Inter-Ocean Hunting Tales

by Edgar Fritz Randolph

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.