Not far from this camp, we found a remarkable midden-yard of Lemmings. It was about 10 feet by 40 feet, the ground within the limits was thickly strewn with pellets, at the rate of 14 to the square inch, but nowhere were they piled up. At this reckoning, there were over 800,000, but there were also many outside, which probably raised the number to 1,000,000. Each pellet was long, brown, dry, and curved, i.e., the winter type. The place, a high, dry, very sheltered hollow, was evidently the winter range of a colony of Lemmings that in summer went elsewhere, I suppose to lower, damper grounds.
After sunset, September 5, a bunch of three or four Caribou trotted past the tents between us and the Lake, 200 yards from us; Billy went after them, as, thanks to the Wolverine, we were out of meat, and at one shot secured a fine young buck.
His last winter's coat was all shed now, his ears were turning white and the white areas were expanding on feet and buttocks; his belly was pure white.
On his back and rump, chiefly the latter, were the scars of 121 bots. I could not see that they affected the skin or, hair in the least.
Although all of these Caribou seem to have the normal foot-click, Preble and I worked in vain with the feet of this, dead one to make the sound; we could not by any combination of movement, or weight or simulation of natural conditions, produce anything like a "click."
That same day, as we sat on a hill, a cow Caribou came curiously toward us. At 100 yards she circled slowly, gazing till she got the wind 150 yards to one side, then up went her tail and off she trotted a quarter of a mile, but again drew nearer, then circled as before till a second time the wind warned her to flee. This she did three or four times before trotting away; the habit is often seen.
Next afternoon, Billy and I saw a very large buck; his neck was much swollen, his beard flowing and nearly white. He sighted us afar, and worked north-west away from us, in no great alarm. I got out of sight, ran a mile and a half, headed him off, then came on him from the north, but in spite of all I could do by running and yelling, he and his band (3 cows with 3 calves) rushed galloping between me and the lake, 75 yards away. He was too foxy to be driven back into that suspicious neighbourhood.
Thus we had fine opportunities for studying wild life. In all these days there was only one unfulfilled desire: I had not seen the great herd of Caribou returning to the woods that are their winter range.
This herd is said to rival in numbers the Buffalo herds of story, to reach farther than the eye can see, and to be days in passing a given point; but it is utterly erratic. It might arrive in early September. It was not sure to arrive until late October, when the winter had begun. This year all the indications were that it would be late. If we were to wait for it, it would mean going out on the ice. For this we were wholly unprepared. There were no means of getting the necessary dogs, sleds, and fur garments; my business was calling me back to the East. It was useless to discuss the matter, decision was forced on me. Therefore, without having seen that great sight, one of the world's tremendous zoological spectacles the march in one body of millions of Caribou—I reluctantly gave the order to start. On September 8 we launched the Ann Seton on her homeward voyage of 1,200 upstream miles.