FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Jan. 2, 1897, 
PROVISIONAL MAP SHOWING DISTRIBUTION OF THE ANTELOPE IN 1896. 
As amended Jan 2, 1897. The range is indicated by the black dots. 
Mr. C. H. Blanchard, of western Utah, gives me a local- 
ity south of the western part of Salt Lake^ in Utah. He 
says: "This spring I was interested in an expedition that 
went out on the desert to examine a deposit formed by an 
extinct geyser, and from which now flow warm springs. 
This deposit is about thirty-five miles northwest of 
Oasis, Millard couaty, Utah, The gentleman told me 
that he saw two bunches of antelope, one of six, the 
other of eight, by actual count; and he was told by the 
man who drove the team, and who had been familiar with 
the country out tb^re as a cowboy for years, that there 
must be at least 100 antelope in that vicinity. They are 
very wild, and my informant told me they could not get 
within what would be considered shooting distance of 
them, although they had no s;uns with them." 
Mr. Eipley Hitchcock, of New York, writes me that he 
believes that there are still plenty of antelope in Arizona. 
He says: "In 1883 I was camping in the San Francisco 
forest in northern Arizona, and hunting antelope. The 
forests are very open, as you know, and there are many 
riaiural parks where the antelope found food. They were 
then very abundant, and as that country is not very 
thickly settled, I cannot belipve that the antelope have 
been entirely killed off in 1896." Confirmatory of this 
opinion is an article in the Los Angeles Daily Times of 
Aug. 15, 1895, which says: "Herds of 50 or 100 antelope 
are still easily met with on the grassy foothills of the 
White Mountains. They are quite timid." This article 
purports to be written by soma one who is familiar with 
the antelope at the present time. 
Mr. Lester B. Hartman, of Oregon, writes me that dur- 
ing this summer he found antelope quite plenty, having 
seen several hundred in two days, on the Pumice Stone 
Desert at the head of the North Fork of the Umpqua 
River, south of Diamond Peak, in that State. The ante- 
lope which inhabit this desert during the summer go down 
into the Upper Deschutes Valley to winter. Mr. Hart- 
man advises me that antelope are also abundant in the 
open country about Stein's Mountain in southwestern 
Oregon. 
Dr. C. Hart Merriam's records for Oregon are given be- 
low and are shown on the amended map printed with 
this. Dr. Merriam remarks in a letter to me: "I have 
no doubt that the antelope still occurs in California, both 
on the Mohave Desert and on the Colorado Desert, 
though none of our men have visited these localities dur- 
ing the past year." 
Daring a recent trip to the West,' at which time I spent 
some weeks in Wyoming and Montana, I passed through 
Nebraska and Dikota, and made some few observations 
and inquiries with regard to this species. In Wyoming, 
in the bend of the Piatte, I saw, in one day, I think 1 000 
antelope. They w^re exceedingly tame and I openly 
rode within 20 or SOjds. of a dozen or fifteen different in- 
dividuals. I nad no gun, as I was riding for stock, and 
u^ed no caution in approaching the antelope. They are 
used to feeding among horses and cattle and see range 
riders frequently, and besides this they were just bunch- 
ing up into the winter herds. If I had wishea to, I could 
have easily gotten a wagon load of them in a day. As it 
wa^, I did not fire a shot. In southwestern South Dakota 
and in northeastern Wyoming, south and west of the 
Black Hills, there are still some antelope, though they are 
very wild and only sparsely distributed. Bist of Tongue 
Elver, between that and Powder River, there are also a 
few, 
I repeat my request to any reader of the paper f amUiar 
with the range of this animal, to give me any notes that 
he may have on it for the years 1895 and 1896 
Geo. Bied Grinnell. 
In Forest and Stream for Oct. 3, 1896, Dr. George 
Bird Grinnell published an interesting article on the pres- 
ent distribution of the antelope, accompanied by a map 
showing the localities at which the animal is known to 
have been observed during the present year. 
Such data as those here recorded are of the utmost im- 
portance to naturalists, and it goes without saying that 
the more complete such records are, the more valuable. 
As stated by Dr. Grinnell, we have a general knowledge 
of the general facts of distribution of the large game ani- 
mals of North America, but when one attempts to com- 
pile the available information he finds very little of posi- 
tive character which will enable him to map out the 
range of any particular species for a particular period — 
much less for a particular year. 
