A Day with the Elk 



spair of getting what I wanted. For two 

 days I sulked in my tent, and then one morn- 

 ing Robert Bruce's historic spider fell into 

 my lap from the tent-pole, and I arose and 

 went forth for a last try. 



Our camp was by a stream in an aspen 

 grove, on the edge of one of those open spaces 

 which, be they large or small, are known in 

 Colorado as parks. Behind us to the south 

 lay heavily timbered ridges, alternating with 

 little valleys full of shade-trees, long, sweet 

 grass, and pleasant brooks. There, I thought, 

 was as good a place as any in which to find 

 the "faultless monster that the world ne'er 

 saw," and thither I accordingly went. 



It was about noon when I started, and my 

 intention was to v/ork away to the south, and 

 then hunt back to camp toward evening. I 

 know that there are those who say that if you 

 want to kill game you must get up early. 

 They are perfectly right, and I agree with 

 them entirely. But there are others who 

 maintain with equal truth that toward sun- 

 down is the best time. One time is as good 

 as the other, and inasmuch as an empty belly 

 and the dark before the dawn are bitter things 

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