Wilderness Ways | Page 7

through the swamp towards a strip of big timber which
formed a kind of island in the middle.
Pushing my canoe into the grass, I made for a point just astern of the
nearest quivering line of bushes. A glance at a bit of soft ground

showed me the trail of a mother caribou with her calf. I followed
cautiously, the wind being ahead in my favor. They were not hurrying,
and I took good pains not to alarm them.
When I reached the timber and crept like a snake through the
underbrush, there were the caribou, five or six mother animals, and
nearly twice as many little ones, well grown, which had evidently just
come in from all directions. They were gathered in a natural opening,
fairly clear of bushes, with a fallen tree or two, which served a good
purpose later. The sunlight fell across it in great golden bars, making
light and shadow to play in; all around was the great marsh, giving
protection from enemies; dense underbrush screened them from prying
eyes--and this was their schoolroom.
The little ones were pushed out into the middle, away from the mothers
to whom they clung instinctively, and were left to get acquainted with
each other, which they did very shyly at first, like so many strange
children. It was all new and curious, this meeting of their kind; for till
now they had lived in dense solitudes, each one knowing no living
creature save its own mother. Some were timid, and backed away as far
as possible into the shadow, looking with wild, wide eyes from one to
another of the little caribou, and bolting to their mothers' sides at every
unusual movement. Others were bold, and took to butting at the first
encounter. But careful, kindly eyes watched over them. Now and then a
mother caribou would come from the shadows and push a little one
gently from his retreat under a bush out into the company. Another
would push her way between two heads that lowered at each other
threateningly, and say with a warning shake of her head that butting
was no good way to get along together. I had once thought, watching a
herd on the barrens through my glasses, that they are the gentlest of
animals with each other. Here in the little school in the heart of the
swamp I found the explanation of things.
For over an hour I lay there and watched, my curiosity growing more
eager every moment; for most of what I saw I could not comprehend,
having no key, nor understanding why certain youngsters, who needed
reproof according to my standards, were let alone, and others kept
moving constantly, and still others led aside often to be talked to by
their mothers. But at last came a lesson in which all joined, and which
could not be misunderstood, not even by a man. It was the jumping

lesson.
Caribou are naturally poor jumpers. Beside a deer, who often goes out
of his way to jump a fallen tree just for the fun of it, they have no show
whatever; though they can travel much farther in a day and much easier.
Their gait is a swinging trot, from which it is impossible to jump; and if
you frighten them out of their trot into a gallop and keep them at it,
they soon grow exhausted. Countless generations on the northern
wastes, where there is no need of jumping, have bred this habit, and
modified their muscles accordingly. But now a race of caribou has
moved south into the woods, where great trees lie fallen across the way,
and where, if Megaleep is in a hurry or there is anybody behind him,
jumping is a necessity. Still he doesn't like it, and avoids it whenever
possible. The little ones, left to themselves, would always crawl under a
tree, or trot round it. And this is another thing to overcome, and another
lesson to be taught in the caribou school.
As I watched them the mothers all came out from the shadows and
began trotting round the opening, the little ones keeping close as
possible, each one to its mother's side. Then the old ones went faster;
the calves were left in a long line stringing out behind. Suddenly the
leader veered in to the edge of the timber and went over a fallen tree
with a jump; the cows followed splendidly, rising on one side, falling
gracefully on the other, like gray waves racing past the end of a jetty.
But the first little one dropped his head obstinately at the tree and
stopped short. The next one did the same thing; only he ran his head
into the first one's legs and knocked them out from under him. The