Now the wind was northerly, and all were going north,
not walking, not galloping - the Caribou rarely gallops, and then
only for a moment or two; his fast gait is a steady trot a 10-mile
gait, making with stops about 6 miles an hour. But they are ever
on the move; when you see a Caribou that does not move, you know
at once it is not a Caribou; it's a rock.
We sat down on the hill at 3. In a few minutes a cow Caribou came
trotting from the south, caught the wind at 50 yards, and dashed
away.
In 5 minutes another, in 20 minutes a young buck, in 20 minutes
more a big buck, in 10 minutes a great herd of about 500 appeared
in the south. They came along at full trot, lined to pass us on the
southeast. At half a mile they struck our scent and all recoiled as
though we were among them. They scattered in alarm, rushed south
again, then, gathered in solid body, came on as before, again
to spring back and scatter as they caught the taint of man. After
much and various running, scattering, and massing, they once more
charged the fearsome odour and went right through it. Now they
passed at 500 yards and gave the chance for a far camera shot.
The sound of their trampling was heard a long way off - half a
mile - but at 300 yards I could not distinguish the clicking of the
feet, whereas this clicking was very plainly to be heard from the
band that passed within 50 yards of me in the morning.
They snort a good deal and grunt a little, and, notwithstanding
their continual haste, I noticed that from time to time one or two
would lie down, but at once jump up and rush on when they found
they were being left behind. Many more single deer came that day,
but no more large herds.
About 4.30 a fawn of this year (2 1/2 or 3 months) came rushing
up from the north, all alone. It charged up a hill for 200 yards,
then changed its mind and charged down again, then raced to a bunch
of tempting herbage, cropped it hastily, dashed to a knoll, left
at an angle, darted toward us till within 40 yards, then dropped
into a thick bed of grass, where it lay as though it had unlimited
time.
I took one photograph, and as I crawled to get one nearer, a shot
passed over my head, and the merry cackle told me that Weeso had
yielded to temptation and had 'collected' that fawn.
A young buck now came trotting and grunting toward us till within
16 paces, which proved too much for Weeso, who then and there,
in spite of repeated recent orders, started him on the first step
toward my museum collection.
