As the Maral stag excels ours, so is it with the Siberian or large roe-deer, which differs from ours in its larger growth and by the high antlers with weakly developed burrs. Its specific independence, however, is still a subject of controversy among taxonomists. In Siberia it prefers the stretches of woodland which have begun to recover from the effects of a conflagration, and in which the pichta fir is abundant. It also frequents the fringes of the forest and small woods, and ascends the mountains to considerable heights, not unfrequently above the forest-line; it may likewise pass into the open steppes, associating on the heights with the steinbock and wild sheep, and on the plains with the antelope. According to the nature of the country, it undertakes more or less regular migrations, even without being forced to these by forest fires, and in its wanderings it will traverse wide stretches and cross broad rivers without hesitation. In certain circumstances it appears in regions in which it has not been seen for years, and from these centres it makes excursions round about. In its wanderings it usually keeps to definite roads, but is now and then forced to follow narrow paths. The rocky and precipitous river-banks of the larger streams compel it to make its way through a few cross-valleys and gorges, and this necessity is often the animal’s ruin, for the trapper rarely omits to stretch his leading-fence across these runs, and to lay his pitfalls fatally. Wolf and lynx press upon it at every season; Russians and native Siberians likewise. Like other game it is hunted unsparingly; every circumstance is utilized and every trick is tried to effect its capture. At the beginning of the thaw, when cold nights have frozen the top layer of snow into a thin crust of ice, the hunter sets off on horseback or on snow-shoes with a pack of nimble dogs; he rouses the stag with his shouts and runs it down, fatiguing it the sooner the harder the ice is, for, as the stag bounds, the crust breaks under its slender hoofs, and its ankles are cut. In spring, the hunters entice the doe by imitating the cry of the fawn, and the buck is similarly allured in the leafy season by a skilful echo of the doe’s call; in the intermediate season and later, both sexes are inveigled by special dainties; in autumn a drive is organized, or the migrating deer is pursued in boats as he swims across the streams, and is killed in the water; in early winter he is shot from the swift sledge. In fact the only method of capture which is not resorted to is that of snaring, so common a practice with knavish hunters at home; but in all probability the reason for this abstinence is simply that the spring-bow is more effective.

The elk[34] exists under decidedly more favourable conditions, and has a firmer footing in the struggle for existence. Its haunts and habits, its strength and power of self-defence, secure it from many, if not most pursuers. A forest animal in the full sense of the word, as much at home in swamp and bog as in thicket or wood, overcoming with equal ease all obstacles of forest and morass, assured by the nature of its diet from the scarcity of winter, it escapes more readily than any other beast of the chase from pursuit either by man or by other dangerous enemies. The latter include wolves, lynxes, bears, and gluttons; but it may be doubted whether all these beasts of prey together very seriously affect the elk. For it is as strong as it is courageous, it has in its sharp hoofs even more formidable weapons than its antlers, and it knows right well how to use both of them. It may fall victim to a bear who surprises and overcomes it; but it undoubtedly hurls a single wolf to the ground, and may even be victorious over a pack of these eternally hungry creatures. As to lynx and glutton, the old story that these are able to leap on the elk’s neck and sever the jugular vein does not seem to have been proved. Only against human weapons are the elk’s resources ineffective. But its pursuit in Siberian forests is a precarious undertaking, and is little practised except by the natives. During summer the water-loving beast is hardly to be got at; it spends the greater part of the season in the marsh, browsing by night and resting by day among the high marsh-plants in a place accessible only to itself. The juicy water-plants and their roots suit it better than the sharp sedges, and it therefore browses in the deeper parts of the bog, where it pulls the plants out of the water, dipping its uncouth head in the muddy moisture as far as the roots of its donkey-like ears. When it lifts its head it blows from its nose and mouth the mud and moisture which necessarily entered its nostrils as it grubbed, and this makes a loud snorting noise which can be heard from afar. Experienced hunters have based a peculiar trick of the chase on the elk’s method of feeding. They listen to the usually watchful animal for several nights in succession, and mark his whereabouts; thither in the daylight they quietly carry a light, shallow-water boat; by night, guided by the snorting, they row with muffled oars towards the browsing creature, whose scent and hearing are dulled by his grubbing; at close range they send a bullet through him. The clearness of the northern summer night facilitates operations, though it renders close approach more difficult; yet the sport is all the more exciting, and by eager lovers of the chase it is pursued passionately, and usually with success. On the advent of frost the elk leaves the swamps, for the brittle coat of ice hinders his movements, and hies to the drier parts of the forest until the thickly falling snow forces him to wander in search of specially favourable localities. At this season the chase of the elk, with well-trained and, above all, silent dogs, is preferred to all other sport. In its wanderings the elk does not avoid human settlements, and betraying itself by its unmistakable footprints, soon has the huntsman on its heels. Now is the time to send the dogs after it. Their duty is to keep the creature continually agog, but never to chase it. They must never attack it in the rear, nor ever come too near it, but must rather bark at it continually, and keep its attention unceasingly engrossed. When the elk sees itself thus threatened in front it stops after a short trot, looks angrily at the dogs, seems trying to make up its mind to attack them, but only in rare cases succeeds in carrying out the resolution so slowly arrived at, and thus gives the sportsmen time to get within easy range, and to take sure aim. If a small herd of elk is suddenly surprised by the dogs and driven into a narrow defile, they may be so nonplussed that several may fall before a well-handled rifle. But when old experienced elks are pursued for some time during a heavy snowfall they take the first trodden path which they come across, and trot along it whether it lead to the recesses of the forest or to the township; thus they are not unfrequently led quite close to inhabited houses, on seeing which they diverge into the woods. A hard crust of snow is not less dangerous to the elks than to the roe-deer; and then the spirited and experienced huntsmen pursue them even with boar-spears, speeding along on snow-shoes, outrunning and fatiguing the impeded animals till they can use the ancient weapons to good effect. The flesh is readily eaten both by immigrants and natives, but it has no great market value; the skin, on the other hand, finds ready sale at six to eight roubles[35] a hide, and affords the professional huntsman sufficient recompense for his trouble and exertions.

