned straight away before we were near enough to
shoot.
After an hour we returned to the carts--for Yvette was exhausted from
excitement--and the lama took her place. We left the great herd and
turned southward, parallel to the road. A mile away we found more
antelope; at least a thousand were scattered about feeding quietly like
those we had driven north. It seemed as though all the gazelles in
Mongolia had concentrated on those few miles of plain.
The ponies were so exhausted that we decided to try a drive and leave
the main herd in peace. When we were concealed from view in the bottom
of a land swell I slipped off and hobbled Kublai Khan. The poor fellow
was so tired he could only stand with drooping head, even though there
was rich grass beneath his feet. I sent the lama in a long circle to
get behind the herd, while I crawled a few hundred yards away and
snuggled out of sight into an old wolf den.
I watched the antelope for fifteen minutes through my binoculars. They
were feeding in a vast semicircle, entirely unconscious of my presence.
Suddenly every head went up; they stared fixedly toward the west for a
moment, and were off like the wind. About five hundred drew together in
a compact mass, but a dozen smaller herds scattered wildly, running in
every direction except toward me. They had seen the lama before he had
succeeded in completely encircling them, and the drive was ruined.
The Mongols kill great numbers of antelope in just this way. When
a herd has been located, a line of men will conceal themselves at
distances of two or three hundred yards, while as many more get behind
the animals and drive them toward the waiting hunters. Sometimes the
gazelles almost step on the natives and become so frightened that they
run the gantlet of the entire firing line.
I did not have the heart to race again with our exhausted ponies, and
we turned back toward the carts which were out of sight. Scores of
antelope, singly or in pairs, were visible on the sky line and as we
rode to the summit of a little rise a herd of fifty appeared almost
below us. We paid no attention to them; but suddenly my pony stopped
with ears erect. He looked back at me, as much as to say, "Don't you
see those antelope?" and began gently pulling at the reins. I could
feel him tremble with eagerness and excitement. "Well, old chap," I
said, "if you are as keen as all that, let's give them a run."
With a magnificent burst of speed Kublai Khan launched himself toward
the fleeing animals. They circled beautifully, straight into the eye
of the sun, which lay like a great red ball upon the surface of the
plain. We were still three hundred yards away and gaining rapidly, but
I had to shoot; in a moment I would be blinded by the sun. As the flame
leaped from my rifle, we heard the dull thud of a bullet on flesh; at
the second shot, another; and then a third. "_Sanga_" (three), yelled
the lama, and dashed forward, wild with excitement.
The three gazelles lay almost the same distance apart, each one
shot through the body. It was interesting evidence that the actions
of working the lever on my rifle and aiming, and the speed of the
antelope, varied only by a fraction of a second. In this case, brain
and eye and hand had functioned perfectly. Needless to say, I do not
always shoot like that.
Two of the antelope were yearling bucks, and one was a large doe. The
lama took the female on his pony, and I strapped the other two on
Kublai Khan. When I mounted, he was carrying a weight of two hundred
and eighty-five pounds, yet he kept his steady "homeward trot" without
a break until we reached the carts six miles away.
Yvette had been afraid that we would miss the well in the gathering
darkness, and had made a "dry camp" beside the road. We had only a
little water for ourselves; but my pony's nose was full of dust, and
I knew how parched his throat must be, so I divided my supply with
him. The poor animal was so frightened by the dish, that he would only
snort and back away; even when I wet his nose with some of the precious
fluid, he would not drink.
The success of our work upon the plains depended largely upon Kublai
Khan. He was only a Mongol pony but he was just as great, in his own
way, as was the Tartar emperor whose name he bore. Whatever it was I
asked him to do, he gave his very best. Can you wonder that I loved him?
Within a fortnight from the time I bought him, he became a perfect
hunting pony. The secret of it all was that he liked the game as well
as I. Traveling with the carts bored him exceedingly but the instant
game appeared he was all excitement. Often he saw antelope before we
did. We might be trotting slowly over the plains, when suddenly he
would jerk his head erect and begin to pull gently at the reins; when I
reached down to take my rifle from the holster, he would tremble with
eagerness to be off.
