Hunting -- West (U.S.); Outdoor life; West (U.S.) -- Description and travel
He sprang to his feet. His only safety was in flight, but where? His
strength was nearly gone. He ran a short distance away from us, circling
our cavalcade. His foe was nearly up to him again. He stopped an instant
with uplifted foot, then turned and made directly for _us_. Three loaded
guns hung at our saddles, but no hand went towards them. Not thirty feet
away from our motionless horses the buck dropped, exhausted. We could
easily have lassoed him. His adversary kept beyond gunshot, not daring to
follow him into the power of an enemy all wild things fear; and an eagle
who had perched on a rock near by, in hopes of a coming feast, flapped
his wings and slowly flew away to search elsewhere for his dinner. The
conquering buck walked back to his spoils of war, and soon marshalled
them out of sight behind a hill.
The young buck almost at our feet quickly recovered. He was not seriously
hurt, only frightened and winded. He rose to his feet and stood for an
instant looking directly at us, his head with its growing horns held high
in the air, as if to thank us for the protection from a lesser foe he had
so boldly asked and so freely received of an all powerful enemy. Then,
turning, he lightly sped over the plain in an opposite direction, and the
eagle, who had kept us in sight until now, perhaps with a lingering hope,
rose swiftly upwards and was lost to sight.
One elk with an eleven-point crown, and one antelope, of the finest ever
brought down, is the tax I levied on the wild things. Of the many, many
times I have watched them and left them unmolested, and of the lessons
they have taught me, under Nimrod's guidance, I have not space to tell,
for the real fascination of hunting is not in the killing but in seeing
the creature at home amid his glorious surroundings, and feeling the
freely rushing blood, the health-giving air, the gleeful sense of joy and
life in nature, both within and without.
XI.
WHAT I KNOW ABOUT WAHB OF THE BIGHORN BASIN.
A fourteen-inch track is big, even for a grizzly. That was the size of
Wahb's. The first time I saw it, the hole looked big enough for a
baby's bath tub.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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