The Great Fall Hunts.

Here have now almost disappeared from the vast buffalo ranges extending between the Missouri and Saskatchewan Rivers the last vestiges of what were once the most perfectly organized, effective, and picturesque periodically recurring hunting excursions known to any nomadic peoples. They came within the lists, too, of what are technically known to sportsmen as "pot-hunts" forming the almost entire support of certain well-defined border communities.

For over half a century regiments of men with a vast following of retainers and impedimenta have swept over the plains twice annually, bearing slaughter and destruction to its shaggy denizens; the product being sufficient to maintain a large colony with its various dependencies in plenty, and even in comparative luxury, for the remainder of the year. These hunts formed an almost certain means of livelihood, and, for the amount of labour required, offered inducements far superior to those of agriculture, or, indeed, any other pursuit that the scope of the country presented. Moreover, they were specially adapted to the class with which they obtained a class which, because of eminent fitness and efficiency, seemed particularly designed by Nature for the congenial calling. Suggested first by the necessities of a meagre handful of half-starved immigrants, they became at length the mainstay of a considerable population and an important factor in the world's commerce. Wherever a buffalo robe is found, particularly in European markets, there may be seen the business card of this vast pot-hunt; sometimes represented by the robe itself, again by certain hieroglyphic decorating its tanned side. And this (to many) cabalistic advertisement suggests the matter of the present chapter.

In the year 1811, the Earl of Selkirk purchased of the Hudson's Bay Company ownership of a vast tract of land, including, as a small part of the whole, the ground occupied by a colony known, until its recent purchase by the Dominion Government, as Red River Settlement, near the foot of Lake Winnipeg, in British North America. On this territory Earl Selkirk had formed the Utopian idea of settling a populous colony, of which he should be the feudal lord, the compulsory exodus of the inhabitants of the mountainous regions of the county of Sutherland, Scotland, taking place about that time, to make way for the working of the sterner realities of the system of land management which prevails on great estates in this prosaic nineteenth century, an opportunity of easily obtaining the desired colonists for the occupation of his new purchase was thus presented. The first instalment of colonists reached the bay coast in the autumn of 1811, advanced inland in the following spring confluence of the Assiniboine and Red Rivers, miles at the foot of Lake Winnipeg, found themselves and, at about forty metaphorically speaking at home. They were in the centre of the American Continent, fifteen or sixteen hundred miles in direct distance from the nearest city residence of civilized man in America. They separated from the country whence they came by an almost impassable barrier.

Unfortunately for the successful founding of an agricultural colony, such as Lord Selkirk had planned, the rival French Canadian fur companies, contending for the possession of the territory with the Hudson's Bay Company, chose to regard the new-comers as invaders, whose presence was detrimental to their interests; and the Indians also objected to the cultivation of their hunting-grounds. Between the persecutions of two such powerful enemies, the colonists made, after the destruction of their crops and dwellings the first year, but little attempt at agriculture, and adopted, perforce, the nomadic life of the country, visiting the plains twice annually in pursuit of buffalo. This mode of life was obtained until the coalition of all the fur companies, in the year 1821, increased the size of the colony by the acquisition of all the French hunters and traders who selected rather to remain there than return to Canada and rendered the peaceful pursuit of agriculture possible.

But it occurred that, by intermarriage with the aborigines, and ten years of the free, roving life of the plain-hunter, agriculture had become distasteful to the younger portion of the sturdy Scots, while the French, of course, still clung to old habits, relying entirely upon the chase for a livelihood. So it happened that, while a small minority of the first colonists those of advanced age adopted the cultivation of the soil, and the large majority of the eight or ten thousand people forming the settlement followed the chase; thus presenting the anomaly of a settled, civilized community subsisting by the pursuits common to nomadic life; in reality, civilized nomads. From those early days up to the present, when civilization by rapid strides has encroached upon and overrun that isolated locality, the same mode of life has obtained, with, until within the past ten years, no very perceptible change. The French portion of the colony relies entirely upon the chase, if we may except certain miniature attempts at farming; the Scotch alternating between seasons of labour with plow and hoe and the semi-annual hunts; the half-breed offspring of the latter instinctively adopting the chase. The world presents no other such incongruous picture.

It is not within our province to enter upon the details of buffalo-hunting as practiced upon the plains, and with which, doubtless, all are familiar; but it may not be devoid of interest to follow this particular hunt to its termination, as presenting certain peculiarities not found elsewhere.

The parties belonging to the summer hunt start about the beginning of June and remain on the plains until the beginning of August. They then return to the settlements for a short time, to trade the pemmican or dried meat, which forms the staple article of produce from the hunt. The autumn hunters start during August and remain on the prairie until the end of October, or early in November, when they usually return, bringing the fresh or "green meat," preserved at this late season by the extreme cold, and fall buffalo robes. This latter hunt, including all the features of the former, we select as the subject of description.