The wild reindeer belongs strictly to the tundra, but it also occurs throughout the whole extent of the forest-zone. Along the eastern slopes of the Urals it is frequent both in the depths of the forest and on the mountain heights, and the huntsmen of these parts accordingly speak with a certain emphasis of forest-reindeer and mountain-reindeer, and seem inclined to attribute different characteristics to the two kinds, though they cannot define their distinctive marks. The reindeer is less shy of populated districts than any other deer, which perhaps best explains the fact that every year among those living in freedom individuals are captured with slit ears and brand-marks. These have probably escaped from the herds of the Samoyedes and Ostiaks during the breeding season, and have wandered southwards till they met a wild stock to which they attached themselves. Once free from bondage, they very rapidly assume all the habits of wild life. But neither these escaped truants nor the wild forms are regarded by the forest-folk as of much moment among the beasts of the chase. Reindeer are indeed captured wherever, whenever, or however that may be possible; but apart from a few specially keen hunters of Russian origin only the natives pursue them with persistence and eagerness.

Excepting the Semites and the Russians, all sensible people include hares among edible game. In consequence of this exception, the variable hare of Western Siberia is hunted only by educated and unprejudiced Siberians of Russian origin, and by the natives of the North, who are uninfluenced by any laws of diet. Even the skin of the snowy hare, since it loses its fur very readily, has little value in the eyes of the huntsman, and perhaps for this reason is presented by the heathen peoples as an offering to the gods. Yet in spite of the indifference with which the forest-folk regard this rodent so highly prized by us, the hare is nowhere plentiful. Many perish in the traps; the majority are caught by wolves, foxes, and lynxes; and the severe winter, which often impels them to long migrations, thins them sadly. The hare is certainly not important among the beasts of the chase.

Among the non-edible furred beasts of the forest the first place may be given to the wolf, since it is most bitterly hated and most generally hunted. For although it is said that the direct injury which it does to man is not very considerable, or at any rate not insufferable, he misses no opportunity of destroying it. It is certain that in West Siberia wolves only exceptionally appear in large packs, and that they even more rarely venture to attack man, but it is equally certain that they do much damage to domestic animals. This is very considerable when we take into account the destruction caused by wolves among the herds of the nomads on the steppes and the tundra. There is no possibility of computing the numbers of wolves in the forest-zone. They are found everywhere and yet nowhere; to-day they fall upon the herds of a village, where there has been no trace of them for years, and to-morrow they ravage the sheepfolds somewhere else; they leave certain districts suddenly, and establish themselves in them again just as unexpectedly; here they defy their persecutors, and there precautions against them are almost superfluous.

