Chapter 36 - The Adventures of a Lost Family in the Wilderness by Mayne Reid
The Battle of the Bucks
“The main object we had in view was not yet accomplished. With the exception of our flock of turkeys, none of the pets we had tamed could contribute to our support. We wished to capture some of the deer species, and for this purpose we had thought of various expedients. We had seen the fawns once or twice following their mothers; but we had failed in coming up with them, although we had made several hunting excursions for that purpose. At length, however, instead of a fawn, we very unexpectedly captured a couple of old bucks, of the red-deer species. The circumstances of this capture were somewhat singular; and I shall detail them minutely as they occurred.
“We had gone out one day, Harry and myself, in search of the deer, and in hopes that we might be able to start, run down a fawn with the dogs, and take it alive. For this we had muzzled both, so that they should not tear the fawn when they came up with it—as I had often seen greyhounds muzzled at home for the same purpose. We went up the valley, where we should be most likely to fall in with the objects of our search; but not knowing how soon a deer might start out of the bushes, we walked along very silently and slowly, watching the woods before us, and listening to every sound. At length we arrived near the edge of a small opening, as we could tell by the clear breaks through the branches. It was in these glades or openings that we usually fell in with the deer; and we advanced with increased caution, each of us holding a dog in the leash which we had made for them. All at once a singular noise reached our ears, evidently coming from the glade. It sounded as if several large animals were stamping furiously over the firm turf; but in the midst of this there was a constant cracking of some hard substances, as if half-a-dozen men were playing with eagerness at the game of single-stick. Every now and then we could hear a strange sound, short and fierce, like the snorting of a horse. Of course, Harry and I stopped in our tracks the moment we first heard these singular noises. Our dogs cocked their ears, and wanted to spring forward; but we held them both tightly on their strings, while we listened. For the life of us, neither I nor my companion could guess what was going on in the glade.
“‘What can it be, papa?’ said Harry.
“‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ replied I.
“‘It must be animals,’ said he, ‘and a good many of them, too, to make so much stamping. Papa, is not that the snort of a deer? I think I have heard deer make just such a noise.’
“‘Maybe it is. Perhaps it may be elk; but what can cause such a commotion among them, I wonder?’
“‘What think you,’ suggested Harry, ‘if they are fighting with some animal—a panther, or perhaps a bear?’
“‘If so,’ said I, ‘our best plan would be to get back the road we came, and that as speedily as possible. But I do not think it is that. They would not stand to fight such creatures. Both elk and deer trust to their heels rather than horns to escape from bears and panthers. No, it is not that; but let us creep forward, and see what it is, anyhow. Hold fast to your dog. Come!’
“We crouched forward with the utmost caution, taking care not to tread upon the dry leaves and dead branches that lay across our track. We saw before us a thicket of pawpaws; and we made towards this—knowing that the broad green leaves of these bushes would screen us. We were soon among them; and a few paces farther through the thicket brought us in full view of the glade. There we saw what had caused all the strange noises, and which still continued as loud as ever.
“In the middle of the glade there were six red-deer. They were all bucks, as we could easily tell from their great branching antlers. They were engaged in fierce and terrible conflict—sometimes two and two, and sometimes three or four of them, clumped together in a sort of general mêlée. Then they would separate again; and going some distance apart, would wheel suddenly about, and rush at each other with furious snorts—first striking forward with their forefeet held close together, and then goring one another with their sharp horns, until we could see the skin torn open, and the hair flying from them in tufts. Their eyes were flashing like fire, and their whole actions betokened that the animals were filled with rage and fury.
“I saw at once what all this meant. It was now the rutting season; and these chivalrous bucks were engaged in desperate combat about some fair doe, as is their yearly habit.
“They were too distant for either Harry’s rifle or mine; and thinking they might fight themselves a little nearer, we determined to remain where we were, and watch. The combat continued to rage furiously. Sometimes a pair of them came together with such violence that both went rolling over to the earth; but in a moment they would up, and at it again, as fiercely as ever.
