2 8o AN AMERICAN HUNTER 



from the ranch or a hunter like Tazewell Woody, or John 

 Willis. On this particular occasion, however, I hap- 

 pened to be alone ; and though I have rarely been as suc- 

 cessful alone as when in the company of some thoroughly 

 trained and experienced plainsman or mountainman, yet 

 when success does come under such circumstances it is 

 always a matter of peculiar pride. 



At the time, I was camped in a beautiful valley 

 high among the mountains which divide southwestern 

 Montana from Idaho. The weather was cold, and there 

 were a couple of inches of snow on the ground, so that 

 the conditions were favorable for tracking and stalking. 

 The country was well wooded, but the forest was not 

 dense, and there were many open glades. Early one 

 morning, just about dawn, the cook, who had been up for 

 a few minutes, waked me, to say that a bull wapiti was 

 calling not far off. I rolled out of my bed and was 

 dressed in short order. The bull had by this time passed 

 the camp, and was travelling toward a range of moun- 

 tains on the other side of the stream which ran down the 

 valley bottom. He was evidently not alarmed, for he 

 was still challenging. I gulped down a cup of hot coffee, 

 munched a piece of hardtack, and thrust four or five other 

 pieces and a cold elk tongue into my hunting-shirt, and 

 then, as it had grown light enough to travel, started after 

 the wapiti. I supposed that in a few minutes I should 

 either have overtaken him or abandoned the pursuit, and 

 I took the food with me simply because in the wilderness 

 it never pays to be unprepared for emergencies. The 

 wisdom of such a course was shown in this instance by 