Broad, much-used highways and settlements rich in meadows attract them, for on the former they find the carcasses of horses, and by the latter they find an easy booty in the herds which wander unhindered by any herdsman, and often stray far into the woods. But they are not absent from those parts of the forest which lie beyond the limits of traffic. Sometimes in broad daylight they are seen singly or in small packs prowling near the settlements; by night they not unfrequently pass through villages or even towns. In a single night they destroy dozens of sheep, attack horses and cattle also, and more rarely dogs (for which in other countries they show a preference). The only animals which they avoid are the courageous swine, for here and elsewhere these at once show fight, and invariably get the best of it.

Like the Russians, the Siberians hold to the superstition that the she-wolf suckling young carefully avoids ravaging in the neighbourhood of her litter, but that if she be robbed of her whelps, she avenges herself terribly, following the robber to his village home, and falling with unbounded rage upon all his herds. For fear of this revenge, every Siberian passes by any wolf-litter which he finds, and only now and then does he dare to cut the Achilles tendon of the whelps, thus laming them and keeping them near their birthplace until the time of the autumn hunt. For, as they grow up, the mother’s love is supposed to disappear, at least her thirst for revenge grows less, and the skins of the young wolves caught in autumn reward the clever foresight of the cunning peasant.

According to locality and opportunity, the methods employed in the capture of the wolf vary greatly. Pitfalls, traps, strychnine, and the spring-bows already described do good service; actual driving is seldom successful. A favourite method is to pursue the wolf with sledges, and to shoot him from the sledge. To attract the wolf within range an ingenious device is resorted to. An old, steady, or worn-out horse is yoked to a large sledge, in which four comrades—the driver, two marksmen, and a fair-sized sucking-pig—take their places. The driver, whose sole duty is to look after his horse, takes the front seat; the marksmen sit behind, and the pig lies in a bag between their feet. Towards evening the mixed company sets off along a well-beaten road to a part of the forest where during the day fresh wolf-tracks were seen. On to the track one of the hunters throws a bag stuffed with hay, and fastened to the sledge by a long line; while this trails along, the other hunter teases the young pig, and makes it squeal. Isegrim hears the complaint, and probably thinking that it comes from a young boar separated from its mother, draws near quietly and carefully, that is, as far as possible hidden from the road. He perceives the bundle trailing behind the sledge, supposes this to be the squealing pig, and, after some consideration, determines to put an end to its sufferings. With a great bound he leaps upon the course, and eagerly rushes after the sledge. What does he care for the threatening forms which it bears? Such he has often inspected close at hand, and robbed before their very eyes. Nearer and nearer he comes, gaining on the now quickened sledge; crueller tormenting makes the pig utter louder and more clamant squeals; they are maddening to the robber; just another bound, and—two rifles ring out, and the wolf rolls gasping in death.

Equally artful is the circular trap much used in the Ural district. At a short distance from the village a circular space about two yards in diameter is enclosed with close-set deep-sunk stakes; around this is formed a second similar circle at an interval of about a foot and a half from the first. Two specially strong posts support a solid deal door moving on firm hinges, furnished with a spring-catch, and so arranged that it opens only inwards, pressure outwards causing the spring-catch to shut. Both circles are roofed over, not thickly, indeed, but firmly, and a trapdoor in the roof admits to the inner circle. When it is perceived that the wolves are beginning to visit the village by night, the trap is set by placing a live goat in the inner enclosure and opening the door of the outer ring. The pitiful bleating of the goat, frightened by being taken from his usual surroundings, attracts Isegrim. He does not in the least like the look of the strange enclosure, but the frantic behaviour of the goat, still more terrified by the wolf’s appearance on the scene, makes him forget his habitual caution, and he begins to try to get at the welcome booty. Several times does he prowl round the outer fence, ever more quickly and eagerly, twisting and snuffing, sometimes coming quite near, and again retreating, till at last he discovers the only door by which it is possible for him to get near the goat. His appetite gets the better of his natural cunning. Still hesitating, but yet advancing, he pushes his head and body through the narrow doorway. With despairing cries the goat springs to the opposite side of the inner fence. Without further consideration or hesitation the robber follows. The goat rushes round in a circle, and the wolf does the same, with this difference, that he has to move between the two rows of stakes. Then the projecting door impedes his progress. But the victim is now so near, and apparently so sure, that the wolf dashes furiously forwards, pressing the door outwards; the spring-catch falls with a snap into its groove, and the distrustful, cautious dupe is trapped—trapped without being able to get a step nearer the tempting booty. Unable to turn round, boiling over with rage, he runs and trots and jumps, ever forwards, ever in a circle, hurrying without a pause on his endless circuit. The intelligent goat soon appreciates the situation, and though still crying and trembling, remains standing in the middle of the inner circle. The wolf also begins to see the fruitlessness of his circling, and tries to recover his freedom, tearing splinters a foot long out of the stakes with his teeth, howling with rage and fear, but all in vain. After a night of torment, the daylight appears—the wolf’s last morning. The villagers begin to move about, and voices mingle with the barking of dogs. Dark men, accompanied by noisy dogs, approach the scene of the tragedy. Motionless, like a corpse, the wolf lies; scarce a wink of his eyes betrays that there is still life in him. With furious barking the dogs press round the outer fence, but he does not move; with mocking welcome the men call to him, but he heeds not. But neither dogs nor men are deceived by his shamming death. The former, pressing between the stakes, try to get a grip of him; the latter slip the much-used horse-noose or arkan over his head. Once more the beast springs up, once more he rages on his path of torture, howling he seeks to terrify, gnashing his teeth he attempts defiance, but in vain—there is no escape from the dread noose, and in a few minutes he is throttled.

