994 
FOREST AND STREAM 
A Familiar Hudson Bay Post Scene—Without the Husky Dog Travel in the Sub-Arctic Regions 
Would Be Almost 1 mpossible. 
shore we stopped for breakfast. An east wind 
greeted us and snow flakes on the wing were 
now making traveling less pleasant. All attempts 
to light the Primus stove in the open were fu¬ 
tile, even with a windbreak rigged with the cari¬ 
bou skins. On several trips I carried a large 
square flour tin with perforated bottom for 
draught in which I set the stove. In a stout 
breeze this works well, making lighting the stove 
an easy task and keeping the flame and heat from 
blowing away from the kettle. We had no such 
shield with us this trip, and after several vain 
attempts to get the stove going we set Jimmie 
and Nansen to look for some dry timber. 
They didn’t get it, nor did any one of us eat 
a bite of breakfast that day. For scarcely had the 
two huckies started off when Walker’s sharp eye 
noted something moving on the south bank a 
quarter mile to the westward. “Keep quiet! 
look!” he exclaimed, in a low tone, “there’s a 
deer up-stream!” We looked as he directed, and 
through the falling snow, which, as though in 
answer to our unspoken prayer, lessened some¬ 
what. We saw a big buck caribou step clear of 
the scrub willows on the bank. He paused there, 
a magnificent-looking beast, gray of back and 
flank, and with a neck and belly as white as the 
virgin snow about him. Seen even at that dis¬ 
tance through the light snowfall, his spread of 
antlers drew our admiration, for, as a rule, the 
caribou of the Barren Lands wear a scraggy set 
of horns, and what was more surprising, the 
mating season was four or five months gone and 
these horns could be only half matured. 
“Is he alone?” asked Walker, anxiously. “Is 
he the first of a herd? Is he the last?” We were 
frantically hauling our rifles from the sled and 
the corporal’s questions were not heeded. I had 
with me an old Winchester 30-30, which I had 
brought along in preference to the heavy Mann- 
licher which was with my gear at the barracks. 
This firearm had seen years of service in my 
father’s hands, accounting for many a buck in 
the forests of the upper Ottawa, and I had yet 
to find fault with it. A 30-30 soft nose slug' is 
plenty good enough for moose or bear and I once 
put a hole through a big polar at close range 
into which one could almost shove his fist. 
Walybuck had his gun ready first and we 
agreed to let him try stalking the deer. He 
slipped into the woods while we anxiously 
watched the animal, who stood still as a statue. 
We wondered how long he would wait thus for 
the wind blew directly toward him and the scent 
of the dogs was strong. 
It seemed ages—it was only thirty seconds— 
before the suspense was ended. The stag threw 
up his head with a jerk and reared as though 
stung, and we concluded that the Eskimo had 
fired. But no sound came to listening ears, and 
into the newly fallen snow of the river level the 
deer plunged and made for the other side. Then, 
from somewhere above us, Waly did fire, but the 
deer only increased his speed. He reached the 
other side, sprang nimbly up the bank, and dis¬ 
appeared within the shadows of the evergreens. 
“Missed!” exclaimed Walker in disgust. 
“These huckies can’t hit a barn!” 
But suddenly his disappointment changed to 
joyful surprise. At a cry from Nansen we 
looked upstream again and gazed spellbound on 
a sight the like of which is given to few to wit¬ 
ness. Right on the trail of the escaped deer 
trotted out two more caribou; then came a band 
of six, five does and a handsome buck; and, fol¬ 
lowing closely behind, jostling and crowding one 
another, came others, the vanguard of a great 
herd. I at once thought of Tyrell’s “hundred 
thousand” and prayed for a chance to use the 
camera. But the falling snow and the dull light 
put picture-taking out of the question. The dogs 
leaped to their feet and howled and tugged at 
the traces till their frantic efforts broke the sled 
free from its frost anchorage and they started 
down the bank. With a curse Walker flung him¬ 
self at the canoe and turned the load over onto 
its side, just in time to prevent the team’s escape. 
This securely anchored them. 
“Now’s our chance! Come on!” cried the cor¬ 
poral, all excitement. I was still occupied in 
silent, open-mouthed gazing. “We can pick a 
few out of that bunch if you hurry,” he added, 
and handed me my box of shells. I emptied them 
into a pocket, when “crack!” went Waly’s rifle 
and I turned in time to see an antlered head rear 
above its fellows and then one of the caribou 
rolled out of line and stiffened by the side of- 
the trail. 
“First blood!” exclaimed Walker, and the two 
of us tore down the level surface of the river, 
making no attempt at keeping under cover. The 
huckie’s shot had startled the herd into greater 
action, but before we got within range Waly, who 
had the start of us, had picked off two more. 
Then Walker halted and got one with a beautiful 
shot at three hundred and eighty-two yards, ac¬ 
tual measurement. 
“Pure luck,” he insisted afterwards. “Give me 
your luck, then,” I said; “I would be more than 
a little proud of it.” Another of the huckies—it 
was Jimmie—was close by me and had a service 
carbine. We both fired after Walker and both 
missed our marks. Jimmie chuckled gleefully 
at our failure and fired again, point blank, at the 
swiftly moving mass. His chuckle grew to a 
roar of delight as a gray-coated beast stumbled 
in its tracks and the one closely following it 
tripped and fell over its prostrate mate. As the 
caribou recovered its feet three of us, looking 
for a sure thing, chose it for a target, and three 
bullets went home, as we afterwards ascertained. 
There was little hope of escape for any beast 
that paused in its flight with that battery turned 
upon it. 
Of course we had been advancing between 
shots and were now within two hundred yards of 
the continuous stream of shaggy flanks and toss¬ 
ing horns that in endless flight whirled across 
the river. The snow, too, had almost ceased to 
fall, but I didn’t know that till afterwards, when 
Walker told me. Had I noticed the fact I would 
surely have run back for the camera, and, of 
course, missed the rest of the hunt and probably 
have been too slow to get a single exposure. 
The stampeding beasts were traveling like the 
wind and all this was taking place in less time 
than I can tell it here—one might form a fair 
estimate of the time from the fact that Walker 
fired thirteen shots in all, about as fast as he 
could pump them, refilling the magazine once, 
between his first shot and the passing of the 
last caribou. As I remember it now, it was like a 
sudden squall of wind bearing down on us, to 
roar and tear its way by, leaving dead calm and 
silence in its wake. 
To redeem my first miss I took my time and 
picked off a big fellow. Because of both sexes 
bearing antlers it was almost impossible to dis¬ 
tinguish between them when in motion, though 
the horns of the females were somewhat finer 
Once a Day Only, No Matter How Hard the Work, the Dogs Are Fed Their Ration, Usually 
Frozen Fish, But in the Farthest North, Meat. 
