Part 3

It is interesting to notice how strangely the element of luck will enter into a sportsman’s experience. One day, after hunting faithfully from early dawn until evening without success, I concluded to vary the monotony by shooting at a mark. I had not been engaged in that pastime very long before my attention was arrested by hearing something crashing through the brush at the foot of the hill where I stood, and presently I saw a fine blacktail buck come bounding up the slope directly toward me, accompanied by a doe. My rifle was just ready to bring up to my shoulder, but I remained motionless in plain view, waiting for the game to come within easy range. A more picturesque sight than that blacktail, easily and gracefully clearing the fallen timbers, I have rarely seen. My eagerness did not interfere with my sizing up the well-proportioned and beautifully poised antlers, which I regarded as already mine. As I raised my rifle to shoot, although the action was quite deliberate, it was immediately noticed. The deer changed its course when not over forty yards away, exposing its broad flank to my aim. It ran some distance after I fired, clearing with ease the trunk of a large fallen tree, and giving me no little concern for a few moments. Following his tracks, I soon came upon the deer, dead. It was indeed a fine specimen, weighing perhaps two hundred and fifty pounds, in good condition and with a perfect set of antlers.

I had often heard of the remarkably acute senses of wild animals; the timidity and keenness of deer are proverbial, and yet here was an instance which seemed to belie all former stories and past experience. Standing in plain view while firing at a mark, the buck ran directly toward me. One would naturally suppose that the noise of the shooting would have driven the animal away. My theory about the occurrence is, that when the report of the rifle is first heard, the tendency is for a wild animal to become alarmed and run in the opposite direction, but presently when it catches the echo, the real direction of the sound is misconceived, and it will then run in the direction of the firing. Other sportsmen have agreed with me in this view. There is no doubt that deer and other wild animals can tell the direction of sound, and consequently, when one becomes alarmed by the shooting and runs toward the place where the sportsman is located, it is not the ear, but the judgment that is at fault. A wild animal can have no correct idea of an echo, but undoubtedly imagines that it is an entirely different sound, and being last heard determines its final course.

This, however, does not explain the action of the deer in running directly toward me when I was in plain view. All sportsmen soon learn to recognize the fact that animals, although keen of sight, are not very discriminating. Birds, as well as wild animals, will frequently continue their course when it lies in the direction of a human being, provided there is no perceptible movement to attract their attention. Any kind of motion is immediately noticed, particularly if it is at all sudden. Stationary objects are not apt to attract much attention unless there is something very strange in their appearance, especially if the coloring does not harmonize with the general surroundings and happens to be different from what is ordinarily seen.

Animals use their faculties in a very mechanical way, and this observation is more true of sight than of any other sense. I have seen a pack of dogs which had followed a bobcat’s tracks to a tree where they supposed it had taken refuge, baying and standing guard, while it was perfectly evident to any one who was not blind that the cat had escaped. The sense of smell had directed the dogs to the spot, and relying upon the information received in that way, they failed to avail themselves of the intelligence they might have derived from another source. I have no doubt that the sight of dogs is particularly keen, but they rely almost entirely upon the sense of smell. When the mind is greatly absorbed in one direction, it is for the time being far less observant or attentive in other ways. A human being depends mostly upon the sight, and next upon hearing; the sense of smell is the least used of any of the senses. Among animals, with few exceptions, smell is the principal sense, and all the others are little used in comparison, although very acute.

Having secured a good deer trophy, I next turned my thoughts to a different kind of hunting, and concluded that antelope would afford a pleasing variety, both as a prize and in the method of hunting.

The next day the outfit was got in readiness and we started for a place called Hayden, located in California Park. The sun had melted the snow, and the journey was hot and dusty. Traveling over the steep mountain trails, the guide gave me the lead, while he rode at the rear of the pack horses strung out in single file, and made use of all the arts of persuasion to keep them going, frequently leaning down to pick up a rock or a stick to hurl at some “ornery” beast that would turn a deaf ear to the appeal, “Wake up and pay for your bedding.” Speeches in true cowboy style, with plenty of rhetorical flourishes, were delivered almost without intermission, when the traveling was particularly difficult.