The fox is everywhere attacked, hunted, killed, and devoured, or at least hard pressed, by the wolf, and is therefore not abundant in Siberia, but neither his hostile relative nor man have as yet been able to exterminate him. In the eastern parts of the forest-zone he sometimes undertakes long migrations, following the hares or the grouse; in the west, observations on this point do not appear to be recorded. They do not complain in Siberia of the damage he does, nevertheless they hunt him eagerly, for his fur is prized by natives and Russians alike, and is always dear. It fetches an especially high price when it is of a certain much-appreciated colour. As a beast of the chase, only the sable takes higher rank. For the sake of the fox alone professional hunters undertake winter expeditions which often take them as far into the heart of the forest as the sable-hunters are wont to penetrate. Especially for it do the Ostiaks and Samoyedes set their spring-bows, and they spare no trouble in their search for the burrow where the young are hidden, not in order to kill them, but that they may rear them carefully and tenderly till they become large and strong, and gain, in their first or second winter, their beautiful fur. For that the fosterers care more than for the life of their winsome charges, and they give them over remorselessly to the fatal noose.

The Arctic fox may be included conditionally among the forest animals, but it never actually penetrates into the forest. Sometimes, however, in winter, in pursuit of hares and moor-fowl, it follows the course of the large rivers beyond the southern limits of the tundra, its true home.

The lynx, on the other hand, is a forest animal in the strictest sense of the word. But in Siberia it only occurs singly, and is very rarely captured. Its true home is in the thickest parts in the interior of the forest, and these it probably never leaves except when scarcity of food or the calls of love prompt it to wander to the outskirts. Experienced hunters of the Eastern Ural say that the lynxes not only live in the same locality as the bear, but that they remain in the neighbourhood of the bear’s winter-quarters after he has gone to sleep. They assert, moreover, that the preference the lynxes show for these winter-quarters betrays the bears, since search has only to be made where most lynx-tracks cross, and especially where there is a circular track, for that always surrounds a bear’s sleeping-place. The lynx’s habit of keeping to his old paths with almost anxious carefulness must greatly facilitate the discovery of the bear’s quarters. Moreover, it may be added that in Siberia the lynxes show themselves very fond of fresh meat, and that they possibly seek the neighbourhood of a bear in the hope of occasionally sharing his booty. For, although it may be urged that the lynx is able enough on his own account to bring down big game without any help from so doubtful a friend as the bear, and that he hunts the reindeer and the roe, and may in a short time overpower them, yet the fact remains that his booty chiefly consists of small animals, such as hares, ground-squirrels, tree-squirrels, black-cock, capercaillie, hazel-grouse, young birds, mice, and the like. Of this there is no doubt, and it explains satisfactorily why the lynx is so rare in the fringes of the forest which are accessible to man. As long as squirrels and game birds abound in the interior of the forest, the lynx has no temptation to stray from this unvisited wilderness; when his prey migrates, he is forced to follow. How much he is feared by the game birds one can discern from the fact that every wooing capercaillie or black-cock is instantaneously dumb when a lynx lets himself be heard.

Both immigrants and natives hold the hunting of the lynx to be right noble sport. This proud cat’s rarity, caution, agility, and powers of defence raise the enthusiasm of every sportsman, and both skin and flesh are of no small value. The former is preferably sent from West Siberia to China, where it fetches a good price; the latter, when roasted, is highly esteemed not only by the Mongolian peoples but also by most of the Russian settlers. The lynx is but seldom captured in the fall-traps, but he often renders them useless by walking along the beam and stepping on the lever; he is but rarely a victim to the spring-bow, and he usually leaps over the steel traps in his path. So there is only the rifle left. Only in winter can he be hunted, when the snow betrays his tracks and admits of the use of snow-shoes. The courageous dogs, having sighted their game, drive it with difficulty to a tree or bait it on the ground, but they often suffer cruelly, or may even be killed. The hunter himself runs a risk of being attacked by a furious lynx at bay.

