224 The Wilderness Hunter 



from a ridge-crest at the edge of the woods, among 

 some scattered clumps of the northern nut-pine or 

 pinyon a queer conifer, growing very high on the 

 mountains, its multiforked trunk and wide-spread- 

 ing branches giving it the rounded top, and, at a 

 distance, the general look of an oak rather than a 

 pine. We at once walked toward the ridge, up-wind. 

 In a minute or two, to our chagrin, we stumbled on 

 an outlying spike bull, evidently kept on the out- 

 skirts of the herd by the master bull. I thought he 

 would alarm all the rest; but, as we stood motion- 

 less, he could not see clearly what we were. He 

 stood, ran, stood again, gazed at us, and trotted 

 slowly off. We hurried forward as fast as we dared, 

 and with too little care; for we suddenly came in 

 view of two cows. As they raised their heads to 

 look, Woody squatted down where he was, to keep 

 their attention fixed, while I cautiously tried to slip 

 off to one side unobserved. Favored by the neutral 

 tint of my buckskin hunting-shirt, with which my 

 shoes, leggings, and soft hat matched, I succeeded. 

 As soon as I was out of sight I ran hard and came 

 up to a hillock crested with pinyons, behind which I 

 judged I should find the herd. As I approached the 

 crest, their strong, sweet smell smote my nostrils. 

 In another moment I saw the tips of a pair of mighty 

 antlers, and I peered over the crest with my rifle at 

 the ready. Thirty yards off, behind a clump of 

 pinyons, stood a huge bull, his head thrown back as 