After the return of the people from the summer hunt and a short time allowed for the sale of their produce, a few of the recognized leaders of the chase assemble to arrange the time and place of a general rendezvous for the fall hunt. The time is always set for the first days of September, but the place of rendezvous changes from year to year, as the herds of buffalo are reported by the summer hunters as being close at hand or afar off. In recent years the rendezvous has been made at Pembina Mountain, a locality on the United States boundary line in the northeast corner of Dakota Territory, comparatively close at hand. From this point, the hunt frequently divides into two sections, one proceeding in a southerly, the other in a southwesterly direction. Both time and place having been designated by the (for the time) self-constituted leaders of the hunt, the word at once passes through the colony by that subtle electricity of gossip common to the frontier as elsewhere, but generally dignified by the name of news. The rapidity with which it travels, too, suggests the entire needlessness of telegraphy.

A particular date is determined upon departure from the rendezvous, but it is customary to meet, if possible, some days previous to that time, so that everything may be in perfect readiness. From the day of notification to that of departure for the rendezvous, the colony is in a constant state of preparation. In every door-yard may be seen the canvas tents and leather tepees of prospective hunters, stretched for repairs; carts undergoing a like renovating process, and fences decorated with dislocated sets of harness; guns and accoutrements burnished- to an unwonted degree of effulgence; kettles strewed about the yard, together with wooden trunks and other paraphernalia of the camp. As the time approaches for the meet, the well-worn trails leading toward the rendezvous become vividly alive with long trains of carts, oxen, ponies, and well-groomed runners used in the final chase. Each hunter takes, in addition to the carts necessary for the conveyance of his family for the women and children have their share in the labor equally with the men supply of extra vehicles in which to load the meat and robes falling to his share. And this train of carts, constantly augmented by new additions, marching in single file, for days seems interminable, sending up a refrain from ungreased axles that may be heard miles away on the prairie.

While some of the carts are devoted to the conveyance of madame, the hunter's wife, and possibly the younger children, the remainder are filled at the start with tents, bedding, camp equipage, and provisions sufficient to last until the buffalo are reached. The ponies and oxen drawing them march in single file, and each one is tied to the tail of the vehicle before it, they become jammed together in a telescopic fashion when a sudden halt occurs in the line, and elongated on starting again in a way that is affecting to behold. About the train, as it creaks monotonously along, the loose animals are driven, and what with their tramping feet and the dragging gait of the cart animals the little caravan is likely to be hidden from view in the dark clouds of dust arising from the well-worn trails. The rate of travel, estimated entirely by time, is about twenty miles per day, and at this pace, nearly four days are required to reach the rendezvous.

Pembina Mountain rises on the north and east in a series of tablelands, each table about half a mile in width, sparsely timbered, and bountifully supplied with springs. On its western slope, at the base of which runs the Pembina River, the mountain terminates abruptly. Across the stream, flowing deep below the surface in a narrow valley, the banks remain of about an equal height with the mountain, stretching away toward the Missouri in a bare, treeless plain, broken only by the solitary elevation in the dim distance of Ne-paukwa-win (Dry Dance Hill). On this bank of the river is the rendezvous, selected by an invariable rule of prairie travel to always cross a stream on the route before camping. As wood is not to be had on the western bank, each hunter cuts a supply for his camp-fires as he passes over the mountain; and, as no more timber will be encountered during the hunt, he also carefully selects an abundant supply of poplar poles upon which to hang the meat to dry after the chase, and for use as frames in stretching robes to be tanned.

As hour after hour and day after day the carts come straggling in, sometimes a single hunter with his outfit of from three to ten carts, again a train so swollen by contributions along the road as to number hundreds, the camp of rendezvous enlarges its borders and presents a scene both novel and picturesque. The elevated plain on the immediate banks of the stream is covered with a motley grouping of carts, canvas tents, smoke-brown leather tepees, and, instead of another shelter, small squares of cotton or rawhide stretched from cart to cart, or over a rough framework of poles. For miles around the prairie is alive with ponies, hoppled, tied to lariat- pins, or dragging about poles as a preventive against straying. Mingled with this kicking, neighing herd wander hundreds of oxen patient, lowing kine, the youthful vivacity of which has given place to middle-aged steadiness. Through this compact mass of animal life gallop with a wild scurry, from time to time, half-nude boys, breaking a narrow pathway in search of some needed ox or pony, or hurrying the whole struggling mass riverward.

In the camp, the sole occupation of the day is the pursuit of pleasure. From every tent and shelter comes the sound of laughter; every campfire furnishes its quota of jest and song. Here a small but excited circle, gathered under the shade of a cart, is deeply engaged in gambling by what is known as the "moccasin game." In an empty moccasin are placed sundry buttons and bullets, which, being shaken up, involve the guessing of the number in the shoe. The ground is covered with guns, capotes, and shirts, the volatile half-breed often stripping the clothing from his back to satisfy his passion for play or staking his last horse and cart. There another like-minded party is gambling with cards, the stakes being a medley of everything portable owned by the players.

