Photographing Wild Game 



apparently not much alarmed. George and 

 I returned to camp with nothing to show for 

 a hard day's work, cooked our supper, and 

 tumbled into our blankets. 



A starlight night gave promise of a perfect 

 day on the morrow, and we arranged to get 

 up before daylight, so as to catch the elk before 

 they had lain down. The next day the same 

 experience was repeated: not a photographic 

 shot came in our way, and about three o'clock 

 we went back to camp weary and disgusted. 

 As we had to be in the main camp that night, 

 ready to start back home the next day, we 

 loaded our pack-mule and were soon on the 

 back trail. About half-past four we suddenly 

 heard an elk whistle, not far to the left. We 

 were going on a game-trail, through heavy 

 timber, and I remarked to George, " This is 

 our last chance." We quickly tied our ani- 

 mals and rushed in the direction of the call. 



A few hundred yards brought us out on a 

 little projection, and, cautiously looking over, 

 we saw that the ground sloped up beyond 

 through burned timber, and that there was a 

 band of elk scattered around feeding. Ad- 

 justing my lens to the distance, which I 



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