"Don't fire till I get some pictures—unless he charges," were the orders. And then we raced after the great creature grazing from us.
We had no idea whether he would run away or charge, but knew that our plan was to remain unseen as long as possible. So, hiding behind rocks when he looked around, and dashing forward when he grazed, we came unseen within two hundred yards, and had a good look at the huge woolly ox. He looked very much like an ordinary Buffalo, the same in colour, size, and action. I never was more astray in my preconcept of any animal, for I had expected to see something like a large brown sheep.
My, first film was fired. Then, for some unknown reason, that Musk-ox took it into his head to travel fast away from us, not even stopping to graze; he would soon have been over a rocky ridge. I nodded to Preble. His rifle rang; the bull wheeled sharp about with an angry snort and came toward us. His head was up, his eye blazing, and he looked like a South African Buffalo and a Prairie Bison combined, and seemed to get bigger at every moment. We were safely hidden behind rocks, some fifty yards from him now, when I got my second snap.
Realising the occasion, and knowing my men, I said: "Now, Preble, I am going to walk up to that bull and get a close picture. He will certainly charge me, as I shall be nearest and in full view. There is only one combination that can save my life: that is you and that rifle."
Then with characteristic loquacity did Preble reply: "Go ahead."
I fixed my camera for twenty yards and quit the sheltering rock. The bull snorted, shook his head, took aim, and just before the precious moment was to arrive a heavy shot behind me, rang out, the bull staggered and fell, shot through the heart, and Weeso cackled aloud in triumph.
How I cursed the meddling old fool. He had not understood. He saw, as he supposed, "the Okimow in peril of his life," and acted according to the dictates of his accursedly poor discretion. Never again shall he carry a rifle with me.
So the last scene came not, but we had the trophy of a Musk-ox that weighed nine hundred pounds in life and stood five feet high at the shoulders—a world's record in point of size.
Now we must camp perforce to save the specimen. Measurements, photos, sketches, and weights were needed, then the skinning and preparing would be a heavy task for all. In the many portages afterwards the skull was part of my burden; its weight was actually forty pounds, its heaviness was far over a hundred.
What extraordinary luck we were having. It was impossible in our time limit to reach the summer haunt of the Caribou on the Arctic Coast, therefore the Caribou came to us in their winter haunt on the Artillery Lake. We did not expect to reach the real Musk-ox country on the Lower Back River, so the Musk-ox sought us out on Aylmer Lake. And yet one more piece of luck is to be recorded. That night something came in our tent and stole meat. The next night Billy set a trap and secured the thief—an Arctic Fox in summer coat. We could not expect to go to him in his summer home, so he came to us.