Photographing Wild Game 
apparently not much alarmed. George and 
I returned to camp with nothing to show for 
a hard day’s work, cooked our supper, and 
tumbled into our blankets. 
A starlight night gave promise of a perfect 
day on the morrow, and we arranged to get 
up before daylight, so as to catch the elk before 
they had lain down. The next day the same 
experience was repeated: not a photographic 
shot came in our way, and about three o'clock 
we went back to camp weary and disgusted. 
As we had to be in the main camp that night, 
ready to start back home the next day, we 
loaded our pack-mule and were soon on the 
back trail. About half-past four we suddenly 
heard an elk whistle, not far to the left. We 
were going on a game-trail, through heavy 
timber, and I remarked to George, ‘This is 
our last chance.” We quickly tied our ani- 
mals and rushed in the direction of the call. 
A few hundred yards brought us out on a 
little projection, and, cautiously looking over, 
we saw that the ground sloped up beyond 
through burned timber, and that there was a 
band of elk scattered around feeding. Ad- 
justing my lens to the distance, which I 
313 
