Still-Hunting Elk on the Mountain 311 



we started off to hunt through this country. The 

 walking was hard work, especially up and down the 

 steep cliffs, covered with slippery pine needles; or 

 among the windfalls, where the rows of dead trees 

 lay piled up across one another in the wildest con 

 fusion. We saw nothing until we came to a large 

 patch of burned ground, where we at once found the 

 soft, black soil marked up by elk hoofs ; nor had we 

 penetrated into it more than a few hundred yards 

 before we came to tracks made but a few minutes 

 before, and almost instantly afterward saw three 

 bull elk, probably those I had seen on the preceding 

 day. We had been running briskly up-hill through 

 the soft, heavy loam, in which our feet made no 

 noise but slipped and sank deeply ; as a consequence, 

 I was all out of breath and my hand so unsteady that 

 I missed my first shot. Elk, however, do not vanish 

 with the instantaneous rapidity of frightened deer, 

 and these three trotted off in a direction quartering 

 to us. I doubt if I ever went through more violent 

 exertion than in the next ten minutes. We raced 

 after them at full speed, opening fire; I wounded 

 all three, but none of the wounds was immediately 

 disabling. They trotted on and we panted after 

 ward, slipping on the wet earth, pitching headlong 

 over charred stumps, leaping on dead logs that 

 broke beneath our weight, more than once measur 

 ing our full length on the ground, halting and fir 

 ing whenever we got a chance. At last one bull fell ; 

 we passed him by after the others which were still 

 running up-hill. The sweat streamed into my eyes 



