Antlers 
By JOHN DUNCAN 
the south end of Long Lake 
enjoyed unstinted prosperity. 
They owed their sleek, well-rounded 
sides, not only to the agreeable 
weather, for as winters go in the 
Riding Mountain country that winter 
was the mildest in memory, but also 
to the gracious act of an All-Wise 
Being, Who, after putting it into the 
heart of old Gus Anderson to harvest 
the hay along these meadows, called 
him to Himself, leaving the King Elk 
and his band as sole inheritors of his 
estate. 
For some reason best known to him- 
self—perhaps in the vague hope that 
after a life of many vicissitudes an- 
other cast of the die might win the 
fickle Goddess to his side; perhaps 
with the simple idea of locating a new 
home beyond the boundaries—old An- 
derson had, in the late summer, trav- 
eled far beyond the limits of survey 
line or corner mound, and camped 
among the Long Lake meadows. 
With eyes in which the lure of dis- 
tant places gleamed, he gloated on 
these pleasant fields and saw the har- 
vest ready to his hand. Then through 
the long hours of. those cloudless days 
he cut and cured and heaped the 
fragrant piles, fencing them round 
with poles and willow posts, dreaming, 
meanwhile, that early application to 
the crown, with right of prior occupa- 
tion, would give him legal title to these 
lands. 
But while he toiled and hoped, the 
silent reaper watched, and ere the 
work was ended, cut him down. His 
shrivelled form was like the faded 
leaf, and, on the first rude Autumn 
wind, was whisked away. 
Tn band of elk that wintered at 
HEN, from dull leaden clouds, the 
first soft snow came sifting down, 
soaking the fallen leaves to sodden 
mats, the herd of cows and calves and 

younger bulls, following their oldest 
cow, and guarded by their yet uncon- 
quered King, trailed down the ridges 
from the west and stopped beside the 
salt spring near the lake; and, when 
the wise old cow, with that unerring 
instinct which gave her right to leader- 
ship, discovered Anderson’s hay piles, 
the band decided it was a good place 
to spend the winter, and entered into 
quiet and peaceful possession. 
Through the short sunshine of those 
winter days, they wandered in the 
willows or hid within the heavy timber 
while the storm spread his soft blanket 
in the woods or with cold blast drove 
the white flakes into hard drifts along 
its edge. 
At night, from out the network of 
their deep-worn paths, they gathered 
at the salt spring or under the cold 
moon they crunched along their frosty 
trails, to revel in the luxury of well- 
cured hay. In singles, twos and threes 
they hurried down to this, their nightly 
festival, and when the last arrived the 
place was walled about with living 
bodies. Sensitively they sniffed their 
scented fare and fed with dainty bites 
but eager haste, wasting as much with 
trampling hooves and tossing antlered 
heads. 
YEARLING - spike-horn, _ shoul- 
dered from his place, leaped to a 
snowdrift and thence upon the stack 
and stood outlined in all the strength 
and beauty of his youth; and well he 
might, for he was sired by the great 
antlered bull that fed below among his 
cows, “Mush Koose Mendillo” the King 
Elk of the Mountain. 
A hunting coyote loped across the 
tongue of meadow, sniffed the fresh 
rabbit tracks among the willows and 
stalked out on to a hard snow drift 
beyond. Generally speaking he was at 
peace with the world. Rabbits were 
plentiful and easily caught, so his 
The Life Story 
of the 
Riding Mountain 
Elk 
muscles were firm and his fur thick; 
but his appetite had tired of a daily 
diet of rabbit and he had discovered 
that beneath the hay piles the little 
field mice had their cosy nests and 
made a more delicious delicacy. But 
there, at night, the Elk band fed and 
fear of their sharp hooves kept him 
away. 
E sat upon his haunches, raised his 
muzzle high and sent out to the 
moon across those wintry wastes the 
weird and wavering wailing of his 
howl. The echoes of his cry were taken 
up by friends of his beyond the ridge. 
The rabbits cowered in their hides. 
The field mice heard and shivered in 
their nests. But at its first sharp note 
the great Bull Elk sprang from his 
feet, tossed the last strands of hay 
from off his antlers and stepped, with 
body tense and mincing gait, for fifty 
yards intothe open. His mane of chest- 
nut’ brown was all aroused; the hair 
of rump and belly fringe stood out 
erect. He spurned the snow with 
stamping hooves, scented the air and 
hurled back to his foe a snort of 
furious defiance and contempt. 
For his herd it said: “I am your 
unbeaten leader, I will defend you.” 
To his enemy the challenge was: 
“Come on, you Coyote. Bring on your 
pack. I am ready, well fed and strong. 
Come on, I say. You’ll feel my hooves. 
Come on!” 
THE Coyote heard the challenge and 
he knew that the securing of the 
delicate morsel which he sought was 
accompanied by too great a risk, and 
so he turned away to chase rabbits 
through the shadowy silence of the 
woods until the early dawn. And the 
Bull Elk, secure in the power of his 
strength, sought out his sleeping place 
beneath the pines that crowned the 
little rise three hundred yards away. 
Page 458 
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