In many tents, rum is holding an orgy, and the clinking of cups, boisterous laughter and song, tell of the presence of the direst enemy of the hunter. In another quarter feasting is the order of the day, and the small stock of provisions, designed to supply the family until the buffalo were reached, is being devoured at a sitting. The host knows this; but, then, he selects a feast and its consequent famine. Yonder tawny Pyramus is making love to dusky Thisbe after the most approved fashion. They seem indifferent to the exposure of the camp, arid conduct their wooing as if no curious eyes were upon them. About the many camp-fires stand, or crouch, the wives of the hunters, busily engaged in culinary operations, or gossiping with neighbors, while their numerous scantily-attired offspring play about in the dust and dirt with wolfish-looking dogs. The baby of the family, fastened to a board, leans against a cart-wheel, doubtless, revolving in its infantile mind those subtle questions pertinent to babyhood.

Gathered in a circle apart are likely to be found the aged leaders of the hunt, engaged in discussion of the weightier matters of the time; but, from the broad smiles lighting up their bronzed features at times, it is doubtful whether many of the subjects are relevant. Perched high on a cart-wheel, farther on, sits a long-haired Paganini, drawing rude melodies from an antiquated and fractured violin. About him are congregated a crowd of delighted hearers, suggesting new tunes, requesting the loan of the instrument long enough to exhibit their skill, or, seized with the infection, suddenly breaking into an improvised breakdown, or executing a pas seul the very embodiment of caricature. Reclining under the shade of carts, in every possible attitude, lie weary hunters indulging in a siesta, from which to be rudely awakened by some practical joke of their fellows, only to find themselves bound hand and foot. Again, the awaking is made in a manner more congenial by the mellow gurgling of proffered liquor held to the lips. About the outskirts of the camp, the veteran horse trader plies his calling, painting the merits of the animal in hand in vivid coleur de rose. Above all rises the clamour of many tongues, speaking many languages, the neighing of horses, the lowing of kine, the barking of hundreds of dogs, and the shouts and yells of fresh arrivals, as they pour hourly into swell the numbers of the already vast encampment.

In the afternoon, if the day is propitious, the camp becomes for a time comparatively deserted, the noise and excitement being temporarily transferred to the distance of a mile or more upon the prairie. Here the hunter presents a different appearance from the lounging, tattered, unkempt personage of the morning. He has donned his holiday apparel, appearing in all the bravery of new moccasins, tasseled caps, gaudy shirts, fine blue capote, and corduroy trousers. His sash is of the most brilliant pattern and wound about his waist to make its broadest display. He is mounted upon his best horse, with bridle and saddle decked with ribbons and bravery, and has suddenly become an alert, active, volatile, and excitable being, constantly gesticulating, shouting, and full of life. A straight course is marked off upon the prairie of, say, half a mile in length. After well-known leaders of the hunt have been stationed at either end, the racing begins. Betting runs high, the wagers of the principals being generally horse against horse, those of outsiders ranging from valuable horses down through carts and oxen to the clothing worn at the moment. All is excitement, and as the contestants dash forward, with that peculiar plunging of the heels into the flanks of the horses at every jump, affected by the plain-hunter, it breaks forth in cheers and gesticulations of encouragement to the favourite. All points of disagreement are quickly settled by the dictum of the umpires, and the loser quietly strips saddle and bridle from his much-prized animal and consoles himself for the loss in copious draughts of rum.

To the regular courses of the day succeed a multitude of scrub-races, gotten up on the spur of the moment, and involving almost every article of property as the wagers. Horses, oxen, tents, guns, clothing, provisions, and spirits, change hands with wonderful celerity, and to an accompaniment of shouts and gesticulations that would do no discredit to Bedlam. The sport continues with but little abatement throughout the afternoon, the races gradually growing shorter, however, and the wagers of more trifling value.

Toward night the huge camp becomes again resonant with a more intense Babel of sounds. The lucky winner on the race course parades his gains, and depicts in graphic pantomime his share in the sports; while the loser bewails his losses in maudlin tones, or arranges the terms of a new race for the morrow. The betting of the afternoon is succeeded by the deeper gambling of the evening; and the sounds of shuffling cards, the clinking of the buttons and bullets of the moccasin game, and the exclamations of triumph and despair of winner and loser are everywhere heard. Rum flows freely; for each hunter brings a supply to tide him over the grand encampment, and start him fairly on his journey. As the night advances, the camp grows more and more boisterous, the confusion worse confounded. The women disappear from the camp-fires and betake themselves to tents out of harm's way. Drunken men reel about the flaming fires; wild yells fill the still air; quarrels are engendered; fierce invectives in many tongues roll from angry lips, and the saturnalia becomes general. The campfires light up the strange scene with a lurid glare, and the tent, cart, and awning, cast fantastic shadows over all. The orgy continues late in the night, and, when the fires flicker and die out, their last feeble glow reveals shadowy forms stretched promiscuously about, sleeping the sleep of drunkenness.

