Part 7

“Do you suppose they are gone far?”

“Oh, maybe a mile, maybe fifteen,” was the enlightening response.

When camping out in the Western country horses are an uncertain quantity. They are apt to wander over a considerable space in search of good pasturage, which is not easy to find on account of the extreme dryness of the soil and the difficulty of any vegetation thriving which cannot shoot its roots deep into the earth. Fortunately Jake soon appeared with the stock.

“We will have the tents up so that you can be comfortable to-night,” he remarked with a look as though he were conveying a most welcome piece of intelligence, for we had been sleeping out in the open for several nights.

With the air of one who despised all such things as enervating luxuries, I replied: “Let that go to some other time; we want to get an early start after something.”

“It won’t take long to put up the tents and then Aleck can get everything else to rights while we are hunting,” Jake replied.

I ate a substantial breakfast, and after finishing that meal I ate a substantial lunch before starting. Needless to say, I felt in no condition for vigorous exercise which I would be compelled to take when our course led over ascents too steep to take on horseback. About lunch time, however, my capricious and unreasoning stomach, like some people who are mere slaves of custom and routine, demanded a square meal, which was not to be had.

Two dogs, which served more as sociable companions about camp than in any other capacity, accompanied us. One of the dogs was a large-sized bull-terrier, rather old and at times inclined to be cross. This animal answered to the name of Major. Major had a peculiar trait, which it is hard to account for. In the evening, when the cook pulled out his harmonicon and began to perform on it, Major would stick his nose straight up in the air and emit the most doleful and lugubrious wail I ever listened to.

The other dog was a fox-terrier, named Jack, like most of his species, a very animated little creature, always ready for a scrap. This disposition was a source of annoyance at times, because Jack had a strong prejudice against porcupines, and on several occasions I have had to sit on the ground and help pull the quills out of his hide after one of these encounters.

As I was leisurely riding along some distance behind the guide I saw him stop on a slight elevation somewhat in advance, and at the same time I heard the dogs barking very savagely. Jake made a sign to me to hurry up. When I arrived at the spot I saw a couple of coyotes not more than forty yards away yelping and tantalizing the dogs. I dismounted, after pulling my rifle out of its scabbard, and brought it carelessly to my shoulder. Jake in the meantime had unsheathed his knife ready to strip the hides.

I fired, and, much to my surprise, both of the coyotes vanished with startling suddenness. I had evidently missed, probably overshooting. I think it was about the worst shot I ever made, and I never could understand it. A sportsman will once in a while flinch through some muscular contraction which it is hard to account for. The thick sage brush and intervening hills made a second shot practically hopeless. Jake seemed overcome with emotion, quite as much as myself. For once his eloquent tongue failed him; the words appeared to stick in his throat. His wide open eyes and his distended jaws, which seemed to be pried open with a quid of tobacco in one corner of his mouth, betrayed his astonishment. In silence we remounted and rode a considerable space without speaking a word.

Finally Jake opened the conversation with all the tact of an accomplished diplomat.

Turning in his saddle and looking intently at me he exclaimed: “Say, do you know what I would do if I missed a shot like that?”

“No,” I replied.

“I would take that gun and smash it over the first rock I came across.”

I quite agreed with him that it was the fault of the gun, but, strange to say, I did not take his advice. I still have the weapon and I can recall some of its achievements, which are not wholly discreditable.

Several days passed quite uneventfully except for a rather novel experience. While sitting around the camp-fire one evening our attention was attracted by the noise of some animal breaking through the undergrowth. The sound of cracking branches and pattering hoofs seemed to approach closer.

“That’s one of the horses, and he seems inclined to be sociable,” said Jake as he leaned over to lay hold of a good-sized stick to cast at him.

The animal presently appeared, coming straight to the camp-fire, but when fairly revealed by the light the horse we were about to drive unceremoniously away developed a splendid set of antlers. We were confronted by a black-tailed deer which had been attracted by the strange fascination of the blaze to within several paces, where he stood perfectly still. No one moved nor uttered a word for a considerable space for fear of alarming our timid guest. It was a charming sight to watch the graceful and shapely form of the deer, his head crowned with a perfectly balanced set of antlers, the wide open eyes staring in bewilderment at three rough looking men sitting around the fire like petrified images. The deer held his position for some thirty seconds rigid and immovable, except the swelling of his sides in breathing, while the glowing embers brought out in distinct view every line and muscle of the body against the dark background of the forest.

He posed like a beautiful statue with all the advantage of picturesque and weird surroundings to set off his perfect figure.

What a chance for a photographer to take a snapshot of the group with a flashlight. Sad to relate, the only impression I could take away with me was that which was photographed upon my mind. In place of a photograph to show to my friends I am compelled to relate the bare circumstance with but limited power to portray the scene in words; the imagination of the reader must do the rest.

How long the tableau would have lasted I cannot say, if I had not pulled the curtain, so to speak, by attempting to reach out and get my rifle, which was nearby. I knew it was a desperate chance, but I was extremely anxious to secure the head of our handsome guest.

Hardly had I attempted to move my hand in the direction of the rifle, although very slowly, than the watchful eyes seemed to become conscious of something wrong, and the spell was broken. With a single leap the deer cleared the lighted space and was lost in the darkness of the forest.

It is a well known fact that wild animals and birds are stupefied at the appearance of artificial light. Birds are often attracted by it, while animals, dazed by the strangeness of the sight and the glare, seem to lose at times all power of motion. Whether it is because of curiosity or on account of the judgment becoming paralyzed through excessive fear, artificial light of great intensity seems to deprive a wild animal of his usual cunning and alertness. Wildfowl, such as ducks and geese, are notably affected in the same way. “Firelighting,” which it is well known, involves the destruction of so many thousands of game birds every year, fairly illustrates and proves the foregoing statement. Insects seem strangely attracted by artificial lights and frequently pay for their temerity with their lives. What impression artificial light makes upon wild animals it is hard to state. Sportsmen know how easily a deer can be taken at a disadvantage by “jacking,” but this does not account for one entering the lighted circle of a camp-fire. Instances of wild animals being approached when stupefied by the presence of artificial light are plentiful, but I have never known before of any animal actually invading a camp and standing in front of the fire.

When we had exhausted comment upon the unusual incident, which was the absorbing theme for conversation for the balance of the evening, a good night’s sleep came as relaxation from the exercise of the day.

The morning broke bright and clear and quite cold. Breakfast was soon bolted down. An abomination which Aleck called a pancake was the principal article of our repast. This dish compensated by its size and quantity for what it lacked in other respects. Even Jake, whose digestion might excite the envy of an ostrich, hesitated before tackling a second one. Aleck, seeing his uncertain look, asked him whether he would have another pancake.

“Only a small piece about the size of your foot,” Jake replied.

Having saddled the horses the guide took a course which led along a rocky defile for a considerable distance. While looking up at the red sandstone cliffs, which overhung us, and admiring the contrast their rugged outlines furnished against the clear blue of the sky, I saw a large bald-headed eagle perched upon a commanding eminence. His figure was sharply defined in the clear atmosphere, and although I knew he was quite a distance off, I was somewhat surprised when the guide computed the range at 300 yards at least. I reined up my horse and threw the lines over his head. As Jake saw me alight to take aim, a sort of weary expression came over his face. He was evidently thinking of the coyotes. After carefully sighting the bird and gauging the range according to the estimate I had received, I fired. For several seconds the wings fluttered, as the eagle strove to balance himself on his perch, and then he collapsed in a lifeless mass, a few feet below.