Often while "jumping" a roaring rapids in two canoes, my
companion and I have heard our men talking to each other in quite an
ordinary tone of voice. That is to say, I could hear my Indian, and Jim
could hear his; but personally we were forced to shout loudly to carry
across the noise of the stream. The distant approach of animals they
announce accurately.
"Wawashkeshi" (deer), says Peter.
And sure enough, after an interval, we too could distinguish the
footfalls on the dry leaves.
As both cause and consequence of these physical endowments--which place
them nearly on a parity with the game itself--they are most expert
hunters. Every sportsman knows the importance--and also the
difficulty--of discovering game before it discovers him. The Indian has
here an immense advantage. And after game is discovered, he is
furthermore most expert in approaching it with all the refined art of
the still hunter.
Mr. Caspar Whitney describes in exasperation his experience with the
Indians of the Far North-West. He complains that when they blunder on
game they drop everything and enter into almost hopeless chase, two
legs against four. Occasionally the quarry becomes enough bewildered so
that the wild shooting will bring it down. He quite justly argues that
the merest pretence at caution in approach would result in much greater
success.
The Woods Indian is no such fool. He is a mighty poor shot--and he
knows it. Personally I believe he shuts both eyes before pulling
trigger.
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