In hunting antelope you should ride slowly toward the animals, drawing
nearer gradually. They are so accustomed to see Mongols that they will
not begin to run in earnest until a man is five or six hundred yards
away, but when they are really off, a fast pony is the great essential.
The time to stop is just before the animals cross your path, and then
you must stop quickly. Kublai Khan learned the trick immediately. As
soon as he felt the pressure of my knees, and the slightest pull upon
the reins, his whole body stiffened and he braced himself like a polo
pony. It made not the slightest difference to him whether I shot from
his back or directly under his nose; he stood quietly watching the
running antelope. When we were riding across the plaints if a bird ran
along the ground or a hare jumped out of the grass, he was after it
like a dog. Often I would find myself flying toward an animal which I
had never seen.
Yvette's pony was useless for hunting antelope. Instead of heading
diagonally toward the gazelles he would always attempt to follow the
herd. When it was time to stop I would have to put all my strength
upon the reins and the horse would come into a slow gallop and then a
trot. Seconds of valuable time would be wasted before I could begin to
shoot. I tried half a dozen other ponies, but they were all as bad.
They did not have the intelligence or the love of hunting which made
Kublai Khan so valuable.
The morning after encountering the great herd, we camped at a well
thirty miles north of the Turin monastery. Three or four _yurts_ were
scattered about, and a caravan of two hundred and fifty camels was
resting in a little hollow. From the door of our tent we could see
the blue summit of the Turin "mountain," and have in the foreground a
perpetual moving picture of camels, horses, sheep, goats, and cattle
seeking water. All day long hundreds of animals crowded about the well,
while one or two Mongols filled the troughs by means of wooden buckets.
The life about the wells is always interesting, for they are points
of concentration for all wanderers on the plains. Just as we pitch
our tents and make ourselves at home, so great caravans arrive with
tired, laden camels. The huge brutes kneel, while their packs are being
removed, and then stand in a long line, patiently waiting until their
turn comes to drink. Groups of ten or twelve crowd about the trough;
then, majestically swinging their padded feet, they move slowly to one
side, kneel upon the ground, and sleepily chew their cuds until all
the herd has joined them. Sometimes the caravans wait for several days
to rest their animals and let them feed; sometimes they vanish in the
first gray light of dawn.
On the Turin plain we had a delightful glimpse of antelope babyhood.
The great herds which we had found were largely composed of does just
ready to drop their young, and after a few days they scattered widely
into groups of from five to twenty.
We found the first baby antelope on June 27. We had seen half a dozen
females circling restlessly about, and suspected that their fawns could
not be far away. Sure enough, our Mongol discovered one of the little
fellows in the flattest part of the flat plain. It was lying motionless
with its neck stretched out, just where its mother had told it to
remain when she saw us riding toward her.
Yvette called to me, "Oh, please, please catch it. We can raise it on
milk and it will make such an adorable pet."
"Oh, yes," I said, "let's do. I'll get it for you. You can put it in
your hat till we go back to camp."
In blissful ignorance I dismounted and slowly went toward the little
animal. There was not the slightest motion until I tossed my outspread
shooting coat. Then I saw a flash of brown, a bobbing white rump-patch,
and a tiny thing, no larger than a rabbit, speeding over the plain. The
baby was somewhat "wabbly," to be sure, for this was probably the first
time it had ever tried its slender legs, but after a few hundred yards
it ran as steadily as its mother.
I was so surprised that for a moment I simply stared. Then I leaped
into the saddle and Kublai Khan rushed after the diminutive brown
fawn. It was a good half mile before we had the little chap under the
pony's nose but the race was by no means ended. Mewing with fright,
it swerved sharply to the left and ere we could swing about, it had
gained a hundred yards. Again and again we were almost on it, but every
time it dodged and got away. After half an hour my pony was gasping
for breath, and I changed to Yvette's chestnut stallion. The Mongol
joined me and we had another run, but we might have been pursuing a
streak of shifting sunlight. Finally we had to give it up and watch the
tiny thing bob away toward its mother, who was circling about in the
distance.
