An Elk-Hunt at Two-Ocean Pass 231 



his neck, and down he went in a heap. Rushing in 

 and turning, I called to Woody, "He's a twelve- 

 pointer, but the horns are small!" As I spoke I 

 heard the roar of the challenge of the other bull not 

 two hundred yards ahead, as if in defiant answer to 

 my shot. 



Running quietly forward, I speedily caught a 

 glimpse of his body. He was behind some fir-trees 

 about seventy yards off, and I could not see which 

 way he was standing, and so fired into the patch 

 of flank which was visible, aiming high, to break the 

 back. My aim was true, and the huge beast crashed 

 down hill through the evergreens, pulling himself 

 on his fore legs for fifteen or twenty rods, his hind 

 quarters trailing. Racing forward, I broke his neck. 

 His antlers were the finest I ever got. A couple of 

 whiskey- jacks appeared at the first crack of the rifle 

 with their customary astonishing familiarity and 

 heedlessness of the hunter; they followed the 

 wounded bull as he dragged his great carcass down 

 the hill, and pounced with ghoulish bloodthirstiness 

 on the gouts of blood that were sprinkled over the 

 green herbage. 



These two bulls lay only a couple of hundred 

 yards apart, on a broad game-trail, which was as 

 well beaten as a good bridle-path. We began to 

 skin out the heads; and as we were finishing we 

 heard another bull challenging far up the mountain. 

 He came nearer and nearer, and as soon as we 



