American Big-Game Hunting 
whose voice was so deep and sonorous that I 
readily recognized it as the one I had heard 
a few nights previous in the same locality. 
At that time my companion and I had chris- 
tened him the “elk with the fog-horn.” In 
the midst of the commotion, George gave vent 
to several startling yells, which I supposed 
were made in his effort to turn the band. 
In a short time he returned, breathless and 
tired. As soon as he was able to speak, he 
recounted a tale of wonder which can readily 
be imagined by any of the readers of this 
chapter for whom George has acted in the 
multiple capacity of guide, cook, philosopher, 
and friend. He said that when the band got 
his wind, after several short stampedes, they 
dashed directly toward him, and as I had 
made him leave his rifle with me, he had no 
alternative except to climb a tree or jump out 
where he could be seen and swing his arms 
and yell. Hie said that this stopped the 
band, but the old bull with the fog-horn 
walked directly toward him until he thought 
he was going to charge, and looked for a 
convenient tree. After inspecting George, 
however, the bull walked off with his band, 
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