The wild cat, which the lynx persecutes as pitilessly as the wolf does the fox, is absent from the forest-zone of West Siberia, but now and then the region is visited by the most perfect of all cats,—the tiger. Two which were killed in 1838 and 1848 at Baesk and Schlangenberg now stand stuffed in the museum of Barnaul; another, killed in the beginning of the seventies, is preserved in the school museum at Omsk. Towards the end of the sixties a tiger terrified the inhabitants of the Tschelaba district (on the European boundary of the Ural) by attacking, without provocation, a number of peasants, from whom it was only frightened off when one of the men threw his red cap in its face. In the steppe-mountains of Turkestan, and throughout the south of East Siberia, the “king of beasts”, as the Daurs call the tiger, is found everywhere and permanently in suitable localities, and from both sides it may pass, oftener than can be proved, to the western forest-zone, remaining perhaps for some time unobserved and retiring unnoticed. Yet on the whole it occurs so rarely and irregularly that we cannot do more than name it, without reckoning it among the beasts of this region.

It is far otherwise with the most precious of the furred beasts, the various species of marten. Their decrease is more lamented than that of all other beasts of the chase, but most of them are still regularly caught, if not everywhere, at any rate in certain parts of the forest region. Only the sable has in the last few decennia become really rare. Old huntsmen of the middle Ural remember having caught sable every winter in the vicinity of Tagilsk; nowadays, at this latitude of the mountain-land, only an occasional stray specimen is to be met with. A great forest fire in the central part of East Ural is said to have driven off the highly-prized and much-hunted creature. We hear the same story in the forest villages of the lower Ob, where the hunting of the sable is still pursued, and yields, for instance, at the Yelisaroff market, about a score of skins every winter.

In all the forests of West Siberia the pine-marten is notably more abundant than the sable. In the fairly extensive hunting-ground around the already-mentioned town of Tagilsk from thirty to eighty are still captured every winter. It is said that the pine-marten, much more than the sable, is associated with the squirrel, and that the two appear and disappear together. But the greedy marten is by no means content with making the beautiful squirrel its prey; indeed it kills every creature which it can master, and is an especially dangerous foe of black-cock and capercaillie. Even in summer a clever spring often enables him to capture the watchful bird; while in winter the habit the black game birds have of sleeping in holes in the snow greatly facilitates his stealthy operations. Sneaking almost noiselessly from branch to branch, he comes within springing distance of the buried bird, and springs on it from above, crushing down the snowy roof by the force of his bound, and seizing the sleeper by the neck before it has any chance to escape. The stone-marten also occurs everywhere in the mountain forests, but it is rarer than its relative. Polecat, ermine, and weasel are also widely distributed and locally very abundant; the mink is confined to the western side of the Ural, and is also absent from its tributaries, the Irtish and Ob, which harbour the otter in considerable numbers; the badger is hardly ever mentioned in West Siberia; and the universally distributed glutton is less thought of than any other of the martens, being hunted not so much for his skin as because of his thefts from the traps.

Although the west of Siberia is regarded as altogether over-shot, the forest-folk prepare every year to hunt for sable and other martens. Some huntsmen undertake expeditions and explorations, which compare with those of the North American trappers. Of course, they do not confine their attention to martens, but are prepared to bag all kinds of game; the main objects of their quest, however, are martens and squirrels. According to the time of colour-change in the latter the huntsmen arrange their departure from the village home, for the change of colour in the squirrels is regarded as an indication of the approaching winter, whether it is to be early or late, severe or mild.

Armed and equipped as we have already described, the sable-hunters set out, after the first snowfall, in companies of three to five. Besides gun and ammunition each of them carries a sack on his back, snow-shoes and a hatchet on his shoulders, and a whip in his girdle. The sack contains the indispensable provisions:—bread, meal, bacon, and “brick-tea”,[36] also a few utensils, such as a pan, tea-kettle, drinking-vessel, spoons, and the like, and less frequently a flask of spirits. The whip is used to drive out the squirrels and to bring them into sight. Four to six dogs, which offend the eye of every German sportsman, join the company.

