AN ELK-HUNT AT TWO-OCEAN-PASS. 207 



even more than usually hard on the hands. 

 By ten we broke camp. It needs between 

 two and three hours to break camp and get 

 such a train properly packed ; once started, 

 our day's journey was six to eight hours, 

 making no halt. We started up a steep, 

 pine-clad mountain side, broken by cliffs. 

 My hunting-shoes, though comfortable, were 

 old and thin, and let the water through like a 

 sieve. On the top of the first plateau, where 

 black spruce groves were strewn across the 

 grassy surface, we saw a band of elk, cows 

 and calves, trotting off through the rain. 

 Then we plunged down into a deep valley, 

 and, crossing it, a hard climb took us to the 

 top of a great bare table-land, bleak and 

 wind-swept. We passed little alpine lakes, 

 fringed with scattering dwarf evergreens. 

 Snow lay in drifts on the north sides of the 

 gullies; a cutting wind blew the icy rain in 

 our faces. For two or three hours we trav- 

 elled toward the farther edge of the table- 

 land. In one place a spike bull elk stood 

 half a mile off, in the open ; he travelled to 

 and fro, watching us. 



As we neared the edge the storm lulled, 

 and pale, watery sunshine gleamed through 

 the rifts in the low-scudding clouds. At last 

 our horses stood on the brink of a bold cliff. 

 Deep down beneath our feet lay the wild and 

 lonely valley of Two-Ocean Pass, walled in 

 on either hand by rugged mountain chains, 

 their flanks scarred and gashed by precipice 

 and chasm. Beyond, in a wilderness of 

 jagged and barren peaks, stretched the Sho- 

 shones. At the middle point of the pass, 



