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.
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