Presently I began to sing it aloud. It cheered one up in the storm,
and the lilt of it kept time to the leaping kind of gallop which is
the easiest way to run on snowshoes: "Bye, baby bunting; bye, baby
bunting--Hello!"
A dark mass loomed suddenly up before me on the open barren. The storm
lightened a bit, before setting in heavier; and there were the caribou
just in front of me, standing in a compact mass, the weaker ones in
the middle. They had no thought nor fear of me apparently; they
showed no sign of anger or uneasiness. Indeed, they barely moved aside
as I snowshoed up, in plain sight, without any precaution whatever.
And these were the same animals that had fled upon my approach at
daylight, and that had escaped me all day with marvelous cunning.
As with other deer, the storm is Megaleep's natural protector. When it
comes he thinks that he is safe; that nobody can see him; that the
falling snow will fill his tracks and kill his scent; and that
whatever follows must speedily seek cover for itself.
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