Guided by the sun, which, however, is often hidden for days, and by the known stars, the weather-beaten huntsmen traverse the inhospitable wilds, camping out at night, feeding themselves and their dogs on the flesh of the game they shoot, and sparing their small store of provisions as carefully as possible. The ungainly but clever and wide-awake dogs not only scent the tracks of game, but, spying unfailingly the martens or squirrels hidden on the trees, bark at them and keep them in sight till the huntsman is on the spot. He approaches with the imperturbable quietness of all forest sportsmen, rests his long musket carefully on a branch, or, if need be, on the fork fastened to the barrel, takes a slow aim, and fires. At the outset of the hunt, the squirrels and even the pine-martens are so much disturbed by the dogs that they allow the sportsman to approach to within a few yards; soon, however, they become wiser, and a sure and steady aim becomes difficult. If the huntsman gets this, and succeeds in sending a ball through the animal’s eye, then he is well-pleased, for not only has he secured an undamaged skin, but he can recover his precious leaden shot. As soon as he has got possession of his fallen booty he skins it, in the case of martens and squirrels forcing the viscera through the mouth opening. The skull is broken open to recover the shot, and skin and body, separated from one another, are consigned to the bag.

When squirrels are plentiful, the hunt is as profitable as it is entertaining. Everyone utilizes the short day to the utmost; one shot quickly follows another; and the pile of skins rapidly grows. Loading the gun is a tedious matter, but the skinning is done all the more quickly; and every huntsman faithfully does his utmost. Without resting, without eating, without even smoking, the huntsmen go forward while they may. As the dogs call, the comrades draw together or separate; the sharp report of their guns and the cheerful barking of the dogs is to them a stimulating entertainment. They count the shots, and welcome or envy their neighbours’ luck. But if the winter’s yield be a poor one, if the oft-repeated cracking of the whip calls forth no squirrel, if there be no tracks of sable or noble marten, of elk or reindeer to be seen, huntsmen and dogs trudge silently and moodily through the forest, and short commons put the finishing touch to their ill-humour.

When night comes on, our sportsmen have to think of preparing their beds. From under an old, thick, fallen tree each shovels out the snow, makes a trough the size of a man, and kindles a strong fire in it. One of them then clears the snow from a circular patch as nearly as possible in the middle of all the hollows, and under the shelter of thick firs or pines; another gathers fuel; a third heaps up in the clearing a still stronger fire, and a fourth prepares supper. So many squirrels have been shot that there is no lack of strong meat soup with which to give a relish to the porridge and bread. The sportsmen have their supper and go shares with the dogs, refresh themselves with tea and a pipe made of twisted paper and then, after the fashion of their kind, discuss the exploits and experiences of the day. Meantime the fire in each hole has melted the snow, dried up the moisture, caught hold of the old tree-trunk above, and thus thoroughly warmed the chamber. Carefully each sleepy hunter pushes the still glowing fragments of wood to one end of the hole, and into this, avoiding the side-wall of snow, he creeps, calling his dogs after him that they too may share the warm bed, and soon he is asleep. It is true that glowing sparks from the smouldering tree-trunk fall throughout the night alike on the hunter and his dogs, but a Siberian’s fur hunting-coat can stand as much as a Siberian dog’s skin; and it is evident that a log like this will give much more heat than a much larger free fire. It is to the hole what the stove is to the room; it alone makes it possible for the sportsman to camp out in the forest.

In the gray dawn the huntsmen arise refreshed, have breakfast, and go on their way. If they reach a good hunting-ground, which is visited every winter, they stay as long as they think fit. Here and there they find a log-hut built in previous years and still serviceable for shelter; in any case there are old and new fall-traps, which have to be put in order and visited every morning. This takes time, for the traps are often distributed over a wide range, and so it may be that the company stay a week or more in one part of the forest, and hunt it thoroughly, before they continue their wanderings.

On these hunting expeditions many Siberians pass the greater part of the winter in the forest. Before he sets out, the huntsman usually makes a bargain with a merchant. He promises the merchant all the skins he gets at a certain average price, provided the merchant will buy all without selection. If the hunter has good luck he may, even nowadays, make enough out of it to keep him alive, or at least to defray the expenses of the winter; usually, however, he has little recompense for his hardships and privations, and no one less modest in his demands than the Siberian huntsman could make it a means of livelihood.

