174 CRUISINGS IN THE CASCADES 



We were up before daylight to find that six or 

 eight inches of light snow had fallen silently during 

 the night, which lay piled up on the branches of 

 the trees, draping the dense forests in ghostly white. 

 Our drooping spirits revived, for we hoped that the 

 tell-tale mantle would enable us to find the game we 

 so much needed in oar business. We broke our 

 bread more cheerfully that morning than for two 

 days previously, but at the council of war held over 

 the frugal meal, decided that unless we scored that 

 day we must make tracks for the nearest ranch the 

 next morning, and try to make our scanty rem- 

 nant of flour keep us alive until we could get there. 



Breakfast over we scattered ourselves by the four 

 points of the compass and set out. It fell to my lot 

 to go up the caTion. Silently I strode through the 

 forest, scanning the snow in search of foot- prints, 

 but for an hour I could see none. Then, as I cautiously 

 ascended a ridge, I heard a crash in the brush 

 beyond and reached the summit just in time to see 

 the latter end of a large bull elk disappear in the 

 thicket. 



He had not heard or seen me, but had winded me, 

 and tarried not for better acquaintance. I followed his 

 trail some three miles up the canon, carefully 

 penetrating the thickets and peering among the 

 larger trees, but never a glimpse could I get and 

 never a sound could I hear of him. He seemed 

 unusually wild. I could see by his trail that he had 

 not stopped, but had kept straight away on that 

 long, swinging trot that is such a telling gait of the 

 species, and which they will sometimes keep up for 

 hours together. Finally I came to where he had 



