"Some four years ago, the Survey sent me on a trip which included themapping of a portion of the foothills of the Mt. St. Elias Range. It isa rugged and barren part of the country, but although rough in theextreme, no obstacles had been encountered that hard labor and longhours could not overcome. It was a packing trip and everything hadprogressed favorably, there was plenty of forage, the streams had beenfairly passable, and we feasted twice a day on moose or mountain sheep.For days and weeks together we had hardly been out of sight of caribou.They had a curious way of approaching, either one at a time or else inquite large bands, coming close to the pack-train, then breaking awaysuddenly at full gallop and returning in large circles. Even the crackof a rifle could not scare them out of their curiosity, and we nevershot any except when we needed meat.
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Just at the narrowest part, when it was difficult sometimes to avoid thepaddles striking the rock on the side, the torrent boiling through andboth men backing water, the canyon took a sharp turn to the right. Harrythrew her head round, but not far enough, for there, not fifteen feetaway from the angle of the bend, a black rock rose sheer from the water,with a spur sticking out, exactly like the spur of a fighting cock. Theboat could not clear, and though Roger got the bow by, the[Pg 293] currentcrushed the side of the canoe against the rock, and with a cry theIndian leaped for the spur.
Like a flash the thought shot through Roger's mind that if they oncestarted to run he would not be able to stalk them again that night, and[Pg 305]determining to risk a long shot, rather than none at all, he laid hisrifle across a boulder which he had been using as a cover, and taking acareful aim, fired. The distance seemed to him tremendous, and as therifle cracked the four leaped into full career, but the one at which theboy had fired gave a jump, which, to his excited idea, seemed to showthat he had been hit. Away started Roger at full tilt after them, butthey were speedily out of sight. Tearing along at topmost speed over theuneven ground, Roger's breath began to give out and little black spotsdanced before his eyes, but when he reached the trail of the fleeingcaribou and found a spot of blood in the tracks of one of them, he wouldnot have changed places with the Director of the Survey. On he went,following this track, and noting that the leaps were growing shorter andshorter, but his endurance was beginning to give out, when he saw beforehim, not more than half a mile away, a solitary caribou. Knowing thatthose which had not been hit were probably four or five miles distant atthis time, and that they would not stop under fifteen miles or so, theboy knew that this was his victim and he redoubled his energies.
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