With the first glow of the coming dawn, the camp rouses into life and vigour again. The headaches and fevers engendered by the debauch of the previous night are carried patiently by their owners to the river's brink, and bathed in its cooling waters. The women once more appear about the campfires, clad in dark-blue calico which so effectually conceals succeeding accumulations of dirt busied in preparations for the morning meal. Their lords stand moodily near to obtain a share of the heat; for the mornings are chilly and raw. And, As the excitement of the previous day has been dissipated by sleep, and that of the opening day is still to come, the features of the plain-hunter are in repose, betraying at a glance the nature of his employment. The theory that one's daily life leaves its impress upon the face meets with no more ample corroboration than here. The countenance at first sight would be taken for that of a resolute, reckless, and determined man. It is deeply bronzed by exposure and is marked by numerous hard lines sharply defined about the mouth and eyes. Somewhat Assyrian in type, yet it expresses a certain cunning combined with its resolution; the eyes are watchfully vigilant; the square lower jaw prominent and firmly set; the nose straight and somewhat hooked; the cheeks rather sunken and sparsely bearded. A faint glow of excitement, however, instantly changes the expression: it becomes alert, volatile, all alive a face to dare anything, to plunge into danger from mere love of it, and yet not a labour-loving face, nor one capable of sustained effort in any direction not attended with the excitement of physical risk.

This type of countenance pervades the camp more or less. It assumes its deepest tints in the old hunters, degenerating into a haggard, reckless air, and finds its mildest phase in the newly-fledged buffalo runner, about whose eyes the inevitable marks are but beginning to form. It is not, perhaps, so much the danger that paints these lines of life in sombre hues upon the face, as the wild, reckless racing and slaughter of the final chase a chase leading for miles, and extending through long hours, keeping nerve, muscle, and mind, at their utmost tension, and all bent upon slaughter. But, whatever the cause, certain it is that no class of men more distinctly marked by the characteristics of their vocation exist than the members of this hunt. Even the women assume, after a time, the reckless air of their husbands and brothers engaged in it.

The most positive, perhaps, of the recognized laws regulating the camp of rendezvous is that forbidding the departure of anyone from its limits after having once entered it. This is to guard against covering the plains with straggling bands of hunters whose presence would inevitably drive the buffalo from their usual range. Because of this self-imposed law, no one attempts to leave the main body until all the hunters have arrived an event which generally occurs within a week from the first formation of the camp. During that period the time is passed much in the fashion above described, and, as a consequence of so continuous a series of dissipations, all are eager to break camp and start upon the long journey. The day previous to that appointed for departure, however, is set apart for the election of the officers of the hunt, and the transaction of such other business as the exigencies of the time suggest.

By this date, the hunters are supposed to be all in and prepared as well as they ever will be for departure. The encampment has swollen almost beyond available limits, and become dissipated and unruly to a degree. From two thousand to twenty-five hundred carts line the banks; three thousand animals graze within sight upon the prairie; one thousand men, with their following of women and children, find shelter under carts, and in the tents and tepees of the encampment; the smoke of the camp-fires almost obscures the sun; and the Babel of sounds arising from the laughing, neighing, barking multitude, resembles the rush of many waters.

Immediately after breakfast of the day previous to that appointed for departure from the rendezvous, all the males of the camp repair to a point a short distance off upon the prairie, where gathered in a huge circle, they proceed to the election of officers for the coming hunt. The votes are given first for a chief, who shall see that all laws are enforced, and shall have the power to settle all disputes. To this office is almost invariably elected an old hunter, prominent both on account of experience and executive ability and for whose comparatively exemplary life all entertain respect. The second ballot elects twelve counsellors who, with the chief, make the laws, decide the direction of travel, and advise the executive in all matters of doubtful propriety. These persons, being necessarily men of experience, are chosen also from the elderly men of the camp, or those who have followed plain-hunting for many years. The third ballot is cast for the election of four captains, each of whom will command a certain number Of men, called soldiers, who become the police of the hunt, mounting guard against Indians, arranging the shape of the camp into an outer circle formed of carts, inside of which the tents and animals are placed keeping watch over private property, arresting offenders, etc. These four men must be of a determined mould and are chosen from the middle-aged hunters whose courage and vigilance are approved. Lastly, four guides are elected, who are to lead the train in the direction indicated by the chief and counsellors. This position, involving a thorough knowledge of the country, is always filled from the ranks of the older hunters, whose many years of service have rendered them acquainted with every foot of the territory to be traversed. With this last office, the election terminates.

Before the crowd disperses, the chief and counsellors have framed a code of laws which is to govern the multitude during the period covered by the hunt. This code varies a little, perhaps, in phraseology from year to year, but is generally of the following substance:

Any penalty is foregone, however, if the guilty party pays a stipulated sum in money, meat, or robes, for each offence. In case of theft, the perpetrator is to be taken to the middle of the camp, his name called aloud thrice, the word "thief" being added.

The election having furnished the hunt with the requisite officers, and a code of laws providing for all the necessities and emergencies incident to its nomadic life, the huge encampment begins at once to feel their salutary effect. By eventide, the soldiers are selected from the numbers of the young men, and a relief patrols the camp for the laws are enforced from the moment of their enactment. The effect is perceptible in the lessened confusion, the cessation of public drinking and gambling, and a general air of order and routine. The dissipation of the past week is replaced by attention to the details of the coming journey. Everything is made ready for an early departure on the morrow. The chief and his counsellors assemble in the centre of the camp and discuss the most advisable route to pursue; the council being open to outsiders having suggestions to offer. The captains of the guard pass through the camp in all directions, issuing orders as to the disposition of animals, carts, and baggage, in such a manner as to afford the best facilities for easy and rapid loading. Play-day is over, and the real business of the hunt begins. After the lapse of a night which, in its quietude, forms a violent contrast with the seven or more preceding it, the camp of rendezvous is broken up, and the caravan begins to move.

