172 HUNTING CAMPS. 



we came upon the trail bending away to the westward 

 across the wind. A hasty examination showed that 

 there were three elk, papa, mamma, and baby, or, as 

 Peder put it, " Vera bool, coo," and then signs signifying 

 a little fellow. 



How exciting were those whispered consultations 

 with Peder in the pine forests, and, for the number of 

 words used, very full of meat ! And small wonder, 

 since neither ever spoke without having something 

 really necessary to say, and our limited knowledge of 

 each other's national tongue forced us to compress our 

 thoughts into two or three words at most. 



Now at last the real glory of elk-hunting was ours. 

 We could see from every movement of the hound that 

 we were close, very close, to the quarry. At this crisis 

 one of my boots I was wearing red rubber soles with 

 buckskin tops commenced to creak, so I removed it 

 and then crept on over the chilly ground until my foot 

 lost all feeling. Within another few yards the wood 

 began to thin, and as we came to the edge of it I saw 

 the three elk. They were standing two hundred yards 

 away in the middle of a marsh about a quarter of a mile 

 in width. The bull was the nearest to us, but alas ! he 

 was by no means a " vera bool." I turned to Peder and 

 shook my head. At this Peder began to be very 

 troubled. " Schutt ! Gartland farmer no elg ! " he 

 whispered reproachfully, which was quite true. For on 

 the Gartland rights we had killed no elk, and there 

 was the farmer's winter meat supply to be considered. 

 Still it seemed a pity to kill the bull, for it was but a 

 three-year-old, and in five or six years more might carry 

 a good head. Who knows ? But Peder had a second 

 argument to back his advice. " Schutt bool ! " and he 



