MUSK-OXEN AT LAST 153 



should always shoot a musk-ox. To aim at the head 

 is a waste of ammunition. 



As the bull went down, out from the herd came a 

 cow, and a second shot accounted for her. The others, 

 a second cow and two yearlings, were the work of a 

 few moments; then I left Ooblooyah and Koolatoonah 

 to skin and cut them up, while Egingwah and I started 

 for the single animal, a couple of miles away. 



As the dogs approached this fellow, he launched 

 up the hill and disappeared over a nearby crest. The 

 light surface snow along the path he had taken was 

 brushed away by the long, matted hair of his sides 

 and belly, which hung down to the ground. 



The dogs had disappeared after the musk-ox, but 

 Egingwah and myself were guided by their wild bark- 

 ing. Our quarry had taken refuge among the huge 

 rocks in the bottom of a stream-bed, where his rear 

 and both sides were protected, and there he stood at 

 bay with the yelping dogs before him. 



One shot was enough; and leaving Egingwah to 

 skin and cut up the animal, I started to walk back 

 to the other two men, as it had been decided to camp 

 at the place where they were cutting up the five musk- 

 oxen. But as I emerged from the mouth of the canon, 

 I saw up the valley still another of the big, black 

 shaggy forms. Quickly I retraced my steps, and 

 gathering in two of the dogs, secured this fellow as 

 easily as the others. 



This last specimen was, however, of peculiar 

 interest, as the white hair of the legs, just above the 

 hoofs, was dashed with a bright red — a marking which 

 I had never before seen in any of these arctic animals. 



