The most graceful of the deer tribe, the karjacou, scours in large herds across the prairies, frequently entering the haunts of man. Yet so easily is it scared that it takes to flight at the very appearance of a human being. Curiously enough, however, it will again return to its favourite feeding-grounds, even though the hunter’s rifle may lay low many of the herd. It is about the size of the fallow-deer, and of a light brown hue. Its horns are slender, and have numerous branches on the interior sides, but are destitute of brow antlers.
Let us watch a herd startled by our approach. Away they spring, leaping into the air, turning their heads in every direction to ascertain the cause of their alarm, and then rush off at full speed; but in a short time, if they are not followed, we may see them return, especially as night draws on, and crouch down in their accustomed sleeping-places. Should a salt lake be near, they will come in vast numbers to lick up with their tongues the saline particles adhering to the surrounding stones, where the salt has crystallised from the evaporation of the water.
They are at all times thirsty, and they require constant draughts of pure water, to obtain which they are sure to visit the nearest stream or spring as night is about to close over the scene. Wherever the tenderest herbage grows upon the plain, there the karjacou comes to crop it during summer. In winter he finds an abundant supply of food from the buds and berries, or fallen fruits; or, when snow is on the ground, he eats the string moss hanging in masses from the trees. He willingly takes to the water, and will cross a lake or broad river, swimming at a rapid rate with his whole body submerged, his head alone appearing above the surface; thus he will often baffle his pursuers, even though they may follow him with a boat. He has been known, indeed, when hard-pressed near the sea-coast, to plunge into the ocean, and buffeting the waves, to make his way far from the land, rather than be captured.
His flesh affords the Indian a large portion of his winter supply of food, while his skin is manufactured into clothing, the leather from it being especially soft and pliable. From the settlers in the western provinces he receives little mercy, as, without hesitation, he leaps their fences, banqueting on their growing corn or vegetables; and, after doing all the mischief in his power, by his activity generally again makes his escape. No animal surpasses in beauty the young fawn, the fur of which is of a ruddy brown tint, ornamented with white spots arranged in irregular lines, merging occasionally into wide stripes.
Like others of his tribe, the male is excessively combative when meeting others of his own species; and a story is told of
three animals thus encountering each other in a desert, when all their horns becoming entangled, they remained fixed, unable to separate, till they sank together on the ground, their skulls and skeletons afterwards being discovered, thus giving evidence of the combat and its fatal result.
The Antelope.
No animal of the American wilds surpasses the antelope in beauty. The little creatures congregate in herds of many thousands, though, from the exterminating war waged against them by the Indians, they have greatly decreased in numbers. The size of the antelope is about that of the common red-deer doe; the colour somewhat between buff and fawn, shaded here and there into reddish-brown, and a patch of pure white on the hind-quarters. This gives rise to the expression of the hunter, when he sees it flying before him, that the creature is “showing its clean linen.” The ears are placed far back on the head, are very long, and curved so much that at a distance they appear like horns, while the horns themselves appear as if coming out of the animal’s eyes; they are long and slender, curving slightly backwards, and have no branches, except a little bud, which is developed when the creature is about two years old. The chief peculiarity of the animal is its lack of a dewlap.
The feet have no rudimentary hoofs like the deer, yet this want in no way interferes with its speed. Often the creature may be seen for a moment browsing not fifty yards off, the next it has dwindled to a mere speck, and is in another lost to sight. They do not leap like deer, but run with level backs, as sheep do, their legs glancing faster than sight can follow. In vain the hunter attempts to follow the rapid movements of the creatures on horseback. Perhaps they will let him approach to within a short distance, and then away they float on a line at right-angles to their former retreat. To come up with them, indeed, as an American writer observes, is as hopeful an undertaking as trying to run down a telegraphic message. The only way to get near them is by a stratagem. They are not afraid of horses, and the hunter, by walking behind his horse, may often approach a herd without being discovered, provided the wind blows from them. He then pickets his horse with a sharp stake, and sinking down in the grass he ties a bright-coloured handkerchief to the end of his ramrod; he then crawls forward on hands and knees, dragging his rifle, till he approaches still nearer, when he remains concealed, and lifts his flag in the air. The antelopes, on catching sight of it, stop browsing, and raising their heads, peer towards it, exhibiting no signs of fear. For a moment he drops his flag; the beautiful creatures then resume their repast, but their curiosity gets the better of their prudence. Again they look forward, when the flag is once more raised and waved slowly backward and forward. The antelopes have now their curiosity excited to the utmost; for a moment they stop irresolute, then advance a few steps snuffing the air. Once more the flag sinks out of sight; they seem to be asking each other what is the cause of the strange sight they have seen. Again it is raised; they draw nearer and nearer, till they are within range of the hunter’s deadly rifle; he fires, and almost to a certainty one of the beautiful animals springs into the air and tumbles head-foremost on the ground. For a moment the survivors run off from their fallen friend, but seldom go far. Once more they return within easy rifle-shot of the hunter. Unless, however, he requires the meat, he must be greatly lacking in right feeling if he slaughters uselessly so beautiful an animal. The antelope becomes so easily confused, that when met on the prairies it frequently runs headlong into the midst of the travellers. The creatures are often killed by being surrounded, when the whole herd are driven into an enclosed spot and become the easy prey of the hungry hunters.