Since our large game is becoming less and less common 
each year, since many kinds have already disappeared 
from vast areas over which they formerly roamed, and 
since the areas now inhabited by the different species are 
shrinking with appalling rapidity. Forest and Stream 
could hardly have taken any step of more permanent 
value to the science of natural history than the step it 
has taken in attempting to ascertain and record exact 
data on their present limits of distribution. It is hoped 
that all persons who can contribute additional informa- 
tion will do so, in order that the records may be made as 
complete as possible. It would seem to be worth while to 
ask for specific information in advance of publishing each 
article, in order to make such article as full as may be at 
the outset. 
With a view to completing the antelope map already 
published, I hereby contribute my mite. In July, August 
and September of the present year (1896) I found ante- 
lope in greater or less abundance in Arizona, Oregon and 
the Province of Assiniboia in Canada. In addition to my 
personal observations a few notes are contributed by my 
assistants, Vernon Bailey, E. A. Preble and Clark P. 
Streator. In each case the initials of the observer are 
added to the record, 
RECORD OP ANTELOPE IN 1896. 
Arizona: San Francisco Mountain region, early July — 
C. H.M, 
Oregon: Steen Mountains, July 23— C. H. M.; Guano 
Creek, twenty-one seen July 30— C. H. M. and V. B, ; 
Paulina -Creek, small bunch seen Aug. 28—0. H. M.; 
Upper Des Chutes River, three seen in woods near the 
crossing at East Fork, Aug. 27— C. H. M. and V, B.; 
Curry's Spring on Sdver Creek, between Prineville and 
Harney, end of June — V. B. and E. A. P ; Catalow Val- 
ley, middle of July— C. P. S.; Barren Valley, Malhuer 
county, Aug. 10— C. P. S. ; Tumtum Lake, Harney county, 
Aug. 22-29, common— C. P. S. ; Honey Creek, Lake county, 
June 25-July 3— C. P. S. 
Nevada: Noted at Deep Hole, Flowing Springs and 
Badger, in the northwest corner of Nevada, May 13 -June 
9— C. P. S. 
Assiniboia: Between Swift Current and Lake Chaplin, 
three bunches of antelope seen Sept. 26— C. H. M. and V. 
B. C. Hart Merriam. 
REMNANTS OF INSTINCT. 
Instinct may be broadly defined as an unreasoning 
prompting to action, and is a quality possessed by ani^ 
mate nature in its wild state. It is true that the mental 
operations of wild animals sometimes approach very 
close to reasoning, but it is certain that most of theii' 
actions are governed by that keener and finer sense 
known as instinct. 
In proportion, however, as a wild creature becomes 
tame it loses this subtle faculty, is less alert to dangef, 
grows more dependent, and after a few generations 
changes not only its character, but also its physical 
structure. The wary wildfowl of the Orient becomes the 
dull, clumsy bird of the barnyard; the sly denizen of the 
trackless mountains degenerates into the witless sheep, 
and the swift and clean-cut steed of the desert bt^comea 
the plodding, heavy-limbed cart horse. Nevertheless I 
firmly believe that the old instinct is never entirely lost, 
and that on, occasion it reasserts itself in spite of centuries 
of repression. 
The little dog that runs snapping at the heels of the 
cow seems to inspire that huge animal with a panic. 
Why? The cow could kick the dog's brains out or toss 
him over the fence with her horns. Is it not because of 
an hereditary dread brought down through long genera- 
tions from the time when all wild horned cattle were the 
prey of coursing wolves, to which this cur's ancestry 
could readily be traced? There is little of the deer or 
wolf left in these creatures, but the old instinct of 
flight and pursuit has never been fully eradicated. 
This same dog, having more food than he can eat, still 
furtivel> buries his bone. Sometimes he digs it up again, 
but more frequently he does not, and this habit is per- 
haps a relic of that old instinct of self-preservation, "the 
first law of nature," which prompted his wild progenitor 
to secrete a part of the spoils of the chase against the time 
of need. Four-footed as well as two-footed hunters have 
their unsuccessful days, and it behooves them to know 
where they can find a cold lunch to sustain life. 
