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.
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