194 The Wilderness Hunter 



tains. As with so many other things, much depends 

 upon the surroundings. When listened to nearby 

 and under unfavorable circumstances, the sound re- 

 sembles a succession of hoarse whistling roars, end- 

 ing with two or three gasping^ grunts. 



But heard at a little distance, and in its proper 

 place, the call of the wapiti is one of the grandest 

 and most beautiful sounds in nature. Especially is 

 this the case when several rivals are answering one 

 another, on some frosty moonlight night in the 

 mountains. The wild melody rings from chasm to 

 chasm under the giant pines, sustained and modu- 

 lated, through bar after bar, filled with challenge 

 and proud anger. It thrills the soul of the listening 

 hunter. 



Once, while in the mountains, I listened to a pe- 

 culiarly grand chorus of this kind. We were trav- 

 eling with pack ponies at the time, and our tent was 

 pitched in a grove of yellow pine, by a brook in the 

 bottom of a valley. On either hand rose the moun- 

 tains, covered with spruce forest. It was in Sep- 

 tember, and the first snow had just fallen. 



The day before we had walked long and hard; 

 and during the night I slept the heavy sleep of the 

 weary. Early in the morning, just as the east be- 

 gan to grow gray, I waked; and as I did so, the 

 sounds that smote on my ear caused me to sit up and 

 throw off the warm blankets. Bull elk were chal- 

 lenging among the mountains on both sides of the 