Hunting the bear is regarded by the West Siberians as the most honourable and the most arduous kind of sport. For in this region Bruin is by no means the good-natured, simple creature he still is here and there in East Siberia; he is rather, as in most regions, a rough, uncouth fellow, who usually runs away from man, but who, when wounded or driven into a corner, will show fight savagely and prove himself exceedingly formidable. In spite of all persecution, he is still far from extermination; his occurrence may be spoken of as frequent, or, at any rate, as not uncommon. Always and everywhere, however, he goes his own way, and does not too often cross man’s path. Not that he is shy of human settlements, for he often stations himself not far from these, and sometimes falls upon domestic animals under the very eyes of their possessors; but he shows himself so sporadically that many Siberians have never seen him face to face, nor met him in the forest. It seems likely that he goes a-touring all the summer. He traverses the woods with a disregard of paths, but keeps to more or less beaten tracks when he ascends to the heights of the mountains in late summer, or returns to lower ground at the beginning of winter. When the corn is ripe, he stations himself in the fringes of the forest that he may steal comfortably from the adjacent fields; sometimes he leaves the wood entirely and visits the steppes, or the mountain-sides with steppe characters; he will stay a long time in one district and hurry through another without stopping, always and everywhere keeping a sharp look-out for the constantly recurring opportunities of securing his favourite foods. In most districts he is emphatically a vegetarian; here and there he becomes a formidable carnivore; in other places he seeks after carrion. In spring he is on short commons, and takes what he can get; he sneaks stealthily on the herds grazing in the woodland, makes a sudden bound on a victim, or pursues it with surprising rapidity, seizes it, drags it to the ground, kills it, and, after satiating himself, buries the remainder for a future meal. When a cattle plague rages, he visits the burial-places in order to secure the carcasses, and he is even accused of being a body-snatcher. In summer he plunders the fields of rye, wheat, and oats, robs bee-hives, and the nests of wild-bees and wasps, destroys ant-hills for the sake of the pupæ, rolls old trunks over to get at the beetles and grubs beneath, and even breaks up mouldering trees to capture the larvæ which live in rotting wood. In autumn he lives almost exclusively on berries of all sorts, and even on those fruits which he can gather from such trees as the bird-cherry; when the cembra-cones are ripe he goes after these, climbing lofty trees, and breaking off not only branches but the very tops; nor can he refrain from persistently prowling round the stores in which the cones are temporarily collected, or from trying to find his way in. Moreover, at all seasons he tries his hand at fishing, and not unfrequently with success. From man he usually runs away, but sometimes he will attack him without further ado, not hesitating even at superior force. According to the weather he times his winter-sleep. For his bed he selects a suitable place under a fallen giant tree; there he scrapes out a shallow hole, covers the floor with fine pine-twigs and moss a foot and a half deep, cushions the side-walls with the same material, covers the outside with branches and pieces of stem, creeps into the interior, and allows himself to be snowed up. If the first snowfall surprise him on the mountains, he does not always descend, but hides in a rock-cave which he furnishes as best he can, or else expands a marmot’s burrow till it is just big enough to hold him, and there sleeps through the winter. Once sunk into deep sleep, he lies dormant so obstinately that many efforts are often necessary to rouse him; he bites savagely at the poles with which the huntsman tries to poke him up, he growls and roars, and only surrenders when rockets or fire-brands are thrown on his refuge. Then, if he be not wounded, he rushes forth like a startled boar, and seeks safety in rapid flight. According to the consistent evidence of all experienced huntsmen, the she-bear brings forth young only every second winter, and does not awake from her deep sleep until a short time before the birth; she licks her cubs clean and dry, sets them to suck, and continues her sleep in snatches. At the end of May or in June she seeks out her older children, of two or even four years’ growth, and compels them to do service as nurses.[37]

