Cruisings in the Cascades / A Narrative of Travel, Exploration, Amateur Photography, / Hunting, and Fishing

by G. O. Shields

But you have the better animal of the two, and have had sport enough for the first morning. We will take the entrails out of these two, lash them across our horses behind our saddles, go to camp, and rest through the heat of the day; for this September sun beams down with great power in midday, even though the nights are cool and frosty.

And now, as we have quite a long ride to camp, and as we are to pass over a rather monotonous prairie country en route, I will give you a point or two on flagging antelope, as we ride along, that may be useful to you at some time. Fine sport may frequently be enjoyed in this way. If you can find a band that have not been hunted much, and are not familiar with the wiles of the white man, you will have little trouble in decoying them within rifle range by displaying to them almost any brightly-colored object. They have as much curiosity as a woman, and will run into all kinds of danger to investigate any strange object they may discover. They have been known to follow an emigrant or freight wagon, with a white cover, several miles, and the Indian often brings them within reach of his arrow or bullet by standing in plain view wrapped in his red blanket. A piece of bright tin or a mirror answers the same purpose on a clear day. Almost any conspicuous or strange-looking object will attract them; but the most convenient as well as the most reliable at all times is a little bright-red flag.

On one occasion I was hunting in the Snowy Mountains, in Northern Montana, with S. K. Fishel, the government scout, and Richard Thomas, the packer, from Fort Maginnis. We had not been successful in finding game there, and on our way back to the post camped two days on the head of Flat Willow creek, near the foot of the mountains, to hunt antelopes. As night approached several small bands of them came toward the creek, but none came within range of our camp during daylight, and we did not go after them that night, but were up and at them betimes the next morning.

I preferred to hunt alone, as I always do when after big game, and went out across a level flat to some low hills north of camp. When I ascended the first of these I saw a handsome buck antelope on the prairie half a mile away. I made a long detour to get to leeward of him, and meantime had great difficulty in keeping him from seeing me. But by careful maneuvering I finally got into a draw below him, and found the wind blowing directly from him to me. In his neighborhood were some large, ragged volcanic rocks, and getting in line with one of these I started to stalk him. He was feeding, and as I moved cautiously forward I could frequently see his nose or rump show up at one side or the other of the rock. I would accordingly glide to right or left, as necessary, and move on. Finally, I succeeded in reaching the rock, crawled carefully up to where I could see over it, and there, sure enough, stood the handsome old fellow not more than fifty yards away, still complacently nipping the bunch-grass.

"Ah, my fine laddie," I said to myself, "you'll never know what hurt you;" and resting the muzzle of the rifle on the rock, I took a fine, steady aim for his heart and turned the bullet loose. There was a terrific roar; the lead tore up a cloud of dust and went screaming away over the hills, while, to my utter astonishment, the antelope went sailing across the prairie with the speed of a greyhound. I sprang to my feet, pumped lead after him at a lively rate, and, though I tore the ground up all around him, never touched a hair. And what annoyed me most was that, owing to some peculiar condition of the atmosphere, the smoke of each shot hung in front of me long enough to prevent me from seeing just where my bullets struck, and, for the life of me, I could not tell whether I was shooting over or under the game!

I went back over the hill to my horse, with my heart full of disappointment and my magazine only half full of cartridges. I loaded up, however, mounted, and, as I rode away in search of more game, I could occasionally hear the almost whispered "puff, puff" of Fishel's and Thomas's rifles away to the south and west, which brought me the cheering assurance that they were also having fun, and also assured me that we should not be without meat for supper and breakfast.

I soon sighted a band of about thirty antelopes, and riding into a coulee dismounted, picketed my horse, and began another crawl. In due time I reached the desired "stand," within about eighty yards of them, and, picking out the finest buck in the bunch, again took a careful, deliberate aim and fired, scoring another clear miss. The band, instead of running away, turned and ran directly toward me, and, circling, slightly, passed within thirty yards of me, drawn out in single file. It was a golden opportunity and I felt sure I should kill half a dozen of them at least; but, alas! for fleeting hopes. I knew not the frailty of the support on which I built my expectations. I fanned them as long as there was a cartridge in my magazine, and had to endure the intense chagrin of seeing the last one of them go over a ridge a mile away safe and sound.

I was dumb. If there had been anyone there to talk to, I don't think I could have found a word in the language to express my feelings. As before, the smoke prevented me from seeing just where my bullets struck the ground, but I felt sure they must be striking very close to the game. I sat down, pondered, and examined my rifle. I could see nothing wrong with it, and felt sure it must be perfect, for within the past week I had killed a deer with it at 170 yards and had shaved the heads off a dozen grouse at short range. I was, therefore, forced to the conclusion that I had merely failed to exercise proper care in holding. I returned to my horse, mounted, and once more set out in search of game, determined to kill the next animal I shot at or leave the country.

I rode away to the west about two miles, and from the top of a high hill saw another band of forty or fifty antelopes on a table-land. I rode around till I got within about two hundred yards of them, when I left my horse under cover of a hill and again began to sneak on the unsuspecting little creatures. They were near the edge of the table, and from just beyond them the formation fell abruptly away into the valley some fifty feet. I crawled up this bluff until within about forty yards of the nearest antelope, and then, lying flat upon the ground, I placed my rifle in position for firing, and, inch by inch, edged up over the apex of the bluff until within fair view of the game. Again selecting the best buck—for I wanted a good head for mounting—I drew down on his brown side until I felt sure that if there had been a silver dollar hung on it I could have driven it through him. Confidently expecting to see him drop in his tracks, I touched the trigger. But, alas! I was doomed to still further disgrace. When the smoke lifted, my coveted prize was speeding away with the rest of the herd.

I simply stood, with my lower jaw hanging down, and looked after them till they were out of sight. Then I went and got my horse and went to camp. Sam and Dick were there with the saddles of three antelopes. When I told them what I had been doing, they tried to console me, but I wouldn't be consoled. After dinner, Sam picked up my rifle and looked it over carefully.