“Our attention was particularly directed to two of the combatants, that were larger and older than any of the others—as we could tell from the greater number of points upon their antlers. None of the others seemed a match for either of these two, who had at length singled each other out as worthy antagonists, and fought separately. After goring and stamping a while, they parted—as if by mutual consent—and walked backward until they had got at least twenty yards from each other. Then setting their necks, and putting all their energy into the rush, they dashed forward, and met head to head, like a couple of rams. There was a terrible crashing among their antlers; and Harry and I looked to see whether a pair of them had not been knocked off in the concussion; but it appeared not. After this, the two struggled for a while, and then suddenly paused—still head to head—as though by a tacit agreement, in order to take breath. For some moments they stood quietly in this attitude, and then once more commenced struggling. After a while they stopped again, still keeping their heads together, so that their red expanded nostrils steamed into each other. We thought that they fought quite differently from all the rest; but our eyes were now drawn to the others, who were getting nearer us; and we prepared our rifles to receive them. At length several came within range; and, each of us choosing one, we fired almost simultaneously. At the double crack one of the bucks fell; and the other three, on perceiving the common enemy, immediately desisted from their mutual warfare, and bounded off like lightning. Harry and I rushed forward, as we had fired; and thinking that the deer which we had missed—it was Harry’s miss that time—might be wounded, we unmuzzled the dogs, and let them after. Of course, we had stooped down to perform this operation. What was our surprise, on looking up again, to see the two old bucks still in the glade, and fighting, head to head, as briskly as ever!
“Our first thought was to reload our pieces, but the dogs had been let loose; and these, instead of pursuing the other deer, dashed forward at the bucks, and the next moment sprang upon their flanks. Harry and I rushed after, and you may guess that our surprise was still further increased when we saw the bucks, instead of separating, still struggle head to head—as if their desperate hostility for each other had rendered them reckless of every other danger! When we got forward to the spot, the mastiffs had brought both of them to their knees; and now for the first time we perceived the true cause why they had continued their singular combat—because they could not help themselves—their antlers were locked in each other! Yes,—held as firmly as if they had been lashed together by thongs cut out of their own hides. Indeed, far more firmly, for after we had beaten off the dogs, and secured the animals from the chance of escaping, we found their horns so interlocked—one pair within the other—that we could not separate them with all our efforts. We had sadly wronged the poor old bucks, in believing them so desperately pugnacious. Their hostile feelings for each other had long since ceased—no doubt the moment they found themselves in such a terrible fix—and they now stood, nose to nose, quite frightened-like, and ‘down in the mouth,’ as if vexed at the mess they had got themselves into by their bad behaviour.
“Harry and I, after much pulling and hammering, found it quite impossible to make two of them. The antlers, which, as you know, are elastic, had bent with the terrible concussion we had witnessed; and it was far beyond our strength to bend them back again. In fact, nothing but a machine of horsepower could have accomplished that. I sent my companion, therefore, after Cudjo and his handsaw—at the same time directing him to bring the horse and cart, for the carcass of the buck we had shot, as well as some ropes for our captives. While he was gone, I employed my time in skinning the dead animal, leaving his live companions to themselves: I had no fear of their being able to escape. Cowed and sullen as both of them looked, it was well for them—since we did not mean to butcher them—that we had arrived upon the ground as we did. Otherwise their fate was a settled one. The wolves, or some other of their numerous enemies, would have treated them worse than we intended to do; or even had they not been discovered by these, their doom was sealed all the same. They might have twisted and wriggled about for a few days longer, to die of thirst and hunger, still looked in that hostile embrace. Such is the fate of many of these animals.
“Cudjo soon arrived with the necessary implements; and, after hobbling both the bucks, we sawed one of the branches from their antlers, and set them asunder. We then put all three into the cart, and returned triumphant to the house.”