, and without
looking back disappeared over a ridge.

The musk-ox hunters sat long silent. Finally Rea shook his shaggy locks
and roared. "Ho! Ho! Jackoway out of wood! Jackoway out of wood!
Jackoway out of wood!"

On the day following the desertion, Jones found tracks to the north of
the camp, making a broad trail in which were numerous little imprints
that sent him flying back to get Rea and the dogs. Muskoxen in great
numbers had passed in the night, and Jones and Rea had not trailed the
herd a mile before they had it in sight. When the dogs burst into full
cry, the musk-oxen climbed a high knoll and squared about to give
battle.

"Calves! Calves! Calves!" cried Jones.

"Hold back! Hold back! Thet's a big herd, an' they'll show fight."

As good fortune would have it, the herd split up into several sections,
and one part, hard pressed by the dogs, ran down the knoll, to be
cornered under the lee of a bank. The hunters, seeing this small
number, hurried upon them to find three cows and five badly frightened
little calves backed against the bank of snow, with small red eyes
fastened on the barking, snapping dogs.

To a man of Jones's experience and skill, the capturing of the calves
was a ridiculously easy piece of work. The cows tossed their heads,
watched the dogs, and forgot their young. The first cast of the lasso
settled over the neck of a little fellow. Jones hauled him out over the
slippery snow and laughed as he bound the hairy legs. In less time than
he had taken to capture one buffalo calf, with half the escort, he had
all the little musk-oxen bound fast. Then he signaled this feat by
pealing out an Indian yell of victory.

"Buff, we've got 'em," cried Rea; "An' now for the hell of it gettin'
'em home. I'll fetch the sleds. You might as well down thet best cow
for me. I can use another skin."

Of all Jones's prizes of captured wild beasts--which numbered nearly
every species common to western North America--he took greatest pride
in the little musk-oxen. In truth, so great had been his passion to
capture some of these rare and inaccessible mammals, that he considered
the day's world the fulfillment of his life's purpose. He was happy.
Never had he been so delighted as when, the very evening of their
captivity, the musk-oxen, evincing no particular fear of him, began to
dig with sharp hoofs into the snow for moss. And they found moss, and
ate it, which solved Jones's greatest problem. He had hardly da