AN ELK SEASON. 165 



Once we gained this haven of rest the fire was quickly 

 lit in the big iron stove, its light shining out upon the 

 darkness until we closed the door and prepared to take 

 our meal in a despondent silence. It is strange how 

 persistently the sting of a lost opportunity frets the 

 heart of a hunter ; a successful or difficult shot has not 

 the power to elate him in any corresponding degree. 

 He is apt, and rightly apt, to give the credit to the 

 modern weapon of precision. But let him miss a shot, 

 a fair shot, or, far worse, lose a beast after wounding it, 

 then it is well to draw a veil over his next hours. So it 

 was with me while I watched the firelight gleaming on 

 the rude walls and endeavoured to account for the 

 disappearance of the elk, an effort in which Peder's 

 comment gave me no aid, as he repeatedly pronounced 

 the lost bull " an evil beast." I concluded finally that 

 either the animal's strength had failed in the middle of 

 his long swim across the lake, which was possible, 

 though to my mind exceedingly improbable, or that 

 after entering the water he had turned back northwards 

 and regained the shelter of the woods from which he 

 originally emerged. 



Presently Bismarck began to growl, and almost 

 immediately a bearded face was pressed against the 

 window pane, then the door opened to admit its owner. 

 Peder introduced him in form " Dis mann haf elg ve 

 schutt dag," which seemed to indicate that our visitor 

 was the farmer on whose rights I had fired at the elk, 

 and that had I killed it he would have become the 

 pleased possessor of the resulting meat. Acutely con- 

 scious that in the eyes of Mathias my shot should have 

 procured a winter's supply of food for his household, I 

 felt there was nothing for me to say for myself. But 