Although the flesh of the bear is by no means unpalatable, it is but little esteemed in West Siberia, where bear-hams are served up rather in obedience to fashion than from appreciation of the dish. Nevertheless, the bear-hunt brings in rich gain. The skin is in great demand for sledge-rugs and fetches a high price; teeth and claws serve not only among the Ostiaks and Samoyedes, but also among the West Siberian peasants, as potent charms; even the bones are now and then used. The canine of a bear slain in honourable combat brings to the Ostiak hunter, so he believes, supernatural gifts, especially courage, strength, and even invulnerability. A claw, especially the fourth of the right fore-foot, which corresponds to the ring finger, is prized by the love-lorn maiden of the Ural, for the youth whom she secretly scratches with it is bound to return her love ardently. Teeth and claws have, therefore, a high value, and have more effect in inciting the huntsman to pursue the most formidable carnivore of the forest, than any damage which Bruin does. But the chase is neither easy nor without danger. Traps do not seem to be of any avail. The hunter must seek out the bear, and, weapon in hand, helped by his practised dogs, must do battle. During the summer the restless habits of the bear make the chase very difficult; during winter there is the chance of finding a lair and of killing the sleeper in or near it. The poor peasant who discovers a lair sells the bear in situ to any well-to-do sportsman, who, on a suitable day, goes with him and the requisite associates and surrounds the sleeper with sure marksmen. Beaters rouse the creature from his slumbers and bring him into view, and the huntsman shoots from the nearest possible distance. It is thus that the great majority of the bears are secured, and to good shots there is little danger. In summer and autumn they track the bear with small dogs, and while these bait him on all sides, the sportsman seizes a good opportunity for a telling shot. Or he may use the bear-spear, as the bold Ostiaks do, and charge the animal. Or else he may wind birch-bark several times round his left arm, and, holding this as a shield against the angry bear, may plunge a long, broad knife into his heart as he snaps at the bark. In these modes of attack accidents do, indeed, often happen; but in the course of time some hunters become so expert and cold-blooded that they prefer the spear or knife to any other weapon. Indeed, a peasant girl in the village of Morschowa is famous all over West Siberia for having killed more than thirty bears with the knife.

Of undesired encounters with bears many stories are told. A hunter, armed only with a pea-rifle, came across a large bear in the forest, but did not dare to shoot, knowing that his weapon was too small for such big game. He therefore remained still, so as not to irritate the bear. But Bruin came along, raised himself, snuffed at the huntsman’s face, and then gave him a blow which stretched him senseless on the ground. Thereupon the bear ran away as quickly as possible, just as if he thought that he had played a naughty trick. Two Swedes, Aberg and Erland, were hunting hazel-grouse on the Urals. The former approached a bramble bush in the hope of raising a bird, when to his surprise a huge bear jumped up and made for him at once. As flight was impossible, Aberg raised his fowling-piece to his shoulder, aimed at the bear’s eye, fired, and was fortunate enough to blind him. Maddened with the pain, the bear covered the bleeding eye with his paw, roared loudly, and rushed on at the undismayed huntsman. But the latter coolly took aim at the other eye and fired again with equal effect. Then he called for his comrade, and they fired alternately at the blinded bear until he was dead.

But the merriest tale had its scene in the village of Tomski Sawod in the district of Salair. One of the peasants was leading a load of cembra-cones through the forest, and did not notice that the cones were falling out of one of his sacks. A bear, who was wandering through the forest in the rear of the cart, crossed the road, and finding some of the cones looked for more, and followed the track unnoticed. After a time the peasant left the horse and cart standing, and diverged into the wood to fetch another sack which he had left filled with cones. But before he returned with his burden, the bear, still gathering cones, had reached the cart and climbed into it, there to feast to his heart’s content. With no little dismay the peasant perceived as he drew near what passenger had taken possession, and not daring to dispute his right, left him with the horse and cart. The horse, becoming uneasy, looked back, recognized the bear, and forthwith trotted off as fast as he could go. But the undesired jolting frightened the bear and prevented him from leaping off. He was forced to sit still and hold on, venting his increasing discontent in loud roars. The roaring only served to increase the pace; the more the bear stormed, the faster the horse hastened to the village. Now the village-folk had been for several hours expecting a visit from the bishop, and were standing at their doors in holiday attire, ready to greet his reverence when he appeared. Already sharp-eyed boys had been posted on the outlook on the church-tower, with instructions to toll the bells when the bishop’s company came in sight. In the distance was seen a whirling cloud of dust; the boys sprang to the bells, men and women arranged themselves in rows, the priest appeared with incense before the door of the church, every soul stood ready to give a worthy reception to the dignitary of the church. On came the rattling cart, and right through the festive village tore horse and driver, the former covered with dust, sweating and panting, the latter roaring and snorting, their mad career only ending when they reached the peasant’s yard. Instead of the beautiful Russian psalm, the terrified cries of half-senseless women rang out through the air, and the men, instead of doing dutiful reverence, rushed about astonished and affrighted. Only the church bells continued to peal. Before these had ceased, the men had recovered presence of mind and got hold of their weapons. The cart was followed, and the bear, who seemed to have lost all his wits, was soon stretched dead on the throne which he had himself chosen.

Those who know the ways of bears will allow that all might have happened as I have described, though we may be inclined to regard the humorous story as one of the sportsman’s budget. For even the most serious and honourable forest-folk sometimes mingle truth and fancy when they tell of the forests and woodcraft of Siberia.