Still-Hunting Elk on the Mountain 301 



ishing behind a dead trunk, and my hasty shot 

 missed. I was a good deal annoyed at this, my 

 opening experience with mountain game, feeling 

 that it was an omen of misfortune; but it did not 

 prove so, for during the rest of my two weeks stay, 

 I with one exception got every animal I fired at. 



A beautiful, clear mountain brook ran through 

 the bottom of the valley, and in an open space by 

 its side we pitched camp. We were entirely out of 

 fresh meat, and after lunch all three of us separated 

 to hunt, each for his own hand. The teamster 

 went up stream, Merrifield went down, while I fol 

 lowed the tracks of the band of cows and calves 

 that we had started in the morning; their trail led 

 along the wooded hill-crests parallel to the stream, 

 and therefore to Merrifield s course. The crests of 

 the hills formed a wavy-topped but continuous ridge 

 between two canyon-like valleys, and the sides fell 

 off steeper and steeper the further down stream I 

 went, until at last they were broken in places by 

 sheer precipices and cliffs; the groves of trees too, 

 though with here and there open glades, formed a 

 continuous forest of tall pines. There was a small 

 growth of young spruce and other evergreen, thick 

 enough to give cover, but not to interfere with see 

 ing and shooting to some distance. The pine trunks 

 rose like straight columns, standing quite close to 

 gether ; and at their bases the ground was carpeted 

 with the sweet-scented needles, over which, in my 

 moccasined feet, I trod without any noise. It was 

 but a little past noon, and the sun in the open was 



