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                  _THE AMERICAN SPORTSMAN’S LIBRARY_

                              _EDITED BY
                            CASPAR WHITNEY_

                         MUSK-OX, BISON, SHEEP
                               AND GOAT

                            [Illustration]

                            [Illustration]




                         MUSK-OX, BISON, SHEEP
                               AND GOAT

                                  BY
                            CASPAR WHITNEY
                         GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL
                                  AND
                              OWEN WISTER

                            [Illustration]

                               New York
                         THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
                     LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
                                 1904

                         _All rights reserved_

                           COPYRIGHT, 1904,
                       BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.

          Set up, electrotyped, and published February, 1904.

                            _Norwood Press
               J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
                        Norwood, Mass., U.S.A._




CONTENTS

    CHAPTER                                                   PAGE

    THE MUSK-OX. BY CASPAR WHITNEY

          I. MY FIRST KILL                                      17

         II. THE PROVISION QUESTION                             32

        III. SEASONS AND EQUIPMENT                              44

         IV. METHOD OF HUNTING                                  56

          V. THE MUSK-OX                                        70

    THE BISON. BY GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL                         107

    THE MOUNTAIN SHEEP: HIS WAYS. BY OWEN WISTER               167

    THE WHITE GOAT AND HIS WAYS. BY OWEN WISTER                227

    INDEX                                                      277




ILLUSTRATIONS


    THE BEGINNING OF THE SLAUGHTER                  _Frontispiece_

                                                              PAGE

    IN THE FAR NORTH                                            15

    AT BAY                                                      30

    OUTNUMBERED                                                 45

    EAST GREENLAND MUSK-OX CALF                                 57

    HEAD OF TWO-YEAR-OLD MUSK-OX BULL                           57

    MUSK-OXEN ON CAPE MORRIS JESUP, BROUGHT TO BAY BY DOGS      65

    THE AUTHOR’S BARREN GROUND HUNTING KNIFE AND AX             67

    THE BARREN GROUND MUSK-OX--A FULL-GROWN BULL                71

    FOREFOOT OF BARREN GROUND MUSK-OX                           76

    FULL-GROWN EAST GREENLAND MUSK-OX--ADULT MALE               77

    FOREFOOT OF EAST GREENLAND MUSK-OX                          79

    SKULL OF THE EAST GREENLAND MUSK-OX--FRONT VIEW             82

    SKULL OF THE BARREN GROUND MUSK-OX--FRONT VIEW              82

    SKULL OF THE EAST GREENLAND MUSK-OX--SIDE VIEW              83

    SKULL OF THE BARREN GROUND MUSK-OX--SIDE VIEW               83

    MALE YEARLING OF THE EAST GREENLAND MUSK-OX                 87

    ADULT FEMALE OF THE EAST GREENLAND MUSK-OX                  95

    MUSK-OX CALF                                               101

    THE LAST OF THE HERD                                       109

    PROTECTED                                                  139

    ROCKY MOUNTAIN SHEEP                                       169

    ALERT                                                      177

    UNDER A HOT SKY                                            187

    SURPRISED                                                  201

    THE SADDLEBACK SHEEP                                       213

    ABOVE TIMBER LINE                                          229

    THE WHITE GOAT IS AN AGILE CLIMBER                         253




THE MUSK-OX AND ITS HUNTING

BY CASPAR WHITNEY

[Illustration: IN THE FAR NORTH]


I

MY FIRST KILL

We had passed through the “Land of Little Sticks,” as the Indians so
appropriately call that desolate waste which connects the edge of
timber land with the Barren Grounds, and had been for several days
making our way north on the lookout for any living thing that would
provide us with a mouthful of food.

We had got into one of those pieces of this great barren area, which,
broken by rocky ridges, of no great height but of frequent occurrence,
are unspeakably harassing to the travelling snow-shoer. It was the
third twelve hours of our fast, save for tea and the pipe, and all day
we had been dragging ourselves wearily up one ridge and down another
in the ever recurring and always disappointed hope that on each we
should sight caribou or musk-oxen. The Indians were discouraged and
sullen, as they usually did become on such occasions; and this troubled
me really more than not finding food, for I was in constant dread of
their growing disheartened and turning back to the woods. That was
the possibility which, since the very starting day, had at all times
and most seriously menaced the success of my venture; because we were
pushing on in the early part of March, at a time when the storms are at
their greatest severity, and when none had ever before ventured into
the Barren Grounds. Therefore, in my fear lest the Indians turn back, I
sought to make light of our difficulties by breaking into song when we
stopped to “spell”[1] our dogs, hoping by my assumed light-heartedness
to shame the Indians out of showing their desire to turn homeward.