Most of us have noticed that on certain windy Novem- 
ber days some strange excitement suddenly seizes the 
domestic fowls. They squawk and hop and run about, 
extending their wings aa if about to fly. What does this 
grotesque exhibition mean, and what prompts this lame 
and impotent attempt to do something out of the ordi- 
nary line? Simply, I imagine, the fact that certain wild- 
fowl a thousand years ago used to emigrate about this 
time of the year, and their degenerate descendants are 
suddenly touched with a spark of the same old intelli^ 
gence. But it is only a glimmer of inspiration, and tJ?*- 
abortive attempt to quit the earth and cleave the unBer- 
air leaves them more dejected than before. 
If given an opportunity, however, it often happei»tiiat', 
tame creatures relapse, to a certain extent, into a. wild * 
state. Gilbert White noticed that, if left to themselves, 
tame fowls soon learn to roost as high as their wild ances-- 
tors did, although the necessity for this precaution no 
longer exists. It is worth noting in this connection that,,, 
although tame things do occasionally revert to a wild state, 
^ild creatures never voluntarily become tame. 
The farmer's boy, driving his cows home through the> 
dusk, sometimes sees the sheep preparing to lie down for 
the night, and it is certainly a very interesting process. 
The father of the flock trots round them, driving themi 
closer and closer together, until they are a solid mass^ 
into which he finally insinuates himself. When they ar& 
all down it will be noticed that those on the outside alii 
have their heads pointing outward, presenting a circle of 
watchfulness, so that the approach of danger from any ■ 
point would be quickly discovered. Now all this occurs 
in regions where large predatory animals have long been i 
extinct and such wariness is uncalled for. It is there-- 
fore but an inherited instinct, and all the more remarks- 
able on that account, t, 
i_ 
The chicken hatched and raised in the city coopi tiiat 
never saw a hawk or owl, scurries for cover when a pi- 
geon flies overhead. The new-born colt exhibits as much 
fear of man as if its dam had never known a whip or 
rein. The sow deserts her pen previous to giving birth to 
her pigs, and makes a nest for herself in some out-of-the- 
way place, carrying straw andleavesin her mouth for the 
purpose, just as the wild hogs do. The domestic turkey 
once a year quits the farm buildings and seeks some wild, 
secluded spot in which to lay her eggs and raise her 
brood, ^t would be easy to multiply instances of this 
outcropping of instinct in all the domestic creatures. 
But the most interesting manifestation of this subtle 
sense is in man himself. There comes a time in every 
boy's life when he wants to live in caves, and subsist on 
what he can catch or kill or dig from the ground; to play 
Indian and talk in some half-coherent jargon. He feels 
a prompting to turn wild and savage, just as the par- 
tridge hatched under a hen and brought up with his do- 
mestic fellows is always ready to fly away to the wqoda 
and be free again; or just as the bees will swarm and 
leave the hive to seek a home in some maple or bass wood, 
forgetting they were ever tame bees. Who shall say 
what primitive influences are at work upon the boy in 
these days spent in the woods and fields. 
And when the boy becomes the man, what then? I 
believe that in hunting ancl fishing there is something be- 
sides the sport itself that lures us. It is not the mere 
pleasure of killing, it is not the admiration of our friends 
when the well-filled bag or'basket is displayed, not the 
breath of the woods, nor the sights which please the eye, 
that, alone or collectively, draw us — aye, drive us — to the 
forest and brook with gun and rod. It is the instinct 
born within us — old as our oldest ancestors — of taking 
life to sustain life. The conditions have changed and we 
are no longer our own providers; but this instinct is still 
with us, and lends an earnestness and tenacity of purpose 
to that which we call sport, but which to primitive man 
was a matter of life and death. To hunt and fish is to 
get back to first principles, and a man is never nearer a 
savage than when on the track of game. How he adapts 
himself to his surroundings, sheltering himself behind 
rocks and trees, stealing along silently, peering this way 
and that; crafty, relentless, absorbed, alert. For the 
time being he has become a wild thing; instinct takes the 
place of reason, and the hereditary craving is satisfied. 
Is it all a fancy, or have we still in us a residuum of old 
savagery which can only be satisfied by the fierce delighte: 
of the chase and the shedding of blood? 
Arthur F.'Bicsu 
