CARIBOU-LAND AT LAST 209 



copper-coloured child of the spruce woods, to watch 

 these cattle of the plains. 



The Caribou is a travelsome beast, always in a hurry, 

 going against the wind. When the wind is west, all 

 travel west; when it veers, they veer. 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 south-east. 

 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 dis- 

 tinguish the clicking of the feet, whereas this clicking 