The fortunate traveller who, standing upon the edge of the Sahara, has seen a caravan trailing out into the barren and interminable sand dunes of the desert, the main body tortuous and serpentine, the fast-disappearing head swaying to and fro in the dim distance, has but few features of the scene to change in depicting the departure of this mongrel hunt for the barren buffalo ranges of the plains. With the first gleam of the morning, before the mists have lifted from the river, the flag of the guide is raised and the huge train starts on its way. One by one the carts fall into line, following each other in single file, until the last vehicle has left the camp of rendezvous. The train is now five miles in length, its width varying from half a mile to a mile, as the press of loose animals is greater or less. The creaking of the loose cart- frames, the screech of ungreased axles, the shouts of wild riders as they dash along the length of the train or off upon the prairie in quest of some stray animal, the neighing of horses, the lowing of kine, make a pandemonium of sounds that may be heard miles away upon the plain. At the extreme front rides a staid guide bearing a white flag, which when raised, indicates a continuance of the march, and, when lowered, the signal to halt and camp. About this standard-bearer moves, with a grave demeanour, as becomes those charged with important trusts, the old chief and counsellors of the hunt.

Along the line of march are scattered the four captains of the guard, who, with their men, keep order in the line. Here rides on a sleek runner the average hunter, in corduroy and capote, bronzed, sparsely bearded, volatile, and given too much gesticulation; next, an Indian, pure and simple, crouched upon the back of his shaggy, unkempt pony, without the saddle, and using a single cord as bridle a blanketed, hatless, "grave and reverend seignior," speaking but seldom, and then only in monosyllables; then a sandy-haired and canny Scot, clad in homespun, and with keen grey eyes wide open for the main chance, eager for trade, but reckless and daring as any hunter of them all, bestriding a large-boned, well-accoutred animal, and riding it like a heavy dragoon; here, again, a pink-cheeked sprig of English nobility, doing the hunt from curiosity, and carefully watched over by a numerous retinue of servants and retainers. He has in his outfit all the latest patterns of arms, the most comprehensive of camp chests, and impediment enough for a full company of plain hunters. From every covered cart in the long train peer the dusky faces of Phyllis and Thisbe, sometimes chatting gayly with the tawny cavaliers riding alongside; again, engaged in quieting the demonstrations of a too lively progeny. In the bottom of every tenth vehicle, stretched upon its back in the soft folds of a robe or tent, and kicking its tiny pink heels skyward, lies the ever-present baby a laughing, crowing, dusky infant, clad in the costume of the Greek slave, and impervious to the chill air of the early morning. Scattered about among the throng of marching animals ride the boys, servants, and younger men, engaged in keeping the long line in motion. Everywhere there is a glint of polished gun barrels, a floating of party-coloured sashes, a reckless careering to and fro, a wild dash and scurry, a waving of blankets, shouts, dust, noise, and confusion.

As the day advances, the march becomes more toilsome. The prairie, freed from the morning dews and heated by the sun, sends up dense clouds of dust from beneath the tramping hoofs, half concealing the long caravan. Oftentimes the trail passes over immense tracts ravaged by prairie fires, where the earth presents naught save the dense coating of black ashes. In this event the train is likely to be completely enshrouded in the penetrating dust, filling mouths, ears, and eyes, with its pungent particles, and discolouring everything it touches. Animals and men suffer alike, and the cooling, if not crystal, waters of the streams and creeks crossing the line of march occasion a general rush for relief. To avoid a long-continued trailing of dust which bids fair to suffocate the rear end of the train in the event of a slight wind blowing, as is nearly always the case upon the prairie the caravan is frequently divided into four or five columns, marching parallel with one another, each column nearly a mile in length. When the march assumes this form, as it nearly always does when the lay of the prairie permits, its picturesque aspect deepens, and progress becomes more rapid. It seems like the serried ranks of an invading army advancing with slow but certain steps. The centre column then becomes the guide, and at its head, the flag of march is held aloft.

With the exception of a short halt at noon, when no attempt at camping is made, the columns merely halting in line and loosing the animals for the hour during which dinner is prepared, the march continues in this monotonous but, picturesque fashion until an early hour in the evening when the flag of the guide is lowered and the train forms the night camp. One by one the carts wheel into a vast circle, oft-times two and three deep, the trains of each vehicle pointing inward, until the complete figure is formed, The animals, after being loosed, are turned out upon the prairie until toward night, when they are again driven within the circle. Another smaller line, following that of the carts and leaving a considerable space between the two for the reception of the animals, is formed by the tents, each with its campfire burning before it. Directly in the centre of the camp are pitched the tepees of the chief and counsellors, to be readily accessible for consultation at all times. The camp is at once efficiently policed, and the best of order prevails. The tramp of the day produces its natural effect, and, after supper and the usual season of fumigation, the bustle and confusion attendant upon so vast a collection of men and animals die out. A little knot of the older hunters perhaps linger in consultation about the central camp-fire for a time, but soon naught is heard save the tramping of horses and oxen, or the startled exclamations of some sleeper suddenly aroused by the unceremonious entrance of a wandering animal into his tent. Not even the vigilant guard is to be seen; but let anyone attempt to leave the camp, and shadowy figures will arise like magic from the grass without the circle, barring his further progress.

