In hunting the antelope, it is not an uncommon thing to see a greyhound, especially in hot weather, continue the chase until he dies before his master reaches him. An uninjured antelope is capable of giving any greyhound all the work he can stand, and unless the latter is in prime condition his chances are poor indeed to throttle. A peculiar feature of the greyhound is that he always attacks large game in the throat, head or fore part of the body. I have even seen them leave the line of the jack rabbit to get at his throat. Old "California Joe," at one time chief of scouts with Gen. Custer, in 1875 owned a grand specimen of the greyhound called Kentuck, presented to him by Gen. Custer. I saw this dog, in the Big Horn country, seize and throw a yearling bull buffalo, which then dragged the dog on his back over rough stones, trampled and pawed him until his ears were split, two ribs broken, and neck and fore shoulders frightfully cut and lacerated, yet he never released his hold until a Sharps rifle bullet through the heart of the buffalo ended the unequal struggle. Talk about a lack of courage! I have seen many a greyhound single-handed and alone overhaul and tackle a coyote, and in a pack have seen them close in and take hold of a big gray timber wolf or a mountain lion and stay throughout the fight, coming out bleeding and quivering, with hardly a whole skin among them. In point of speed, courage, fortitude, endurance and fine, almost human judgment, no grander animal lives than the greyhound. He knows no fear; he turns from no game animal on which he is sighted, no matter how large or how ferocious. He pursues with the speed of the wind, seizes the instant he comes up with the game, and stays in the fight until either he or the quarry is dead. Of all dogs these are the highest in ambition and courage, and, when sufficiently understood, they are capable of great attachment.
In selecting dogs for wolf-killing, the most essential qualities to be desired are courage, strength and stamina to sustain continued exertion, with plenty of force and dash. Training is a matter requiring unlimited patience, coupled with firmness and judgment, and a large amount of love for a dog. It also requires constant watchfulness of a dog's every movement and mood to make a successful wolf-courser of him. Many a good dog has been ruined at the outset by not being fully understood.
They should receive their first practical work when about one year old, provided they are sufficiently developed to stand the hard work necessary. They generally have mind enough at this age to know what is expected of them. It is, of course, better to hunt a young dog first with older and experienced dogs, which will take hold of any kind of game. The larger and stronger the dog, the better; for it requires immense powers of endurance, hardihood and strength to hold, much less kill, a wolf. The latter are particularly strong in the fore quarters and muscles of the neck and jaw. As an evidence of their great strength, I saw a wolf, while running at full speed, seize the Siberian wolfhound Zlooem by the shoulder and throw him bodily into the air, landing him on his back several feet away, and yet this wolf did not weigh as much as the dog.
Particular care should be taken to see that a young dog gets started right in his practical training. Encourage him with your presence; do all you can to see that he is sighted promptly; spare no expense or pains in getting a good mount, and keep as close as possible during the fighting; enliven him with your voice, and encourage him to renewed effort; for his ardor increases in proportion to the encouragement and praise received. Ride hard, to be in early at the death. His confidence once gained, he will place implicit reliance in your assistance; but, let him be beaten off once or twice through lack of encouragement, and he will soon lose his relish for the sport and show a disposition to hang back; while he may seem to be doing his best, a practiced eye will soon detect a want of ardor and dash. A pack of hounds, with a good strike dog and confidence in their owner, will carry everything before them; by keeping them in good heart they always expect success to crown their efforts.
If from any cause in the final struggle the dogs are getting the worst of it, or the other dogs refuse to assist the seizers, one must not hesitate an instant about assisting them; this requires perfect coolness, self-control and presence of mind, so as not to injure the dog. To attempt the use of the pistol or gun is too dangerous. A well-directed blow with a good strong hunting knife, delivered between the shoulders, will generally break the spine, leaving the wolf entirely at the mercy of the hounds.
I would advise no one to attempt the Russian method of taping the jaws while the wolf is held by the seizers. I had an experience of this kind once. After a long chase, the wolf, in his efforts to escape, leaped a wall, and, in alighting upon the farther side, thrust his head and neck through a natural loop formed by a grapevine growing around a tree. Reaching him as soon as the hounds, I fought them off; but, although he was virtually as fast as if in a vise, it required the united efforts of five of us to bind his legs and tape his jaws, and this was only accomplished after a severe struggle of some minutes. I am sure I would not have trusted any dog or dogs I ever hunted to have held him during this operation.
One should always be provided with a spool of surgeon's silk and a needle, for these will assuredly be called into use. Old Major, a greyhound owned by Dr. Van Hummel and myself, full of years and honors, is still alive. He was a typical seizer and afraid of nothing that wore hair. His entire body is seamed with innumerable scars, and has been sewed up so often that he resembles a veritable piece of needlework. As an evidence of his speed, strength and early training, I recollect that, shortly after I had hunted him in the West, I had him at my home in Kentucky. The Doctor was on a visit to me, and we had taken Major to the country with us while inspecting stock farms. At Wyndom Place, where we were admiring a handsome two-year-old Longfellow colt, running loose in the field, the owner, before we were aware of his intention, set Major after the colt "to show his speed and style." We both instantly saw his error, but it was too late—we could not call the dog off. He soon overhauled the colt, and, springing at his throat, down they went in a heap—the colt, worth a thousand dollars, ruined for life.
One of the most glaring instances of improper training and handling of wolfhounds that ever came under my observation was the Colorado wolf-hunt that attracted so much attention in the sporting press of this country, England and Russia. Mr. Paul Hacke, an enthusiastic fancier, of Pittsburg, Pa., while in Russia attended a wolf-killing contest in which the barzois contested with captive wolves. He became so much enamored of the sport that he purchased a number of trained barzois and brought them to this country. They were a handsome lot and attracted much attention while being exhibited at the bench shows. I was one of the official judges at the Chicago Bench Show in 1892, and wolfhound classes were assigned me. While I admired them very much for their handsome, showy appearance, I expressed grave doubts as to their ability to catch and kill timber wolves, notwithstanding I had read graphic accounts of their killing coyotes in thirty-five seconds. This doubt was shared and expressed by others present who had had practical experience in wolf-hunting. This coming to the ears of Mr. Hacke, who is always willing to back his opinion with his money, he issued a sweeping challenge offering to match a pair of barzois against any pair of dogs in the United States for a wolf-killing contest, for $500 a side. His challenge was promptly accepted by Mr. Geo. McDougall, of Butte City, Montana.
I was selected to judge the match, and in the spring of 1892 we made up a congenial carload and journeyed to Hardin, in the wilds of Colorado, where our sleeper was sidetracked. Arrangements were made at an adjoining horse ranch, and every morning a band of horses was promptly on hand at daylight. On the night of our arrival at Hardin, a fine saddle horse had been hamstrung in his owner's stable by wolves. It was a pitiful sight, and added zest to our determination to exterminate as many as possible.
We were awakened from our sound sleep the first morning by the familiar sounds of saddling, accompanied by the pawing and bucking of horses, swearing of men, and snarling and growling of dogs. After a hasty breakfast, eaten by lamplight, we were soon mounted and in motion for the rendezvous. We had hardly crossed the Platte River, near which our camp was located, before the advance guard announced a wolf in full flight. A glance through my field-glasses convinced me that it was an impudent coyote, and we continued our search. We had probably ridden an hour through sand and cactus before one of the hunters had a wolf up and going.