432 BIG GAME SHOOTING 



make an attempt on the musk ox when the more timid caribou 

 are scarce. The animals we killed were all in good condition, 

 and an examination of their stomachs showed that they had 

 been feeding on the different mosses that grow in profusion 

 in the Barren Ground. The snow had drifted away from the 

 ridges, leaving the ground bare in many places, so that the 

 moss was easily obtainable without pawing away the snow. 



We killed over forty, as the Indians were, of course, anxious 

 to get as many robes as they could haul, to trade for ammuni- 

 tion and blankets at the Fort, and after we had loaded the 

 sleighs with skins and meat we made the best of our way back 

 to the woods, which we reached on December 2, after various 

 mishaps through getting lost and the dogs playing out in the 

 soft snow. Shortly afterwards we fell in with the caribou 

 again, and reached Fort Resolution a few days before Christ- 

 mas. 



The short Arctic summer was at its height when I saw the 

 musk ox again, at the head waters of the Great Fish river, after 

 a long and tedious journey with dog sleighs, and as we spent 

 six weeks in the heart of the Barren Ground I had every 

 opportunity to notice the habits of these strange animals. 

 Between the hunting grounds of the Yellow Knives and those 

 of the Esquimaux, farther down stream, lies a debatable land of 

 perhaps sixty miles in width, which affords the musk ox a 

 sanctuary, and here there were scattered bands in every direc- 

 tion. At this season the big bulls were usually found alone, 

 the cows and calves keeping together in small bands of ten to 

 twenty. Their natural increase seems to be small, and calves 

 were scarce in proportion to the number of cows. The Indians 

 told me that a cow only calves once in two years, and this is 

 probably true, as among the animals that we killed for food 

 we found none that had lost a calf. 



I have often been asked whether the flesh of the musk ox 

 is good to eat, but people do not reflect that in the north, where 

 the supply of provisions is uncertain, any kind of food is good. 

 A fat cow killed in the fall hardly smells or tastes of musk, 