After leaving the timber, we had a tedious journey through long stretches of sage brush. The land where the sage brush abounds seems desolate and forsaken, and would impress the casual observer as perfectly worthless. While reflecting upon the forbidding aspect of the country, I wondered if this land could be rendered productive upon the arrival of that era “when the desert would blossom as the rose.” I discovered an answer to my question ere long, when my sight was gladdened by a neat little ranch located near a stream, with about two acres of ground irrigated and under cultivation. If it had been an oasis in a desert, the contrast could not have been more striking. A great stack of alfalfa hay stood near the ranch, exposing a cut in its side which revealed the interior perfectly green. At first I thought that the grass had not been properly cured, but I learned afterward that the alfalfa contains so much nutriment that it remains green a long time after it has been cured and stacked. There were quite a number of fruit trees of small size so laden with fruit that the branches had to be propped. All that is needed to make the soil productive, is to clear off the sage brush, and irrigate.

We camped that night by a stream in a clump of aspen trees, many of which, although dead, were still standing. The aspen when dead becomes exceedingly dry and light, and makes a very hot and bright fire, but quickly burns out, leaving a small quantity of ashes to the amount of wood consumed. After the evening meal, we piled the dead aspen wood upon the fire until it formed a heap nearly as high as our heads. The flames shot well into the air and lighted up the landscape for a considerable distance. Listening to the guide spinning his yarns as we lay by the cheerful blaze, the time slipped by rapidly. It may not be out of place to relate one of the stories my guide told me, as a sample of the kind of intellectual treat they furnished.

Among his acquaintances was a telegraph operator at a place called Red Wing on the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad. The operator had taught the guide a smattering of telegraphy, and the sequel will prove the truth of the saying that “a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.” The operator was on very friendly terms with a young lady in the same employment at a station not many miles away, and when business was slack they freely corresponded in complimentary and sometimes sentimental messages, until at length their feelings toward each other had deepened into something more than friendship. One day the guide dropped into the office, and while he was there, the operator had to leave for a short time on other business. During his absence a message came over the wire of the usual sentimental kind. The “chargé d’affaires” did not recognize the sender nor understand the message, but being possessed of ready wit and unlimited assurance, he immediately sent back a reply characterized by brevity, force and spiciness. When the regular operator returned and endeavored to resume a tête-à-tête he could get no response, nor was further communication continued, except in the ordinary course of business. An effort to obtain an explanation received no notice, as he was supposed to be the guilty party and naturally would understand the cause of the trouble well enough without it. While the operator was pouring out the burden of his troubled soul to the guide a few days after, a suspicion flashed across the mind of the latter that perhaps the fragrant message he had sent at random might have been the cause of the misunderstanding. He so informed the operator, and matters were finally satisfactorily explained, and the former friendly relations restored.

When California Park was at length reached, we found the country very hilly, but open. There were a number of antelope in that locality, but it was almost impossible to get a good shot at one. The atmosphere is so deceptive that it is very difficult to gauge the distance. I made a good many quite accurate line shots, but they were invariably either too high or too low. It was some time before I could form a correct idea of the distance. I believe it is best for any one shooting in a strange country where distances are deceptive, to ask information of the guide, so that he may be able to sight his rifle at the right elevations. In an open country, where the atmosphere is rarefied and objects are seen very distinctly, it is easy to underestimate the range of your mark; while in the timber, particularly if it is fairly dense, the tendency is to overestimate and consequently shoot too high. After a couple of days, I at last succeeded in bagging an antelope and tried to run down on horseback another one that I had creased, but it managed to escape. It would frequently stop and look back while being pursued. Once I checked my horse and waited. The antelope stood still and watched me at a safe distance. I observed that it grew no weaker from the loss of blood, and when I resumed the chase I became convinced that it was probably more than a match in speed for my jaded horse. I did not seem to gain on it, and the horse was showing great distress under the strain. I had not the heart to apply the stimulus to make him quicken his pace as the guide did to his horse, fairly raking his sides from the shoulders down with the great Mexican spurs until they were red with blood.

