204 THE WILDERNESS HUNTER. 



deciduous trees, their foliage offering a pleas- 

 ant relief to the eye after the monotony of 

 the unending pine and spruce woods, which 

 afford so striking a contrast to the hardwood 

 forest east of the Mississippi. 



For two days our journey was uneventful, 

 save that we came on the camp of a squaw- 

 man — one Beaver Dick, an old mountain 

 hunter, living in a skin tetee, where dwelt his 

 comely Indian wife and half-breed children. 

 He had quite a herd of horses, many of them 

 mares and colts ; they had evidently beeii 

 well treated, and came up to us fearlessly. 



The morning of the third day of our journey 

 was gray and lowering. Gusts of rain blew in 

 my face as I rode at the head of the train. 

 It still lacked an hour of noon, as we were 

 plodding up a valley beside a rapid brook 

 running through narrow willow-flats, the dark 

 forest crowding down on either hand from the 

 low foot-hills of the mountains. Suddenly 

 the call of a bull elk came echoing clown 

 through the wet woodland on our right, be- 

 yond the brook, seemingly less than half a 

 mile off ; and was answered by a faint, far-off 

 call from a rival on the mountain beyond. 

 Instantly halting the train. Woody and I 

 slipped off our horses, crossed the brook, and 

 started to still-hunt the first bull. 



In this place the forest was composed of 

 the western tamarack ; the large, tall trees 

 stood well apart, and there was much down 

 timber, but the ground was covered with 

 deep wet moss, over which we trod silently. 

 The elk was travelling up-wind, but slowly, 



