American Big-Game Hunting 



they had left him so unceremoniously. What 

 a picture he made, as he stood outlined against 

 the green hillside, turning his lordly head 

 slowly from side to side with watchful eye 

 and spreading nostril ! I had seen plenty 

 as good as he, and had held my hand. But 

 then it might be my last chance. He was 

 only a ten-pointer. But I had gone home so 

 often empty handed, and he was only seventy 

 or eighty yards away. Instinctively my rifle 

 went to my shoulder, my finger pressed the 

 trigger, the elk plunged forward and fell on 

 his knees. As he struggled to rise, I shot 

 him again. And then — what are mere 

 words to describe what I felt! On my left, 

 beyond the accursed green tongue, went 

 with a rush a great band of cows and calves. 

 And in their very midst rolled the great- 

 grandfather of all the elk in the State of 

 Colorado, — a perfect monster ! His back was 

 as broad and as yellow as the Tiber in 

 spring. His horns were as thick as a strong 

 man's arm, and spread like the branches of 

 an oak. Across the park and up the hill he 

 went, his wives and children thronging round 

 him so close that I could not shoot for fear 

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