ELK-HUNTING IN THE OLYMPIC MOUNTAINS. 67 



where I stood, I started on a run to head him off. I 

 reached the center of the marsh just as he emerged from 

 the woods, not more than one hundred yards distant. He 

 stopped, and began to bellow and paw up the ground; then 

 turned and looked in the direction of the herd he was ban- 

 ished from by his younger, stronger, and more active rival. 

 At last he turned and came slowly up to within thirty 

 yards of me. I fired five shots, each of which took effect 

 behind his shoulder; but the little 44 Winchester, with 

 which I was then armed, was too light a weapon for such 

 heavy game, and not until I ran up and planted the sixth 

 ball at the butt of his ear, did he stop. Then he reared on 

 his hind legs, his horns looming up like a email tree-top, 

 and fell backward, driving them deeply into the soft ground. 

 My dog now rushed forward and grasped him by the ear. 

 The bull tried to struggle to his feet, but his imbedded horns 

 held him fast, with a twisted neck. I ran up to him, cut his 

 throat, and secured one of the finest pairs of antlers I have 

 ever seen. This was a large animal, and would have weighed 

 at least eight hundred pounds. 



Leaving the Elk, I went cautiously up the trail, and 

 found that the others were not alarmed by my firing, but 

 were standing in a group near the place where I first saw 

 them. Creeping up with noiseless step, and keeping behind 

 a large fir, I drew within one hundred yards of them, and, 

 selecting a fat cow, fired, and broke her back. At the 

 report of the rifle the herd started up the beach, with their 

 long, swinging trot, the cavalcade headed by the victor in 

 the late unpleasantness. I fired several shots at the leader 

 of the band. He fell behind the herd, broke into a clumsy 

 gallop, and went crashing off into a thicket. That was the 

 last I saw of him, for the underbrush was so dense that it 

 was impossible to follow him after he left the beach. My 

 dog by this time had the herd at bay, on a point about two 

 hundred yards below. Reloading my magazine as I ran, 

 when I came within one hundred yards of the confused 

 mass of Elk I fired a shot at them; a yearling buck left the 

 group, rushed into the water, and fell dead. The band 