My experience in hunting antelope convinces me that a sportsman earns about every trophy he gets. No man can be a sluggard and succeed in hunting this kind of game. With senses as acute as any wild animals possess, they live in an open country, where every object is visible except for the slight concealment offered by the sage brush or some depression of the ground. The antelope have one stupid habit--very remarkable on account of their keenness in other respects. They will almost always follow their leader, strung out in single file, notwithstanding that in doing so the end of the line may come close to a hunter in pursuit who is cutting across their course. When the line is strung out to a considerable length, and the mounted hunter is not more than a few hundred yards away and is riding at right angles to the course that the antelope are pursuing, it can readily be seen that the last of the herd will have allowed the pursuer to gain considerable distance. There has been a good deal of discussion in regard to the possibility of running antelope down by mounted hunters. The stratagem usually employed is to surround a bunch of antelope by making a wide circle sufficiently large to avoid giving immediate alarm to the herd. Several men begin the chase by riding toward them from several widely separated points and driving the herd in the direction of another group of hunters, who are concealed from sight in some depression of the ground. When the herd reaches the point where the other hunters are concealed, they are pursued by men on fresh mounts. Sometimes the herd is scattered, and some stray confused animal will try to rejoin the others, and in doing so will run straight in the direction of his comrades, quite regardless of the closeness of his pursuers. I saw one lone distracted animal trying to rejoin the herd come within sixty yards of a dismounted hunter, who tried to get a shot at it, but was prevented by his horse straying in front of him and moving in such a way that his aim was cut off, until the antelope had considerably increased the distance, and then escaped the shots fired.

My time being limited, I was compelled to cut my antelope hunt short without having secured a suitable trophy, although I had plenty of hard riding and excitement. On the return trip, as the guide and myself sat by the camp-fire, a cowboy joined us who became quite companionable, and gave us all the news after his mind had been sufficiently stimulated by several generous pulls at the flask. It appeared that a couple of days before an attempt had been made one night to rob the bank at Meeker. Before the robbers could accomplish their purpose, the citizens discovered what was taking place and quietly surrounded the building. When the men came out they were shot down and killed; the ends of justice were thereby satisfied without the proverbial law’s delay. The cowboy then told me of another bank, in which he was a depositor, which had been robbed not long before by one of its officers, who had gotten off with a considerable sum. I asked him what the liabilities were. The word staggered him. Although I recognized that he was a man of resources, yet I felt sure that I had “stumped him,” and felt sorry for it. He stared vacantly at the fire a few moments and slowly shifted a quid from one side of his mouth to the other and sent a long, yellow stream into the center of the blaze, which I thought for a moment would extinguish it; at length he replied in a leisurely way: “Wal, pardner, the liabilities are--if they catch him they will hang him.”

Two days afterward I took leave of my guide; I felt as I clasped his great strong hand that the compression came as much from the heart as the muscles.

I soon found myself again in civilized surroundings. A barber’s skill, a warm bath and conventional attire had already wrought a wonderful transformation. As I sat in a comfortable seat and looked out of the car window, observing the strange and beautiful scenery, so continually changing with the rapid movement of the train, every hour covering a greater distance than I could travel with a pack outfit in a day, I felt how much easier it was to take it all in this way; no fractious horse to control; free from the burning sun, which would often shoot down its rays upon one like the heat waves from a furnace, and while in the midst of this ordeal, the climate would sometimes suddenly change with the clouds gathering in the sky, and a cold wave, perhaps accompanied by a snowstorm, would follow. When I reflect upon my experience in after years, the scenery I observed so rapidly and with no effort, reappears to my mind like a blurred photograph as compared to what I saw while traveling with the pack outfit. The charm of natural scenery grows upon one by degrees; whoever thinks that the charm wanes when the novelty has worn off is not a true admirer of nature.

Whatever opinion one may entertain of the foregoing statement, it is very certain that the sportsman cannot gratify his favorite desire and at the same time consult his ease in all respects. A royal sportsman may afford the luxury of having a force of game keepers drive wild beasts within range of his rifle, and imagine that he is enjoying the real thing. The average man has no such opportunity, and I believe has no reason to regret it. The best hunting sections of the country are remote from settlements, and are generally somewhat difficult of access. Game is by no means so plentiful now as it was when the country was being opened to civilizing influence by the introduction of railroads. It is no longer possible for a wealthy man, who likes sport without inconvenience and hardship, to have his parlor car side-tracked, and to make it a headquarters while enjoying the pastime. One is compelled to rough it to some extent to obtain success in hunting big game at the present time. But after all, is that an objection? Does it not put a keen edge on the sportsman’s desire? Those hunting incidents which have given me the greatest trouble and exercised my skill the most are the ones I recall with greatest pleasure.

