And Besides, The Dogs Invariably Get Their Feet
Full Of Cactus Needles, Which Cause Much Suffering For Days.
So we have been flagging the antelope, that is, taking a shameful
advantage of their wonderful curiosity, and enticing them within rifle
range.
On these hunts I usually hold the horses of the three officers
and my own, and so far they have not given me much trouble, for each
one is a troop-trained animal.
The antelope are shy and wary little creatures, and possess an
abnormal sense of smell that makes it absolutely necessary for hunters
to move cautiously to leeward the instant they discover them. It is
always an easy matter to find a little hill that will partly screen
them - the country is so rolling - as they creep and crawl to position,
ever mindful of the dreadful cactus. When they reach the highest point
the flag is put up, and this is usually made on the spot, of a red
silk handkerchief, one corner run through the rammer of a Springfield
rifle. Then everyone lies down flat on the ground, resting on his
elbows, with rifle in position for firing.
Antelope always graze against the wind, and even a novice can tell
when they discover the flag, for they instantly stop feeding, and the
entire band will whirl around to face it, with big round ears standing
straight up, and in this way they will remain a second or two,
constantly sniffing the air. Failing to discover anything dangerous,
they will take a few steps forward, perhaps run around a little,
giving quick tossings of the head, and sniffing with almost every
breath, but whatever they do the stop is always in the same
position - facing the flag, the strange object they cannot understand.
Often they will approach very slowly, making frequent halts after
little runs, and give many tossings of the head as if they were
actually coquetting with death itself! Waiting for them to come within
range of the rifle requires great patience, for the approach is always
more or less slow, and frequently just as they are at the right
distance and the finger is on the trigger, off the whole band will
streak, looking like horizontal bars of brown and white! I am always
so glad when they do this, for it seems so wicked to kill such
graceful creatures. It is very seldom that I watch the approach, but
when I do happen to see them come up, the temptation to do something
to frighten them away from those murderous guns is almost
irresistible.
But never once are they killed for mere pleasure! Their meat is tender
and most delicious after one has learned to like the "gamey" flavor.
And a change in meat we certainly do need here, for unless we can have
buffalo or antelope now and then, it is beef every day in the
month - not only one month, but every month.
The prairie-dog holes are great obstacles to following hounds on the
plains, for while running so fast it is impossible for a horse to see
the holes in time to avoid them, and if a foot slips down in one it
means a broken leg for the horse and a hard throw for the rider, and
perhaps broken bones also. Following these English greyhounds - which
have such wonderful speed and keenness of sight - after big game on
vast plains, is very different from running after the slow hounds and
foxes in the East, and requires a very much faster horse and quite
superior riding. One has to learn to ride a horse - to get a perfect
balance that makes it a matter of indifference which-way the horse may
jump, at any speed - in fact, one must become a part of one's mount
before these hunts can be attempted.
Chasing wolves and rabbits is not as dangerous, for they cannot begin
to run as fast as antelope. And it is great fun to chase the big
jack-rabbits. They know their own speed perfectly and have great
confidence in it. When the hounds start one he will give one or two
jumps high up in the air to take a look at things, and then he
commences to run with great bounds, with his enormously long ears
straight up like sails on a boat, and almost challenges the dogs to
follow. But the poor hunted thing soon finds out that he must do
better than that if he wishes to keep ahead, so down go the ears, flat
along his back, and stretching himself out very straight, goes his
very fastest, and then the real chase is on.
But Mr. Jack-Rabbit is cunning, and when he sees that the long-legged
dogs are steadily gaining upon him and getting closer with every jump,
he will invariably make a quick turn and run back on his own tracks,
often going right underneath the fast-running dogs that cannot stop
themselves, and can only give vicious snaps as they jump over him.
Their stride - often fifteen and twenty feet - covers so much more
ground than the rabbit's, it is impossible for them to make as quick
turns, therefore it is generally the slow dog of the pack that catches
the rabbit. And frequently a wise old rabbit will make many turns and
finally reach a hole in safety.
The tail of a greyhound is his rudder and his brake, and the sight is
most laughable when a whole pack of them are trying to stop, each tail
whirling around like a Dutch windmill. Sometimes, in their frantic
efforts to stop quickly, they will turn complete somersaults and roll
over in a cloud of dust and dirt. But give up they never do, and once
on their feet they start back after that rabbit with whines of
disappointment and rage. Many, many times, also, I have heard the dogs
howl and whine from the pain caused by the cactus spines in their
feet, but not once have I ever seen any one of them lag in the chase.
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