At earliest dawn the march is again resumed; the incidents of one day being but a repetition of that preceding if we except Sunday. No law of the code, perhaps, is less seldom violated than that governing the observance of this day, so far as it applies to the labours of the hunt. The letter of the law is strictly observed: no buffalo is run; but of its further observance? Well, let us see.

The camp of Saturday night is located, if possible, contiguous to a plentiful supply of water, and amid an abundance of buffalo chips, which have long since taken the place of wood as fuel. The Sunday breakfast is apt to be a late one and eaten at leisure. Immediately after it, however, the entire camp moves as one man a short distance upon the prairie. It frequently happens that a priest is with the party; if not, an acolyte celebrates a kind of open-air mass, the whole assembly kneeling with uncovered heads upon the level plain during its continuance. The devotions are apparently heartfelt and solemn; the rattling of beads, the muttering of prayers, and the louder response, alone breaking the Sabbath stillness. No Christian church in the city presents a more devout and chastened aspect. The wild, reckless, swearing hunter of an hour before has become a penitent soul, counting his beads with a look of pathetic prayerfulness affecting to behold. The services continue an hour or more, but the devout assembly stirs not. The sun gleams down upon uncovered heads, and glances into unprotected eyes, powerless to distract attention from the mass. Thus did the warlike Crusaders pause amid their tempestuous lives to call upon the source of all blessings; so did the Israelites in the wilderness, bearing about the Ark of the Covenant. The plain-hunter's devoutness arises in a measure, however, from the fact of having to pray for all the rest of the week; for on the intervening six days his language is anything but that of prayer. All things have an end, and so finally has the mass, for which the assembly seem more than ever to be thankful, and betake themselves to camp again for dinner.

The afternoon is not given to devotion. It has happened on the evenings of the previous march that Francois, or Pascal, or Pierre, has paraded the camp, shouting in stentorian tones, "I, Pierre, challenge Francois to race his bay horse against my grey, the stakes to be horse against horse!" or, " I, Antoine, challenge the camp to race against my roan for an ox and cart!" These challenges have been accepted, hands shaken in confirmation of the agreement, and the race appointed to take place the following Sunday afternoon. So it occurs that a sufficient number of races are on the tapis to occupy the entire time.

The chief is now, by virtue of his office, the umpire, and lends his presence to render the sport legitimate and of acknowledged character. What was once governed by individual honour is now enforced by law. The counsellors take places at either end of the course as judges. The police are present to preserve order and enforce the decisions of the judges. The camp turns out en masse in holiday attire to witness the sport, and all is excitement, gesticulation, shouting, and confusion. The wagers rapidly change hands; ponies and carts multiply upon the fortunate winner; favourite runners are lost to others whose almost sole dependence rested upon them. Many have lost ponies, oxen, carts, and runners, by racing or, gambling, now stake their services as servants upon the issue of a final race and accept defeat with the philosophy of stoics. The excitement engendered by the sports of the afternoon follows the hunter on his return to camp, and the day which began with prayer and devotion terminates in clamour, quarrelling, and drink, if obtainable. More license prevails than is allowed upon other days, and, morally considered, the time had been far better passed in the usual occupations of the hunt.

As the hunt approaches the scene of its labors scouts are daily sent out to ascertain, if possible, the direction in which the large herds of buffalo are feeding. No attention is paid to the small bands that are encountered from day to day, and firing at them is strictly forbidden. The object is to encounter the main herds, when all the hunters may participate in the chase with equal chances of success. The longing for fresh meat, however, becomes at times too much for half-breed endurance, arid to gain the coveted morsel and avoid infringing the law, an amusing method of capture is resorted to.

Two active hunters, taking in their hands the long lines of rawhide, called "shagnappe," isolate a cow from the herd. Then, seizing either end of the line, they proceed to revolve about their victim in opposite directions, so entwining her legs in the folds of the cord as to throw her to the ground by the very struggles she makes to escape. Once down, a few dexterous twists of the line secure her head, and a knife finishes the work. This sport furnishes considerable excitement and is much affected as a relief from the monotony of the daily jog. Then, too, it supplies what is likely to be by this time a much-needed article of food. Strange as it may appear, the improvident plain-hunter scarcely ever begins his journey with a stock of provisions sufficient to last until the buffalo are reached. And all the lessons taught by years of experience and semi-annual privation and suffering have failed to impress him with the necessity of a more ample supply. Four or five days out from the camp of rendezvous, frequently in less time, half the train is invariably destitute of food. But little appearance of it, however, is presented to the spectator. The volatile hunter laughs and jokes and starves with a sangfroid truly admirable. For all that, he borrows from his neighbour, begs piteously for his children, or, when forced to it, kills a pony or ox to replace the provision he might easily have brought. Before this stage is reached, however, in nearly every covered cart of the line may be heard children crying for food, and wives pleading for the means of satisfying them.