EXPENSE OF AN OUTING

The expense of a Western hunting trip after big game, and what is necessary to make it a success, will largely depend upon how much or how little one requires. The average man, accustomed to the ordinary comforts of civilized environment, should be careful to supply himself with as many of these as possible, without too greatly increasing the expense and the bulk of what has to be transported.

The season of the year makes a difference also. In the late fall or during the winter any one who is not accustomed to camping out in cold weather will find a tent with a light, portable sheet-iron stove, which can easily be carried on a horse’s back, very serviceable.

My last hunting trip in the West was late in the fall, and I had everything complete. I will enumerate what I took and then state the cost: I had a guide and a cook; a tent for myself and another which served as quarters for the three men and also for a dining pavilion; a sheet-iron stove for each tent, which, with several lengths of pipe weighed very little; two folding tables and several chairs that packed into very small space; plenty of warm bedding and underwear; a liberal supply of canned stuff--soups, meats, vegetables, preserves, etc.--besides the usual standbys, flour, bacon, my rifle, ammunition, etc., and a few books to read when I was tired of hunting and wanted to loaf in camp. The cost was as follows: Guide, $3 per day; horse wrangler, $2 per day; cook, $3 per day; eight pack horses, 50 cents apiece per day; six dogs, no charge.

Provisions, consisting principally of canned stuff, at from 15 to 20 cents a can, I purchased at St. Anthony, Idaho. I had about $60 worth of canned stuff, and had some left over after camping out thirty days. In round figures it cost me about $14 a day while camping out. This expense can be cut down, if one wishes to economize. Great care, however, should be taken about attempting to cut off too much.

I have heard much adverse criticism in regard to canned goods, but in my own experience I find them most serviceable. What are generally sold contain, as a rule, a large quantity of water, and this adds unnecessarily to the weight and bulk. A great deal of this may be had in a condensed form; before cooking, water can be added to it.

The success of a hunting trip depends almost entirely upon the guide. Great care should be taken against securing the services of any one without first finding out something about him in advance. If you are fifty or one hundred miles out in the wilderness and your guide should prove unsatisfactory, you cannot conveniently dispense with his services. In that case you have nothing to do but to make the best of a bad bargain.

With the disappearance of big game almost everywhere, and the greater difficulty of securing it, more skill and special knowledge are required now than formerly. There are a good many men who have shot large game and lived in the wilderness who would not make competent guides. The man whose time is limited must select as his guide someone who has a good knowledge of woodcraft, understands the habits of wild animals and is able to furnish a good outfit.

A NEW BRUNSWICK HUNT

The Province of New Brunswick, in the neighborhood of the Tobique River, was once noted as a favorite resort for caribou, but for some reason this fickle, migratory animal has become somewhat scarce in that locality. The moose has become more abundant. Various reasons are given for the diminishing number of caribou and the increase of moose, but I do not undertake to explain the cause of the change. There are certainly quite a number of moose in the country, and if one is not too eager to shoot the first chance he gets, and will wait till he sees a good head, a hunt of several weeks ought to secure satisfactory results. The law allows a sportsman only one moose, and that fact should make him careful about bagging anything which comes in sight.

The true sportsman should form a resolution to secure a good trophy or nothing. It is pitiable to see what rubbish some people lug out of the woods--heads that are wanting in size and defective in fair proportions. The head of the moose lacks the grace and beauty of outline which characterize the elk, the only large animal of this continent which can compare with it in size, and so it must make up in massiveness what it lacks in other respects. Whether large or small, an elk’s head is almost invariably beautiful and graceful. In securing a trophy one can afford to be more independent of size when an elk head is the object sought, and not the head of a moose.

The attractiveness of a moose head consists largely in its grotesqueness; the size has quite as much to do with that as its shape.

If one intends to hunt in New Brunswick, a great deal depends upon the kind of hunting desired, whether one goes early or late in the season. In the early part of the season, say from the first of September to the 25th of October, there is little or no snow, and at that time it is extremely difficult to get any large game by stalking, for the ground is covered with dry leaves and brittle wood, which make considerable noise at every step. At that season one must depend largely upon canoe work and calling for moose, while caribou and deer are then still more difficult to hunt.