Big Game Shooting 257 



ing it is to pot a grouse or a rabbit when there is 

 nothing in the larder but "jerky" or bacon, but 

 that one shot may drive a herd of these superb 

 beasts to other pastures a hundred miles away ! 

 Once, I remember, we were constrained by our 

 shikarri to leave our shot guns behind — a grave 

 mistake. A month later we found ourselves on 

 the borders of barren lands where there was no 

 big game at all, and it seemed absurd to try and 

 shoot small birds with Express rifles charged with 

 one hundred and twenty grains of powder. So we 

 borrowed from an old trapper we met an ancient 

 flint lock, almost in pieces. The barrel of it was 

 tied to the stock with string, and the flint would 

 not strike sparks. We were actually compelled to 

 fill the pan with powder and ignite it by means of 

 a match. After stalking a sage hen, one of us 

 would take aim ; the other would strike the match ! 

 Shooting under such circumstances is not an un- 

 alloyed joy. 



Wapiti often betray their presence by whistling, 

 a queer sound different to the call of a bull moose, 

 and quite indescribable. The monarch of the herd, 

 he whose enormous antlers thrill you to the marrow, 

 generally trots along in the rear of the others, 

 pausing now and again to look round. I once 

 missed a monster point blank at forty yards, be- 

 cause I was fool enough to think that I could shoot 

 him from the back of my horse. I had had an 

 unpleasant experience with this same horse only a 

 few days before, having dismounted in a hurry to 

 take a snap shot at a running antelope. I missed 

 the antelope, and nearly lost the horse, for he 



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