At length, the scouts, who for days have been scouring the prairie in every direction, bring the welcome intelligence of the discovery of the main herds. The line of march is at once turned toward the point indicated, and the laws against firing and leaving the main body are rigidly enforced. The long train moves cautiously and as silently as possible. The advantage is taken of depressions in the prairie to keep the train concealed from the buffalo, and not a sound is raised that may give warning of its presence. The approach is made as closely as may be compatible with safety, always keeping to the windward of the herd. Then, if a convenient locality is reached, camp is made, and busy preparations for the ensuing hunt begin. Guns are carefully scanned, powder flasks and bullet pouches filled, saddles and bridles examined, and, above all, the horses to be used in the final chase carefully groomed, for highest among his possessions the plain-hunter ranks his "buffalo runner." It is to him like the Arab's steed a daily, comrade to be petted and spoken to, the companion of his long journeys, and the means of his livelihood.

The buffalo runner belongs to no particular breed, the only requisites being speed, tact in bringing his rider alongside the retreating herd maintaining a certain relative distance while there, and avoiding the numerous pitfalls with which the prairie abounds. Horses well trained in these duties, and possessing the additional requisite of speed, command high prices in the hunt, often ranging from fifty to eighty pounds sterling. On the hunt, they are seldom used for any other purpose than that of the final race, except it may be to occasionally draw the cart of madame at times when her neighbour appears in unwonted attire.

Before daybreak on the following morning "for a chase is seldom begun late in the day" the great body of hunters is off under the guidance of scouts in pursuit of the main herd. A ride of an hour or more brings them within, say, a mile of the buffalo, which have been moving slowly off as they are approached. The hunt up to this time has moved in four columns, with every man in his place. As they draw nearer at a gentle trot, the immense herd breaks into a rolling gallop. Now the critical and long-desired moment has arrived. The chief gives the signal. "Allee! allee!" he shouts, and a thousand reckless riders dash forward at a wild run. Into the herd they penetrate; along its sides they stretch, the trained horses regulating their pace to that of the moving mass beside them; guns flash, shots and yells resound; the dust arises in thick clouds over the struggling band; and the chase sweeps rapidly over the plain, leaving its traces behind in the multitude of animals lying dead upon the ground, or feebly struggling in their death-throes. The hunter pauses not a moment, but loads and fires with the utmost rapidity, pouring in his bullets at the closest range, often almost touching the animal he aims at. To facilitate the rapidity of his fire he uses a flint-lock, smooth-bore trading-gun, and enters the chase with his mouth filled with bullets. A handful of powder is let fall from the powder horn, a bullet is dropped from the mouth into the muzzle, and a tap with the butt-end of the firelock on the saddle causes the salivated bullet to adhere to the powder during the moment necessary to depress the barrel when the discharge is instantly effected without bringing the gun to the shoulder.

The excitement which seizes upon the hunter at finding himself surrounded by the long-sought buffalo is intense and sometimes renders him careless in examining too closely whether the object fired at is a buffalo or a buffalo runner mounted by a friend. But few fatal accidents occur, however, from the pell-mell rush and indiscriminate firing; but it frequently happens that guns, as the result of hasty and careless loading, explode, carrying away part of the hands using them, and even the most expert runners sometimes find their way into badger holes, breaking or dislocating the collarbones of the riders in the fall.

The identification of the slain animals is left till the run is over. This is accomplished using marked bullets, the locality in which the buffalo lies for which the hunter always keeps a sharp lookout and the spot where the bullet entered. By the time the hunters begin to appear, returning from the chase, there have arrived long trains of carts from the camp to carry back the meat and robes. The animals having been identified, the work of skinning and cutting up begins, in which the women and children participate. In a remarkably brief time, the plain is strewed with skeletons stripped of flesh, and the well-loaded train is on its return. Arrived at camp, the robes are at once stretched upon a framework of poles, and the greater part of the flesh scraped from them, after which they are folded and packed in the carts to receive the final dressing in the settlement. Of the meat, the choicest portions are packed away without further care, to be freighted home in a fresh state, the cold at that late season effectually preserving it. Large quantities are, however, converted into pemmican, in which shape it finds its readiest market.

