38 RUSTLINGS IN THE ROCKIES. 



one of the elk, spitted it on a forked stick before the fire, 

 roasted it to a turn. On this and some hard tack which I 

 had hastily shoveled into the pockets of my hunting coat 

 when leaving camp the previous evening, I made a hearty 

 breakfast, and at dawn was ready for the fray again. Before 

 it was fully light an electric thrill was sent through my 

 inmost soul by the sound of a bull elk's whistle, which was 

 borne to my eager ears on the fresh morning breeze. Could 

 it be possible ? Were some of those monsters still hanging 

 about to give me another matinee? Truly, for while I lis- 

 tened the sonorous and to me sublimely beautiful sound, 

 came again. 



My friend, did you ever hear an elk whistle ? 



"Yes, plenty of them." 



So? Well, then I won't try to describe it to you. But 

 there's another good-looking young gentleman over in the 

 northeast corner of the hall who says he never did, and 

 to him I would remark that it sounds more like the closing 

 paragraph, the last sad note, indefinitely prolonged, the 

 tremolo-staccato, the peroration, as it were, of a donkey's 

 bray. Sometimes it is preceded or followed by a kind of 

 grunt, although not always. In fact, scarcely any two elk 

 whistle just alike. The same one varies his tones, but they 

 average about as suggested. The noise is a very shrill one, 

 capable of being heard to a great distance, and to a sports- 

 man's ears it is probably the most musical and fascinating 

 sound to be heard in the mountains. To me on this occasion 

 it was peculiarly interesting, for I wanted above all things on 

 this trip to secure a good head for mounting, and the 

 questions that ran through my brain were : Is this an old- 

 timer? Has he a fine, well-developed head and broad- 

 spreading, perfect antlers ? And shall I be able to get him ? 

 The chances were largely against me, for the leaves and grass 



