An Elk-Hunt at Two-Ocean Pass. 197 



Woody, " He's a twelve-pointer, but the horns are small ! " 

 As I spoke I heard the roar of the challenge of the other 

 bull not two hundred yards ahead, as if in defiant answer 

 to my shot. 



Running quietly forward, I speedily caught a glimpse 

 of his body. He was behind some fir-trees about seventy 

 yards off, and I could not see which way he was standing, 

 and so fired into the patch of flank which was visible, aim- 

 ing high, to break the back. My aim was true, and the 

 huge beast crashed down-hill through the evergreens, pulK 

 ing himself on his fore legs for fifteen or twenty rods, his 

 hind quarters trailing. Racing forward, I broke his neck. 

 His antlers were the finest I ever got. A couple of whisky- 

 jacks appeared at the first crack of the rifle with their 

 customary astonishing familiarity and heedlessness of the 

 hunter; they followed the wounded bull as he dragged 

 his great carcass down the hill, and pounced with ghoulish 

 bloodthirstiness on the gouts of blood that were sprinkled 

 over the green herbage. 



These two bulls lay only a couple of hundred yards 

 apart, on a broad game-trail, which was as well beaten 

 as a good bridle-path. We began to skin out the heads ; 

 and as we were finishing we heard another bull challenging 

 far up the mountain. He came nearer and nearer, and as 

 soon as we had ended our work we grasped our rifles and 

 trotted toward him along the game-trail. He was very 

 noisy, uttering his loud, singing challenge every minute 

 or two. The trail was so broad and firm that we walked 

 in perfect silence. After going only five or six hundred 

 yards, we got very close indeed, and stole forward on tip- 



