nty
feet of lead. I wanted Eaton to use his gun on the foremost hound, when
something unexpected happened. The flat was crossed, the Blacktail
reached a great high butte, and tapping with their toes they soared some
fifteen feet and tapped again; and tapped and tapped and soared, and so
they went like hawks that are bounding in the air, and the greyhounds,
peerless on the plain, were helpless on the butte. Yes! rush as they
might and did, and bounded and clomb, but theirs was not the way of the
hills. In twenty heartbeats they were left behind. The Blacktail mother
with her twins kept on and soared and lightly soared till lost to view,
and all were safely hidden in their native hills.

[Illustration: XI. Blacktail mother with her twins
_Photo by E. T. Seton_]

THE BLACKTAIL'S SAFETY IS IN THE HILLS

That day I learned the reason for the bounding flight, so beautiful, but
not the best or swiftest on the plain, yet the one that gives them
dominion and safety on the hills, that makes of them a hill folk that
the dangers of the plain can never reach.

So now, O traveller in the Park, if you approach too near the Blacktail
feeding near the great hotel, and so alarm them--for they are truly
wild--they make not for the open run as do the Antelope and the Hares,
not for the thickest bottomland as do the Whitetail and the Lynxes, but
for the steeper hillsides. They know right well where their safety lies,
and on that near and bushy bank, laying aside all alarm, they group and
pose in artless grace that tempts one to a lavish use of films and gives
the chance for that crowning triumph of the art, a wild animal group,
none of which is looking at the camera.

One more characteristic incident: In 1897 I was riding, with my wife,
from Yancey's over to Baronett's Bridge, when we came on a young buck
Blacktail. Now, said I, "I am going to show you the most wonderful and
beautiful thing to be seen in the way of wild life speeding. You shall
now see the famous bounding of the Blacktail." Then I spurred out after
the young buck, knowing that all he needed was a little alarm to make
him perform. Did he take alarm and run? Not at all. He was in the
Yellowstone Sanctuary. He knew nothing of guns or dogs; he had lived all
his life in safety. He would trot a few steps out of my way, then turn
and gaze at me, but run, bound, and make for the high land, not a bit of
it. And to this day my fair companion has not seen the Blacktail
boundin