Pemmican forms the principal product of the summer buffalo hunt, when, to preserve from decay the vast quantities of meat taken, some artificial process is necessary. A large amount is also made in the earlier part of the autumn hunt. To manufacture pemmican the flesh of the buffalo is first cut up into large lumps, and then again into flakes or thin slices, and hung up in the sun or over the fire to dry. When it is thoroughly desiccated it is taken down, placed upon raw hides spread out upon the prairie, and pounded or beaten sometimes by wooden flails, again between two stones, until the meat is reduced to a thick, flaky substance or pulp. Bags made of buffalo hide, with the hair on the outside, about the size of an ordinary pillow or flour sack, say two feet long, one and a half feet wide and eight inches thick, are standing ready, and each one is half filled with the powdered meat. The tallow or fat of the buffalo, having been boiled by itself in a huge cauldron, is now poured hot into the oblong bag in which the pulverized meat has previously been placed. The contents are then stirred together until they have been thoroughly mixed; and the dry pulp is soldered down into a hard solid mass by the melted fat poured over it. When full the bags are sewed up as tightly as possible, and the pemmican allowed to cool. Each bag weighs one hundred pounds, the quantity of fat being nearly half the total weight, the whole composition forming the most solid description of food that man can make. It is the travelling provision used throughout the Fur Land, where, in addition to its already specified qualifications, its great facility of transportation renders it extremely valuable. There is no risk of spoiling it, as, if ordinary care be taken to keep the bags free from mould, there is no assignable limit to the time pemmican will keep. It is estimated that, on average, the carcasses of two buffaloes are required to make one bag of pemmican one filling the bag itself, the other supplying the wants of the wild savage engaged in hunting it down.

It is only in late years that pemmican has come into public notice as a condensed food valuable to the commissariat upon long expeditions. Hitherto it has been a provision peculiar to the Fur Land, and particularly to the service of the Hudson's Bay Company. Notwithstanding the vast annual slaughter of buffalo south of the forty-ninth parallel, no pemmican is made there; the meat being used in the fresh or green state, or in the form of jerked beef. The pemmican of the English Arctic expeditions differs from the real article in being made of beef mixed with raisins and spices and preserved from decay by being hermetically sealed. Buffalo pemmican may be said to keep itself, requiring no spices or seasoning for its preservation, and may be kept in any vessel and under any conditions, except that of dampness, for unlimited time. It is one of the most perfect forms of condensed food known and is excelled by no other provision in its satisfying quality. The amount of it used throughout the territory is almost incredible, as, besides the enormous quantity consumed in the company's service, it appears, when attainable, upon the table of every half-breed in the country. So essential is it to the wants of the voyageurs, as the staple article of food upon the long voyages made in the transportation service of the company, that its manufacture is stimulated in every way by the agents of that corporation, and every available pound is bought up for its use. Until a comparatively late year, it was the only article that embraced the trade lists for which liquor was bartered.

Another form of provision, also the product of the summer hunt and extensively used, is dried meat. In its manufacture, the flesh of the buffalo undergoes the same treatment as in the preparatory stages of pemmican-making when it has been cut into thin slices it is hung over a fire, smoked and cured. It resembles sole leather very much in appearance. After being thoroughly dried, it is packed into bales weighing about sixty pounds each and shipped all over the territory.

The serious decrease in the number of buffalo, which has been observed year by year, threatens to produce a very disastrous effect upon the provision trade of the country; and the time can not be far distant when some new provision must be found to take the place of the old. We recollect very well when pemmican, which now can be procured with difficulty for one shilling and three pence a pound, could be had at two pence, and dried meat formerly costing two pence now costs ten pence. This is a fact which threatens to revolutionize in a manner the whole business of the territory, but more particularly the transport service of the company.

The camp, which has for days been on the verge of starvation, after the return of the hunters from the chase becomes a scene of feasting and revelry; and gastronomic feats are performed which seem incredible to those unacquainted with the appetite begotten of a roving life, unlimited fresh air, and the digestible nature of the food. As with the daughters of the horse leech, there is a continued demand for more, until the consumption of tongues, melting hump, and dripping ribs, bids fair to threaten the entire camp with immediate asphyxia. All night long the feasting continues among the groups formed about the campfires, and roasting, boiling, and stewing are the order of the hour. Were the supply certain to be exhausted on the morrow, the consumption would go on just the same, the improvident hunter entertaining no idea of reserving present excess for future scarcity. Happily, the supply is abundant, for it sometimes happens that the carts are fully loaded with meat in a single chase. In that event, the majority of them at once started homeward in charge of boys and the younger men, while the hunters followed up the herd to obtain a further supply of robes. A view of the prairie, after a run in which the acquisition of robes is the sole object, reveals the enormous waste of life which annually occurs. The plain for miles is covered with the carcasses of buffalo from which nothing has been taken save the hides, tongues, and it may be the more savoury portions of the hump; the remainder being left to the wolves and carrion birds. Should the first run fail to secure a sufficient supply of meat, however, the chase is continued until the complement is obtained, each hunter starting his carts homeward as they are filled.

In such manner has the work of the semi-annual hunts been conducted for over half a century, and in the same way will it continue, growing less in importance yearly, until the last buffalo shall have ceased to exist. Their importance in the years gone by can hardly be overestimated. They have furnished the main support of a population numbering ten thousand souls and furnished the trade with a great part of its annual supplies of robes and furs. An enterprising and nourishing province is springing up about the site of the little colony of hunters, rendered all the more easy to establishment by the stability and wealth derived from the chase. But, unfortunately, the older nomads are crowded by this civilization. They belong to a race apart and are scared by fences and enclosures, as if they confined even the free air within bounds and limits. Gradually they retire before it, following the buffalo closer and closer to the Rocky Mountains, until finally, both will disappear together.