150 



RANCH LIFE AND THE HUNTING-TRAIL 



diately another one rose up from beside it and made off. I had five 

 shots at her as she ascended the hill-side and the gentle slope beyond ; 

 and two of my bullets struck her close together in the flank, ranging for- 

 ward a very fatal shot. She was evidently mortally hit, and just as she 

 reached the top of the divide she stopped, reeled, and fell over, dead. 



We were much pleased with our luck, as it secured us an ample stock 

 of needed fresh meat ; and the two elk lay very handily, so that on the fol- 

 lowing day we were able to stop for them with the wagon on our way 

 homeward, putting them in bodily, and leaving only the entrails for the 

 vultures that were already soaring in great circles over the carcasses.* 



Much the finest elk antlers I ever got, as a trophy of my own rifle, 

 were from a mighty bull that I killed far to the west of my ranch, in the 

 eastern chains of the Rockies. I shot him early one morning, while still- 

 hunting through the open glades of a great pine forest, where the frosty 

 dew was still heavy on the grass. We had listened to him and his fel- 

 lows challenging each other all night long. Near by the call of the bulls 

 in the rutting season their "whistling," as the frontiersmen term 

 it sounds harsh and grating; but heard in the depths of their own 

 mountain fastnesses, ringing through the frosty night, and echoing across 

 the ravines and under the silent archways of the pines, it has a grand, 

 musical beauty of its own that makes it, to me, one of the most attractive 

 sounds in nature. 



At this season the bulls fight most desperately, and their combats are 

 far more often attended with fatal results than is the case with deer. In 

 the grove back of my ranch house, when we first took possession, we 

 found the skulls of two elk with interlocked antlers ; one was a royal, the 

 other had fourteen points. Theirs had been a duel to the death. 



In hunting, whether on the prairie or in the deep woods, a man ought 

 to pay great heed to his surroundings, so as not to get lost. To an old 

 hand, getting lost is not so very serious ; because, if he has his rifle and 

 some matches, and does not lose his head, the worst that can happen to 

 him is having to suffer some temporary discomfort. But a novice is in 

 imminent danger of losing his wits, and therefore his life. To a man 



* No naturalist ever described the way vultures gather with more scientific accuracy than 

 Longfellow: 



"Never stoops the soaring vulture 

 On his quarry in the desert, 

 On the sick or wounded bison, 

 But another vulture, watching 

 From his high aerial lookout, 



Sees the downward plunge, and follows; 

 And a third pursues the second, 

 Coming from the invisible ether, 

 First a speck, and then a vulture, 

 Till the air is dark with pinions." 



