Part 2
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.
Moose frequently come down to the water, of which they are very fond, and in which they bathe and wallow. Caribou are less apt to frequent such spots. Calling is a favorite method of bringing moose within range, but great care has to be exercised, for a single false note and your noble quarry, instead of accepting an invitation to a funeral, which he is to grace, will retire to a place of safety.
When there are a few inches of snow on the ground, hunting becomes more attractive to the sportsman. Instead of sitting in his canoe waiting for something to come within range, he is vigorously exercising his muscles and his knowledge of woodcraft to secure a shot, and often his skill is put to a considerable test in shooting through thick timber.
There is nothing more improving to health and conducive to happiness than strenuous exercise in the cold, bracing air, with sport as an incentive. Whatever may be the outcome of your hunting, you are sure to take out of the woods with you an increased supply of vital energy and robustness, which, after all, is very important. If your hunting should not furnish you with such tangible results as you would like to see, console yourself with the reflection that a very wealthy man once offered “a million dollars for a new stomach,” and perhaps you have secured an equivalent for a great deal less.
Early in October of 1904 I joined my guide at the forks of the Tobique. We immediately started out in a canoe, into which I packed all my things, to pole up the Little Tobique. The water was pretty high, and this increased the difficulty of ascending the river, whose current, naturally strong, was interspersed by rocks and the débris of stray logs and woodland refuse. The sturdy skill of the guide was considerably taxed in spite of the small assistance rendered by me with the paddle; and yet I was of some assistance in forcing the canoe over places where there was no poling bottom. In about five hours we reached our destination and put up at the camp, which consisted of a very commodious log cabin, where we found the cook, who soon began to busy himself in preparing the evening meal. The two succeeding mornings I got up before day, while stars were still bright, and returned late in the morning, having as a reward for my pains a good appetite and plenty to satisfy it, when I could succeed in getting it down. The third morning both the guide and myself overslept, and with a blush of shame I encountered the glare of Old Sol as he fiercely showered his burning rays upon our heads.
That same morning a lazy bull moose had been guilty of the same offense, and appeared at the bank of the river to take his belated bath just as our canoe came dancing and twisting down the swift, turbid stream toward him. The big bull did not seem in the least concerned, although every moment we were rapidly drawing nearer. If he had been standing in the water, I believe he would have let us run into him had we been disposed to do so. With a quick movement of the paddle, the guide turned the canoe so that I could secure an easy position to shoot, and then a sharp crack of the Mauser rifle, followed by the heavy swaying motion of the animal as he sank down to pour out his life blood on the sand, closed the incident.
The head measured fifty-two inches, and was quite shapely. As I surveyed the prostrate form of this pride of the Canadian forest, I thought that it was no particular skill of mine which had brought it within easy reach and secured me a fine trophy. It seemed to me as though the original owner of the antlers had almost made me a present of them. We do not greatly appreciate things which come too easily into our possession. I would have been better pleased if the royal beast had made the shot more difficult and had given me a chance to exercise my skill. He may have mistaken me for one of those sportsmen who tremblingly pass the gun to the guide and ask him to shoot.
During that time I saw another moose, which I declined to shoot, because, as I informed a friend, I had all the law allowed, and for the further reason that “it had no head.” When I informed my friend that the moose “had no head,” he seemed somewhat incredulous, but after I explained that this was an Irish bull, he seemed better satisfied.
During the rest of my sojourn I had considerable amusement in shooting at a mark with my .22 automatic Winchester, which affords plenty of practice without making too much noise, and is also useful for small game.
The return trip home was diversified with the common experiences of the transition from the rough camp life to your own fireside, when you sit in an easy chair and talk it all over with your friends. Sixty miles’ paddling down the Tobique, ever impelled by its rapid though wayward current, which required the constant correction of your course, and gave delight in the survey of the beautiful banks, decorated by the virgin forest for miles, marked the first day’s journey. The next day a ride in stuffy cars over a second-class railroad, until you finally land in a Pullman coach and spin along at the rate of sixty miles an hour. Perhaps you pick up a chance acquaintance in one or two sportsmen who have just returned from a similar outing, and tell you of their mighty deeds which lose nothing by repetition; you shrink within your modest little self as you listen, for you know you have accomplished nothing which will stand well in comparison.
On my way back I met several sportsmen, one of whom related to me his exploits, which were very tame on first recital. We were sitting in the smoking apartment of the Pullman, when presently two other sportsmen came in and we got into conversation over our different hunting experiences. The two sportsmen who came in last related the wonderful feats which they had accomplished. After they had talked themselves out, my first acquaintance, who had been so modest in what he related, much to my surprise took a fresh start. I think a couple of good drinks, which stimulated his imagination and stirred his personal pride, had something to do with it. With an eloquence which truly surprised me, he added the “verisimilitude of truth to otherwise bald and uninteresting statement of facts.” It was evident that the newcomers were outclassed, for my modest friend was not only gifted of tongue, but he told his story last. I have discovered that there are more ways than one of establishing a reputation as a sportsman, and sometimes the “gift o’ gab” is more important than skill in handling a rifle.
ROUNDING UP CATS IN COLORADO
The mountain lion of the West is the panther or cougar of our Eastern States, sometimes called “painter” by the old-fashioned backwoodsman; in some localities it goes by the name of “Indian devil,” no doubt on account of the weird, unearthly noises it makes at night. In Mexico it is known as the “puma,” and grows to a larger size than elsewhere. In appearance the mountain lion is very similar to the African lioness, having a smooth, tawny skin, without any mane; a full-grown animal that will measure from seven to eight feet from its nose to the end of the tail and weighs about 180 pounds, is considered a large specimen. They seldom exceed this, and more frequently fall below it.
Although often engaged in hunting big game, I never saw a mountain lion at large except when one has been rounded up by a pack of dogs. In their habits they are stealthy and secretive, carefully keeping concealed, and never willing to fight unless cornered, with no chance of escape. Occasionally, when the odds are overwhelmingly in its favor, a lion will provoke a battle, but this is not often the case.
In disposition and character the mountain lion belies its name; of all carnivorous beasts it is, perhaps, the most cowardly. Being exceedingly destructive, it not only kills for food, but it also kills out of wantonness. I have run across numbers of deer that have been destroyed by the same animal within short distances of each other, the carcasses being allowed to remain almost entire. It has also been stated on good authority that one lion will be likely to kill in the course of a year about one hundred and fifty deer.