An Elk-Hunt at Two-Ocean Pass 221 



was off before I could pull trigger. It was just one 

 of those occasions when there are two courses to 

 pursue, neither very good, and when one is apt to 

 regret whichever decision is made. 



At noon we came to the edge of a deep and wide 

 gorge, and sat down shivering to await what might 

 turn up, our fingers numb, and our wet feet icy. 

 Suddenly the love-challenge of an elk came pealing 

 across the gorge, through the fine, cold rain, from 

 the heart of the forest opposite. An hour's stiff 

 climb, down and up, brought us nearly to him; but 

 the wind forced us to advance from below through 

 a series of open glades. He was lying on a point 

 of the cliff-shoulder, surrounded by his cows; and 

 he saw us and made off. An hour afterward, as 

 we were trudging up a steep hillside dotted with 

 groves of fir and spruce, a young bull of ten points, 

 roused from his day-bed by our approach, galloped 

 across us some sixty yards off. We were in need 

 of better venison than can be furnished by an old 

 rutting bull; so I instantly took a shot at the fat 

 and tender young ten-pointer. I aimed well ahead 

 and pulled trigger just as he came to a small gully; 

 and he fell into it in a heap with a resounding crash. 

 This was on the birthday of my eldest small son; 

 so I took him home the horns, "for his very own." 

 On the way back that afternoon I shot off the heads 

 of two blue greuse, as they perched in the pines. 



That evening the storm broke, and the weather 



