AN ELK SEASON. 157 



visible, there was always a shadowy chance of seeing a 

 bear. How one longs to have the luck of 



"... Boys who unaware, 

 Eanging the woods to start a hare, 

 Come to the mouth of the dark lair 

 Where, growling low, a fierce old bear 

 Lies amidst bones and blood." 



However, the hunter in Norway generally lives on 

 the belief that on some incredibly lucky day he may 

 meet with a brown bear and so add to his record, if fate 

 permitted, the last (if we except the aurochs, the right 

 of shooting which is vested in the Czar and one or two 

 of his nobles, and which can therefore scarcely be 

 included in the general list), the very last, of the 

 dangerous big game of Europe. In using the term 

 dangerous big game, I refer to each species taken 

 collectively, for, although not ordinarily dangerous, the 

 elk is said to attack on occasions, especially in the 

 rutting season. Nearly every Norwegian hunter has a 

 story to tell of an elk that with its powerful fore hoofs 

 has torn open a man's body. A few of these tales may 

 be true, but it is certainly also true that a man may 

 follow elk for fifty seasons without coming upon that 

 traditional slem elg. 



On the 14th of September, late in the afternoon, 

 we had turned homewards through the forest, having 

 failed to find sign of elk, when suddenly without 

 warning four great grey shapes sprang up from among 

 bushes and bracken upon our left. Peder sent me an 

 excited whisper, " Bool ! Bool ! " I ran forward and 

 made out the horns of the bull, and got in a shot as he 

 plunged through the underbrush a mere glimpse of 

 black shadow. At the shot the bull turned a complete 



