An Elk- Hunt at Two-Ocean Pass. 183 



they had evidently been well treated, and came up to us 

 fearlessly. 



The morning of the third day of our journey was gray 

 and lowering. Gusts of rain blew in my face as I rode at 

 the head of the train. It still lacked an hour of noon, as 

 we were plodding up a valley beside a rapid brook running 

 through narrow willow-flats, the dark forest crowding down 

 on either hand from the low foot-hills of the mountains. 

 Suddenly the call of a bull elk came echoing down through 

 the wet woodland on our right, beyond the brook, seem- 

 ingly less than half a mile off ; and was answered by a faint, 

 far-off call from a rival on the mountain beyond. Instantly 

 halting the train, Woody and I slipped off our horses, 

 crossed the brook, and started to still-hunt the first bull. 



In this place the forest was composed of the western 

 tamarack ; the large, tall trees stood well apart, and there 

 was much down timber, but the ground was covered with 

 deep wet moss, over which we trod silently. The elk was 

 travelling up-wind, but slowly, stopping continually to paw 

 the ground and thresh the bushes with his antlers. He 

 was very noisy, challenging every minute or two, being 

 doubtless much excited by the neighborhood of his rival 

 on the mountain. We followed, Woody leading, guided 

 by the incessant calling. 



It was very exciting as we crept toward the great bull, 

 and the challenge sounded nearer and nearer. While we 

 were still at some distance the pealing notes were like those 

 of a bugle, delivered in two bars, first rising, then abruptly 

 falling ; as we drew nearer they took on a harsh squealing 

 sound. Each call made our veins thrill ; it sounded like 



