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

by G. O. Shields

We then got the head from the buck Sam had killed the day before, and returned to camp about 11 o'clock a. m.

In the afternoon we rode out together again, and had not gone far when we saw five of the bright little animals we were hunting on a hill-side. They were too far away for anything like a sure shot, but were in such a position that we could get no nearer to them. They stood looking at us, and Sam told me to try them. I had little hope of making a hit, but dismounting took a shot off hand, holding for the shoulder of a good sized buck. When the gun cracked there was a circus. I had missed my aim so far as to cut both his hind legs off just below the knee. The buck commenced bucking. First he stood on his fore feet, got his hind legs up in the air and shook the stumps. Then he tried to stand on them and paw the air with his fore feet, but lost his balance and fell over backward. He got up, jumped first to one side, then to the other, then forward. Meantime Sam rode toward him, and he tried to run. In this his motions were more like those of a rocking horse than of a living animal. The race was a short one. Sam soon rode up to him, caught him by a horn and held him till I came up and cut the little fellow's throat. Then Sam said that was a very long shot, and he would like to know just what the distance was. He went back to where I stood when I shot, stepped the distance to where the antelope stood, and found it to be 362 paces.

We rode on a mile further and saw a young antelope lying down in some tall rye-grass. We could just see his horns and ears, and though he appeared to be looking at us he seemed to think himself securely hidden, for he made no movement toward getting up. I told Sam to shoot this time, but he said, "No, you shoot. I live in this country and can get all the shooting I want any time. You have come a long way out here to have some fun. Turn loose on him." And slipping off my horse I knelt down to get a knee rest, but found that from that position I could not see the game at all, and was compelled to shoot off hand again. Raising up I drew a bead on one of the horns, and then lowering the muzzle to where I thought the body should be, pressed the trigger. There was a lively commotion in the grass, but the buck never got out of his bed. The ball went in at one shoulder and out at the opposite hip. On stepping the distance we found it to be only 125 yards.

And now, having in a measure wiped out the disgrace of the previous day's work and secured all the meat, skins, and heads that our pack-mules could carry, we returned to camp and the next day went back to Fort Maginnis.

These bright little creatures, though naturally timid, sometimes show great courage in defense of their young. I once saw a coyote sneak from behind a hill toward a herd of antelope. Instantly there was a grand rush of all the adult members of the band, male and female, toward the intruder, and when they had gotten in front of the kids they stopped, with bristles erect, ears thrown forward, and heads lowered, presenting a most warlike and belligerent appearance. The coyote, when he saw himself confronted with this solid phalanx, suddenly stopped, eyed his opponents for a few moments, and then, apparently overawed at the superiority of numbers and warlike attitude of his intended prey, slunk reluctantly away in search of some weaker victim. When he was well out of sight, the older members of the band turned to their young, caressed them, and resumed their grazing.

The speed of the antelope is probably not excelled by that of any other animal in this country, wild or domestic, except the greyhound, and, in fact, it is only the finest and fleetest of these that can pull down an antelope in a fair race.

In the little village of Garfield, Kansas, there lived a man some years ago—the proprietor of a hotel—who had two pet antelopes. The village dogs had several times chased them, but had always been distanced. One day a Mexican came to town who had with him two large, handsome greyhounds. Immediately on riding up to the hotel he saw the antelopes in the yard, and told the proprietor gruffly that he had better put "them critters" in the corral, or his dogs would kill them. The proprietor said he guessed the "critters" were able to take care of themselves, especially if the dogs did not spring upon them unawares. This aroused the Mexican's ire, and he promptly offered to wager a goodly sum that his dogs would pull down one or both of the antelopes within a mile. The challenge was accepted, the stakes deposited, the antelopes turned into the street, and the "greaser" told his dogs to "take'em."

The dogs sprang at the antelopes, but the latter had by this time reached a vacant lot across the street. They started off down the river. For a distance of four miles the river bottom was an open prairie, and as level as a floor. As the quartette sped over this grand natural race-course, the whole populace of the town turned out en masse to see the race. Men and boys shouted, and ladies waved their handkerchiefs. Betting was rife, the natives offering two to one on the antelopes, the Mexican and the few other strangers in town being eager takers. It was nip and tuck, neither animals gaining nor losing perceptibly, and when at last the four went round a bend in the river four miles away, and were hidden by a bluff, the game was, as nearly as could be seen by the aid of good field-glasses, just about the same distance ahead of the dogs as when they left town.

Some hours later the dogs returned, so tired they could scarcely walk. The Mexican eagerly looked for hair on their teeth, and although he could find none, was confident that his dogs had killed the antelopes. A mounted expedition to search for the carcasses and settle the question was agreed upon, but as it was too near night to start when the dogs returned, it was arranged to go in the morning. But when the parties got up the next morning they found the antelopes quietly grazing in the hotel yard. The Mexican left town in disgust followed by his lame, sore-footed dogs, and muttering that he "never seed no varmints run like them things did."

The antelope, one of the brightest and most graceful and beautiful of all our Western game animals, is fast disappearing from our broad plains, owing to the ceaseless slaughter of it that is carried on by "skin hunters," Indians, "foreign noblemen," and others who come to this country year after year and spend the entire summer in hunting. Hundreds of them are killed every summer by this latter class, and left to rot where they fall, not a pound of meat, a skin, or even a head being taken from them. I have seen with my own eyes this butchery carried on for years past, and know whereof I speak.