152 CAMP FIRE REMINISCENCES 
Climbing down the shoulder rapidly, the goat was 
seen caught behind a big rock at the foot of a preci- 
pice. Making my way along a ledge to it, I was 
disgusted to find that I had hit the head and 
knocked it to pieces. One horn was gone and the 
scalp so badly torn that it could not be used. I had 
not even the comfort of knowing that a good shot 
had been made, for I had fired at the shoulder and 
not at the head. ‘Taking the one horn, I climbed 
down to camp and got there when darkness was 
coming on, feeling that although I had dared to dis- 
obey Tom Dawson, there was a goat to my credit. 
When my disappearance from camp was discov-- 
ered, J. took his rifle and strolled up the valley to 
see what was to be seen. After a while he came 
to a little park, and saw standing in it a magnificent 
bull elk. As he was about to fire, the report of my 
first shot frightened. the beast, but he managed to 
drop him before he got into the timber. It was a 
splendid fourteen pointer with good spread and 
heavy beam. There was also some palmation, such 
as one frequently sees in Montana heads. Four 
goats and one elk were now to the credit of the 
party, and the latter would yield us an unlimited 
supply of fresh venison, which was very much to 
be desired. My solitary horn was a poor trophy, 
but it represented a lot of hard work and had a 
value in my eyes. 
Another beautiful morning dawned and we were 
eager to be off as soon as breakfast was over. J., 
taking a couple of men and a pack horse, went after 
his elk, while C. and myself, with Dawson, decided 
