Hunting at High Altitudes 



as it slowly brightened in the east, we could make 

 out with the glasses two little bands of wapiti and 

 a single one that we saw had horns, the others being 

 hinds. Before it was light enough to use the tele- 

 scope, they had all gone into the timber, while we 

 got back to camp for breakfast, just as the sun 

 shone on the snow-covered peaks far up the valley. 

 As the river in the canon would be in flood 

 toward evening, we moved over at once, getting 

 everything wet in the rather villainous ford, and 

 then sat down to* wait until evening, when we 

 would go after the stag. The lay of the land was 

 such that we had to wait until the wind blew down 

 the canon, which we knew it would do as soon 

 as the sun got near the mountains. At last the 

 longed for change came, and we were off, reaching 

 the place near where the stag had gone into the 

 timber, as it was getting dusk, but he had not come 

 out yet. However, he soon walked out near us, 

 when we saw to our disappointment that he was 

 a small six-pointer that is, three points on each 

 horn and what was worse still, in the velvet, 

 although it was now the first week in September. 

 For a week I repeated this proceeding each day, 

 but without seeing a shootable stag, and often no 

 stag at all, while we could not move further up or 

 down the valley, as the water was still too high. 



340 