There were half a dozen other fawns upon the plain, but they all
treated us alike and my wife's hat was empty when we returned to camp.
These antelope probably had been born not more than two or three days
before we found them. Later, after a chase of more than a mile, we
caught one which was only a few hours old. Had it not injured itself
when dodging between my pony's legs we could never have secured it at
all.
Thus, nature, in the great scheme of life, has provided for her
antelope children by blessing them with undreamed-of speed and only
during the first days of babyhood could a wolf catch them on the open
plain. When they are from two to three weeks old they run with the
females in herds of six or eight, and you cannot imagine what a pretty
sight it is to see the little fellows skimming like tiny, brown
chickens beside their mothers. There is another wonderful provision
for their life upon the desert. The digestive fluids of the stomach
act upon the starch in the vegetation which they eat so that it forms
sufficient water for their needs. Therefore, some species never drink.
The antelope choose a flat plain on which to give birth to their young
in order to be well away from the wolves which are their greatest
enemy; and the fawns are taught to lie absolutely motionless upon the
ground until they know that they have been discovered. Apparently
they are all born during the last days of June and in the first week
of July. The great herds which we encountered were probably moving
northward both to obtain better grazing and to drop their young on the
Turin plain. During this period the old bucks go off singly into the
rolling ground, and the herds are composed only of does and yearling
males. It was always possible to tell at once if an antelope had a fawn
upon the plain, for she would run in a wide circle around the spot and
refuse to be driven away.
We encountered only two species of antelope between Kalgan and Urga.
The one of which I have been writing, and with which we became best
acquainted, was the Mongolian gazelle (_Gazella gutturosa_). The other
was the goitered gazelle (_Gazella subgutturosa_). In the western Gobi,
the Prjevalski gazelle (_Gazella prjevalski_) is more abundant than the
other species, but it never reaches the region which we visited.
The goitered antelope is seldom found on the rolling meadowlands
between Kalgan and Panj-kiang on the south, or between Turin and Urga
on the north, according to our observations; they keep almost entirely
to the Gobi Desert between Panj-kiang and Turin, and we often saw
them among the "nigger heads" or tussocks in the most arid parts.
The Mongolian gazelle, on the other hand, is most abundant in the
grasslands both north and south of the Gobi, but nevertheless has a
continuous distribution across the plateau between Kalgan and Urga.
On our northward trip in May, when we took motion pictures of the
antelope on the Panj-kiang plain, both, species were present, but the
goitered gazelle far outnumbered the others--which is unusual in that
locality. It could always be distinguished from the Mongolian gazelle
because of its smaller size, darker coloring, and the long tail which
it carries straight up in the air at right angles to the back; the
Mongolian antelope has an exceedingly short tail. The horns of both
species differ considerably in shape and can easily be distinguished.
During the winter these antelope develop a coat of very long, soft hair
which is light brown-gray in color strongly tinged with rufous on the
head and face. Its summer pelage is a beautiful orange-fawn. The winter
coat is shed during May, and the animals lose their short summer hair
in late August and early September.
Both species have a greatly enlarged larynx from which the goitered
gazelle derives its name. What purpose this extraordinary character
serves the animal, I am at a loss to know. Certainly it is not to
give them an exceptional "voice"; for, when wounded, I have heard them
make only a deep-toned roar which was by no means loud. Specimens of
the larynx which we preserved in formalin are now being prepared for
anatomical study.
Although the two species inhabit the same locality, they keep well by
themselves and only once, on the Panj-kiang plain, did we see them
running together in the same herd; then it was probably because they
were frightened by the car. I doubt if they ever interbreed except in
rare instances.
The fact that these animals can develop such an extraordinary speed was
a great surprise to me, as undoubtedly it will be to most naturalists.