How much I felt like singing may be imagined.

So the day dragged on without sight of a moving creature, not even a
fox, and it was past noon when we laboriously worked our way up one
particular ridge which seemed to have an unusual amount of unnecessary
and ragged rock strewn over its surface. I remember we scarcely
ventured to look into the white silent country that stretched in front
of us; disappointment had rewarded our long searchings so often that
we had somehow come to accept it as a matter of course. Squatting down
back of the sledge in shelter from the wind seemed of more immediate
concern than looking ahead for meat: at least we were sure of the
solace our pipes gave. Thus we smoked in silence, with no sign of
interest in what the immediate country ahead might hold for us, until
Beniah, the leader of my Indians, and an unusually good one, started
to his feet with an exclamation and, hurriedly climbing on top a
good-sized rock, stretched his arm ahead, obviously much stirred with
excitement. He shouted, once and loud, “_ethan_,”[2] and then continued
mumbling it as though to make his tongue sure of what his eyes beheld.
We all gathered around him, climbing his rock or on other ones, in
desperate earnestness to see what he saw in the direction he continued
pointing. It was minutes before I could discern anything having life in
the distance which reached away to the horizon all white and silent,
and then I detected a kind of vapor arising apparently from some dark
objects blurringly outlined against the snow about four miles away; it
was the mist which arises from a herd of animals where the mercury is
ranging between sixty and seventy degrees below zero, and on a clear
day may be seen five miles away. Thoroughly aroused now, I got my
field-glasses from my sledge and searched the dark objects under the
mist. They were not caribou, of that I was certain; as to what they
were I was equally uncertain, for the forms were strange to my eye. So
I handed the glasses to Beniah, saying, “_ethan illa_.”[3] Beniah took
the glasses, but as it was the first time he had ever looked through
a pair, their range and power seemed to excite him quite as much as
did the appearance of the game itself. When he did find his tongue,
he fairly shouted, “_ejerri_.”[4] I had no accurate knowledge of what
“_ejerri_” meant, but assumed we had sighted musk-oxen. Instantly all
was excitement. The Indians set up a yell and rushed for their sledges,
jabbering and laughing. It seemed incredible that these were the same
men who so shortly before had sat silent with backs to the wind,
dejected and indifferent.

Every one now busied himself turning loose his dogs,--a small matter
for the Indians, with their simply sewn harness from which the dogs
were easily slipped, but a rather complex job for me. My dog train had
come from the Post, and its harness was made of buckles and straps and
things not easily undone in freezing weather; so it happened that by
the time my dogs were unhitched, the Indians and all their dogs were
fully quarter of a mile nearer the musk-oxen than I and running for
very dear life. My preconceived notions of the musk-ox hunting game
were in a jiffy jolted to the point of destruction, as I now found
myself in a situation neither expected nor joyful. It was natural to
suppose some assistance would be given me in this strange environment,
and that the consideration of a party of my own organizing and my own
paying should be my killing the musk-ox for which I had come so long
a distance. But we were a long way from the Post and interpreters
and restraining influences; and at this moment of readjustment I
speedily realized that it was to be a survival of the fittest on this
expedition, and if I got a musk-ox it would be of my own getting.
It comforted me to know that, even though somewhat tucked up as to
stomach, due to three days’ hard travel on only tea, I was in fine
physical condition, and up to making the effort of my life.

By the time I had run about two miles I had caught the last of the
Indians, who were stretched out in a long column, with two leading
by half a mile. Within another mile I had passed all the stragglers,
and was running practically even with the second Indian, who was two
or three hundred yards behind the leading one. This Indian, Seco by
name, was one of the best snow-shoe runners I ever encountered. He
gave evidence of his endurance and speed on many another occasion than
this one, for always there was a run of four miles or more after every
musk-ox herd we sighted, and invariably a foot-race between Seco and me
preceded final leadership. I may add incidentally that he