Had we not been able to determine it accurately by means of the
speedometers on our cars, I should never have dared state that they
could reach fifty-five or sixty miles an hour. It must be remembered
that the animals can continue at such a high speed only for a short
distance--perhaps half a mile--and will never exert themselves to the
utmost unless they are thoroughly frightened. They would run just fast
enough to keep well away from the cars or our horses, and it was only
when we began to shoot that they showed what they were capable of
doing. When the bullets began to scatter about them they would seem to
flatten several inches and run at such a terrific speed that their legs
appeared only as a blur.
Of course, they have developed their fleetness as a protection from
enemies. Their greatest menace is the wolves, but since we demonstrated
that these animals cannot travel faster than about thirty miles an
hour, the antelope are perfectly safe unless they happen to be caught
off their guard. To prevent just this, the gazelles usually keep well
out on the open plains and avoid rocks or abrupt hills which would
furnish cover for a wolf. Of course, they often go into the rolling
ground, but it is usually where the slopes are gradual and where they
have sufficient space in which to protect themselves.
The gazelles have a perfectly smooth, even run when going at full
speed. I have often seen them bound along when not particularly
frightened, but never when they are really trying to get away in the
shortest possible time. The front limbs, as in the case of a deer, act
largely as supports and the real motive power comes from the hind legs.
If an antelope has only a front leg broken no living horse can catch
it, but with a shattered hind limb my pony could run it down. I have
already related (see page 49) how, in a car, we pursued an antelope
with both front legs broken below the knee; even then, it reached a
speed of fifteen miles an hour. The Mongolian plains are firm and hard
with no bushes or other obstructions and, consequently, are especially
favorable for rapid travel.
The cheetah, or hunting leopard of Africa, has the reputation of being
able to reach a greater speed, for a short dash, than any other animal
in that country, and I have often wondered how it would fare in a race
with a Mongolian gazelle. Unfortunately, conditions in Africa are not
favorable for the use of automobiles in hunting, and no actual facts as
to the speed of the cheetah are available.
At this camp, and during the journey back to Urga, we had many glorious
hunts. Each one held its own individual fascination, for no two were
just alike; and every day we learned something new about the life
history of the Mongolian antelope. We needed specimens for a group in
the new Hall of Asiatic Life in the American Museum of Natural History,
as well as a series representing all ages of both males and females for
scientific study. When we returned to Urga we had them all.
The hunting of large game was only one aspect of our work. We usually
returned to camp about two o'clock in the afternoon. As soon as tiffin
had been eaten my wife worked at her photography, while I busied
myself over the almost innumerable details of the preparation and
cataloguing of our specimens. About six o'clock, accompanied by the two
Chinese taxidermists carrying bags of traps, we would leave the tents.
Sometimes we would walk several miles, meanwhile carefully scrutinizing
the ground for holes or traces of mammal workings, and set eighty or
one hundred traps. We might find a colony of meadow voles (_Microtus_)
where dozens of "runways" betrayed their presence, or discover the
burrows of the desert hamster (_Cricetulus_). These little fellows, not
larger than a house mouse, have their tiny feet enveloped in soft fur,
like the slippers of an Eskimo baby.
As we walked back to camp in the late afternoon, we often saw a
kangaroo rat (_Alactaga mongolica?_) jumping across the plain, and when
we had driven it into a hole, we could be sure to catch it in a trap
the following morning. They are gentle little creatures, with huge,
round eyes, long, delicate ears, and tails tufted at the end like the
feathers on an arrow's shaft. The name expresses exactly what they
are like--diminutive kangaroos--but, of course, they are rodents and
not marsupials. During the glacial period of the early Pleistocene,
about one hundred thousand years ago, we know from fossil remains that
there were great invasions into Europe of most of these types of tiny
mammals, which we were catching during this delightful summer on the
Mongolian plains.
After two months we regretfully turned back toward Urga. Our summer
was to be divided between the plains on the south and the forests
to the north of the sacred city, and the first half of the work had
been completed. The results had been very satisfactory, and our boxes
contained five hundred specimens; but our hearts were sad. The wide
sweep of the limitless, grassy sea, the glorious morning rides, and
the magic of the starlit nights had filled our blood. Even the lure of
the unknown forests could not make us glad to go, for the plains had
claimed us as their own.